My Enemy My Ally

by Diane Duane

  He made a questioning look at her.

  "Don't ask me what it means! …"

  "Well, all right. Ael, then."

  "Jim," Ael said, and studied to keep her face straight. "Well enough. Let me finish this, we don't have all day." She busied herself with the spanner again, sealing the last connections. "The other name, the long form: what does it mean?"

  "Nothing embarrassing, thank heaven." He cocked an eyebrow at her, and Ael wondered fleetingly whether he had stolen the expression from Spock, or Spock from him? "I looked it up once—it means 'supplanter,' or something like that."

  "The translator didn't render that word."

  "Someone who takes other people's rights or positions away from them."

  That made her put an eyebrow up. "You had best be careful with a name like that," Ael said. "It could lead you into trouble. . . . But then what other position than this one could you possibly want?"

  He shook his head. There was no other, and he knew it as well as she did. "And what mighty 'enterprise' was this ship named after?" she said.

  "Not one particular one. Just the spirit of enterprise in general. And there were many other ships with the same name, an old tradition. . . ."

  He trailed off when he saw that she was staring at him again. "Oh, no wonder," she said softly, more to herself than to him. "All of ch'Ríhan has wondered why this ship has been through so much trouble, so much glory. . . ."

  "Do enlighten me."

  It was sarcasm, but gentle; he genuinely didn't seem to know what she was talking about. "Ca—Jim, it's dangerous to name anything, a person, a vessel, after an entire unmitigated virtue. The whole power of it gets into the named one, makes it go places, do things too great for man. . . . Glory follows; but sorrow too. . . ."

  "That's usually the way with people, no matter what the ship's named." Still, he looked thoughtful.

  "Tell me your thougnt."

  "Funny, actually … There were other ships called Intrepid, you know. A lot of them got in trouble all the time. One of the most famous of them, the one in mothballs in New York Harbor—"

  "This translator is having problems. You have little round flying insects on Earth that are eating a ship named Intrepid? And you ask me about the danger of names?"

  "The ship," Jim said with careful dignity, giving Ael a dirty look that needed no translation, "is in honorable retirement. Preserved as a museum for many, many years. But she had a reputation among her crew for being a bad-luck ship. Gallant—but unlucky. They called her the 'Evil I.' Probably that won't translate; 'i' is both the name of the letter Intrepid's name starts with, and a sound-alike for the Anglish word for this." He pointed at his eye.

  "Evil eye, yes; I see the pun. We have a sign you make against it."

  "Yes. This old ship kept getting torpedoed, running aground—it was a wet-navy ship. All kinds of annoying things like that. Well, then comes our Intrepid, the first starship by that name, and it serves hardly more than a few years before being attacked and destroyed by a spacegoing creature, a kind of giant amoeba. And then the new Intrepid is built, and this happens to it. . . ." He waved vaguely in the general direction of Levaeri.

  Ael nodded. "You see the problem. Name a ship for the spirit of fearlessness, and it forgets to fear. A bad trait. Worse when the ship is full of Vulcans …" She checked the last connection, pulled the autopilot's door down over the opening again, and sealed it. Her glance up at Jim showed her a face that looked rather skeptical.

  "Not your belief, I see," she said, standing up carefully, both to keep from banging her head on the canopy and because of the ache in her back. "No matter. Let's send this poor creature on his way." She flicked switches on the consoles, looking with sorrowful longing at the familiar arrays, the screen that made her eyes hurt, the place where she had dropped the wrench once and scratched the flawless, shiny black front panel. It was a shame to send this ship out into the cold nowhere, to run alone, finally to run out of fuel and drift alone forever. But there was nothing else for it; the Enterprise's shuttlecraft, which Jim had offered, didn't have Hsaaja's range or speed. And both would be needed.

  "You always were good at throwing things away when you had to," Jim said from behind her. "I remember once—it was the Battle of alpha Trianguli, wasn't it?—you emptied out two whole Rihannsu cruisers and left them drifting there crewless in space—doubled up their crews with those of two other ships and ran away, while poor Captain Rihaul went crazy over two empty ships rigged on automatic and firing at her. You didn't even have to hurry to get away. . . ."

  There was rueful admiration in the tone, and something more; compassion, consolation. It sounded as if he understood what she felt.

  Bizarre idea. "Yes," she said, "I remember that. Come on, Jim, he's on the timer. Let's get out of here."

  They did, and on a screen in a briefing room near the hangar deck watched the sleek black ship rise up on its thrusters and glide out into the starry night. The hangar deck's doors closed, then, and Ael, standing there watching them, felt cold enough to shudder. It might have been a piece of her going away.

  It is. Why must I love things so? They pass away, one and all. . . .

  She straightened up. "We have another meeting, don't we, Jim?"

  "Preattack briefing," he said. "The chief of Security, the department heads, some other people. We'll keep it short… everybody needs rest, and we've only got about six more hours before we hit Levaeri sensor range."

  She nodded, and they left the little briefing room together, heading for the lift. "This business of names …" Jim said.

  "It's not names specifically. Just words. Even in your world, people have died for words. Sometimes they've died of them. One learns to be careful what one says in such a world. And like anything so powerful, like any weapon, words cut both ways. They redeem and betray—sometimes both at once. The attribute we name as a virtue may also turn out to be our bane. So we watch what we call things—in case we should turn out to be right."

  Jim looked thoughtful at that too, but this time Ael left the thought behind the look alone. "We treasure names," she said. "They're the most powerful words, and our favorites. After all, what makes you respond more immediately than your name being called? … As long as a Rihannsu has someone to speak his name, or even if it's written, or remembered, that person is real. Afterward … nothing. The shadows, some say. The place where the Elements are unmixed, more real than here, say others." She shrugged. "But either way, names are life. . . ."

  Jim appeared to be considering that for a moment as the lift doors closed in front of them. "You never did tell me what a 'bloodwing' is," he said at last.

  Ael laughed softly. "The name is hardly as noble as Enterprise's, I'm afraid … but then it's not as perilous, either. It's a flying creature we have on ch'Ríhan, and my House's sigil-beast. A big, slow, ugly scavenger, so big that it can't fly without a long takeoff run, and you can keep one captive just by putting a small fence around it. But once it's in the air, nothing can match it for speed or power of flight."

  The lift opened, and they walked out together toward Main Briefing. Coming down the hall toward them, there were Spock and McCoy. "Gentlemen," Jim said to them as they all headed into the briefing room, "you're early."

  "Spock and I wanted to take our time going over the roster for the strike force," McCoy said. He sat down at the table, Spock beside him, and began sorting through a pile of cassettes he had been carrying. Ael sat down opposite, so as to see their faces better; Jim sat beside her. For the same reason? she wondered briefly.

  "This is the best of the group," McCoy was saying as he dropped a cassette into one of the table's readout slots. "Low stress factors, good with weapons or with hand-to-hand. A lot of security people there—"

  "Bones," Jim said, "let's not be too picky. What we need here is numbers."

  "Numbers will not help us," Spock said, "unless they are the right ones. There is going to be very little margin for error in this operation, Cap
tain; but we are nevertheless taking care not to understaff you. Go on, Doctor."

  "Here's the recommended list, then. Abernathy, Ahrens, Athendë, Austin, Bischoff, Brand, Brassard, Burke, Canfield, Carver, Claremont. . . ."

  It went on for quite some time, a long list of unfamiliar names, and Ael leaned one elbow on the table and rested her head on her hand, bored. Not bored, exactly. What she had just done was beginning to catch up with her, as she had known it would … but this was no time for reaction. Nevertheless, it claimed her. How many more lives have I spilled to prevent those phantom billion deaths? she thought unhappily. How many Rihannsu went back to the Elements today, cursing my name, and Bloodwing's? Sooner or later this will be paid for. Sooner, I fear. . . .

  A horrible thought intruded itself on her slowly, and refused to go away. Suppose something has gone wrong with the researches at Levaeri—and instead of the Intrepid's disappearance being a sign of their readiness, it was instead a signal of a failure—something the Levaeri people did to cover their tracks in some manner, buy themselves time, hide the fact that there's something wrong? Suppose the mind-techniques never actually come to fruition … then what am I? A murderer, a traitor, many times over—and for nothing, not even in a good cause—not that the ends ever extenuate the means, at least as far as the Elements are concerned. What one does is what one does, and one answers for it. . . .

  "—Khalifa, Korren, Krejci, Langsam, Lee, Litt, London; Maass, Donald; Maass, Diane—"

  "I didn't hear 'Kirk' in there," Jim said rather sharply, bringing Ael back to the moment.

  Spock and McCoy looked at each other, all innocence. Ael saw that there was more teasing going on. "Mr. Spock, how did we miss that?"

  Spock looked mildly surprised. "Habit, no doubt. The Captain never goes anywhere. . . ."

  "… but just this once …"

  "… considering that the armed escort will be ample. . . ."

  "Gentlemen!"

  "Gotcha, Jim, McCoy said.

  Jim's smile took awhile about appearing, but finally managed it. "All right," he said. "I consider myself warned. But if you two are going to play 'mother hen,' don't either of you be surprised if you find me holding your hand."

  "Fine by me," McCoy said. "But watch it with Spock. People start the damndest rumors about this ship's crew, even without provocation. . . ."

  "Doctor, how does one hold hands with a mother hen?" Spock asked innocently.

  "Gentlemen!!"

  Ael kept her laughter to herself. "… Malkson, Matlock—"

  The door opened, and the Elements were apparently joking with them all, for in came Colin Matlock, the Security Chief, whom Ael remembered from the briefing on Inaieu. He was a tall, good-looking, darkvisaged young man, half frowning all the time, even when he smiled. At the moment he chiefly looked embarrassed. "Sorry, Captain, I'll come back later—"

  "No, take a seat, Mr. Matlock. We were going over the strike group. Go on, Bones."

  "Where was I?"

  "Matlock," Jim said, and then paused, looking slightly surprised. He glanced at Ael.

  She glanced back, keeping her face quite straight, and let him wonder. "… McCoy, Miñambrés, Morris, Mosley, Muller, Naraht—"

  "Too young," Jim said.

  "Jim, he's got to go out sometime," McCoy said.

  "And he's got an incredibly low anxiety level. As low as a Vulcan's, nearly."

  "But not enough experience—"

  Ael straightened. "Jim, is this that young Ensign Rock of yours?"

  Jim stared at her, then laughed. "Yes."

  "Of your courtesy, take him. I ask it."

  "Reasons?"

  "I have none that I can explain to you." Knowing what you would probably think about the Elements, from how little you think about names.

  "Hunch, Commander?" Spock said.

  "Yes," she said.

  "Well, I had one too," McCoy said. "Jim, ride with us on this one."

  Jim waved his hand. "All right. Go on."

  "Norton, Oranjeboom, Paul …"

  On and on it went. At last McCoy stopped, and he and Spock looked at Jim for his final reaction.

  "That's almost all of Security," Jim said, "and easily half the crew. . . ."

  "Captain," Spock said, "you were quite right about needing numbers."

  He looked over at Ael. "And Levaeri has about a hundred and fifty staff, you said."

  "Yes, Jim. But they have the advantage of the ground. They will know how to hold the place against us—how to set up ambushes, seal whole sections. The more people, and with the more expertise and firepower, the better. Our chief advantage lies in this, that the station is far inside Rihannsu space and will not be long on armaments."

  "How do they protect it, then, if the installation's such a high-security business?"

  "High-intensity deflector screens," Mr. Matlock said. "The specs the Commander's given us indicate shields of much higher power than any mobile facility, such as a starship, can support. We'll have our work cut out for us getting those down."

  "It will have to be subterfuge again, Captain," Ael said to him. "And there's worse to come; for as I told you, this is Battlequeen's patrol area. There is no telling when Lyirru t'Illialhae might turn up—all Elements preserve us from the happenstance. I much fear that LLunih will try to find Battlequeen and bring her here. In any case, we must not linger in this neighborhood, or stop to sample the wine."

  The door hissed open again. "The Rihannsu make wine?" someone said. It was Mr. Scott; and much to Ael's surprise, the scowl with which he traditionally favored her was only about half there.

  "Yes," she said, slightly puzzled. "It's not quite as ruinous to the throat as our ale is … but it's considerably stronger."

  "Stronger?"

  "We have some on Bloodwing," Ael said, still puzzled, but the look of anticipation on the man's face was impossible to miss. "Perhaps I might make you a gift of some to atone for what I did to your port nacelle. A hektoliter or so? …"

  Scott looked at Spock incredulously. "Why, that would be …"

  "Twenty-six point four one eight gallons," Spock said, with the slightest trace of amusement showing. "Or six thousand one hundred and two point four cubic inches at—what is your wine's specific gravity, Commander?"

  "Gentlemen …" Jim said wearily.

  "We can handle this later, Mr. Scott," said Ael.

  "Oh, aye!"

  More people began coming in—Sulu, Chekov, then Harb Tanzer and Uhura, until finally all the department heads were present. "Captain," said Mr. Matlock, "one thing before we start …"

  "Certainly."

  "Commander," the dark young man said to Ael, "what color are the halls in that station going to be?"

  "White, mostly, or bare-metal silver."

  "Captain," Matlock said to Jim, with a faintly ironic expression, "I don't think it would be wise for us to attempt a board-and-storm operation dressed in bright blue and black, or gold and black, or green and black—or especially orange and black. Everyone in the party would stand out like zebras in the snow; and as for my people, they might as well have targets painted on them."

  "Noted, Mr. Matlock. Order light gray battle fatigues for everybody."

  "Already done, sir," said Matlock, just a little sheepishly. "Quartermaster's working on it now."

  "Colin," Jim said, "I have great hopes for you. Just be careful."

  "What are these fatigues, Captain?" said Ael.

  "Light-colored coveralls and overboots."

  "Would you give orders that they also be provided for all of my people who will be going along?"

  Spock looked up from some report-pad he had been studying. "Captain, that is an excellent idea. It could very well confuse the station's complement of Rihannsu into thinking that our allies are not Rihannsu at all, but Vulcans attached to Starfleet … perhaps even Intrepid crew, escaped from confinement, or previously concealed."

  "They won't think that for long, Spock," McCoy said. "Remember,
Rihannsu and Vulcan culture have been diverging for thousands of years … and most of the subconscious cues buried in their respective kinesics, their 'body languages,' will also now be very different. A Rihannsu would know you weren't one, if he looked long enough, not from any physical divergence—but just from a wrong 'feel.'"

  "But none of them will be getting 'long looks,' Doctor, not if this works correctly," said Spock. "They will look, be briefly confused, be surprised—thinking that they are seeing Rihannsu. They will hesitate, possibly hold their fire briefly, in many cases. That will give our people an extra second to act. We cannot afford to be so proud that we throw away the advantage of surprise. Captain, I would recommend that every one of our different striking parties have at least one or two of Ael's people with it."

  "That's an excellent idea. So ordered. Ladies and gentle beings, let's get this started, shall we? Commander, please begin."

  She hunted among the switches before her on the table, made her connection to the ship's computer and brought up a three-dimensional graphic above the holography pad in the center of the table. There it hung before them all in spidery lines of light, the Levaeri V station: a big rectangular prism, about twice as long as it was wide, like a brick hanging in space. "This is the research facility," she said. "You can see that it is large and complex—about two miles long and a mile wide. Not all of it is in use at this time, to the best of my knowledge—the structure you see here is a standard Rihannsu design, purposely built larger than it needs to be, to make later additions simpler. There are potentially eighteen levels, each one much divided by corridors, as you can see. At present I believe only the 'outer' six levels to be staffed; much of the inner is empty, or occupied by computer core and therefore airless."

  "Commander," Scotty said, "how'd you come by this information?"

  "I was there about two years ago, your time," she said. "A VIP inspection tour, before the mind-technique research was moved there. The rest of the data comes from both the Praetorate and my family's spies in High Command. This project, for all its 'secrecy,' has been as leak-ridden as any other."