Star Trek: Vanguard: Storming Heaven

by David Mack

  “Theriault,” said Terrell, “run a tricorder scan.”

  The science officer fumbled with gloved hands to retrieve her tricorder from her suit’s thigh pocket, then she poked clumsily at its controls. A few moments later, she lowered it and shot a flustered look at Terrell. “No good, sir. Too much interference from the pulsar.”

  The first officer balled his right hand into a fist. “Meaning we’ll have to go in there blind. I was afraid of that.”

  Sorak returned to the doorway and signaled the rest of the team to follow him. Ilucci and the others unfastened their harnesses and clambered out of the rover. As they joined Sorak at the entrance, the Vulcan recon scout said to Terrell, “It appears to be deserted, but I think you and I should do a full search while Theriault and the Master Chief inspect the device.”

  “All right.” Terrell motioned for Sorak to head inside. “Lead the way.”

  They followed Sorak through a long, zigzagging trapezoidal corridor whose glistening surfaces were all ridged and scaled. It felt to Ilucci like passing through an organic orifice.

  Marching into the belly of the beast.

  They emerged from its far end inside the aphotic arena, which at first glance resembled a shallow crater of dark volcanic glass. Long tubes radiated from its center, like longitudinal markings on a map, guiding Ilucci’s eye immediately to the pit’s nadir. Forks of sapphire lightning zapped down from the overarching talon-towers, illuminating the spokes of a wheel-shaped onyx frame that held several thousand skull-sized, dodecahedronal crystals identical to the Mirdonyae Artifact secured inside Vanguard’s research lab. Unlike that captured prize, however, these crystals all were perfectly clear, rather than swirling with the eldritch energies of an imprisoned alien life force. Though Ilucci had no words to say why, the very sight of the alien contraption filled him with a sick sense of foreboding.

  As Sorak and Terrell split up and began conducting a thorough search of the upper tiers of the stadium’s interior, Theriault shouldered past Ilucci and hurried down the slope of the pit, on a beeline for the crystal wheel. Seeing her rush headlong into peril made Ilucci’s gut twist, reminding him that he’d never really purged himself of his infatuation with the impulsive young Martian woman. Her energetic curiosity was a key ingredient of her charm, and as an officer she was expected to lead by bold example, but he worried about her more than he could ever say. All he could do was pick up his feet and run after her.

  By the time he caught up to her, she was circling the thing, trying in vain to scan it with her tricorder. She cursed under her breath, but each profanity was perfectly audible over the comm channel. Ilucci cleared his throat, and she stopped abruptly. “Sorry,” she said. “But I can’t get much on this thing except straight-up visual scans, and even those are coming out pretty rough from all the radiation.” She pointed at the wheel’s hub, a thick trunk of onyxlike stone that appeared to be fused to the ground. “It looks pretty well anchored. I can’t imagine how we’ll ever get this thing out of here. Or fit it into the ship, for that matter.”

  He scrunched his brows. “Why the hell would we want to do that?”

  A grimace made her lips thin and disappear, then she mustered a weak and unconvincing smile. “Because we were ordered to recover anything we found and bring it back for analysis.”

  Ilucci raised his voice in anger as he turned and looked up toward the distant Terrell. “Nice of somebody to tell me!”

  “Chief,” Terrell said, sounding diplomatic but not the least apologetic, “we were under strict secrecy protocols. This whole operation’s been on a need-to-know basis.”

  The military cliché lit the fuse on Ilucci’s temper. “And why would I need to know, right? I mean, I’m only the goddamned chief engineer! Just the tool-pusher who has to figure out how to cut this thing free and turn it into cargo! Why tell me anything, right?”

  Theriault sounded oddly chipper. “Chief, it might not be that bad—look.” He turned back toward her. She was pointing at an empty nook on one of the wheel’s spokes. “This might be where one of the Mirdonyae Artifacts came from. Which suggests . . .” She stepped forward, clutched the nearest crystal on the wheel with both hands, and pulled it free with ease. Stumbling backward, she was filled with innocent glee. “Easy peasy!”

  He shouted, “What’s the matter with you? Are you crazy?” The impetuous redhead held out the artifact toward Ilucci. Staring at the glibly plucked forbidden fruit being proffered by the object of his unrequited affections, Ilucci thought of Adam in the Garden of Eden. He held up a hand and shook his head. “No, thanks. You keep it.”

  “Suit yourself, Master Chief.” She turned to look in Terrell’s direction. “Commander? I can’t get a reading on these things. What do you want me to do next?”

  The first officer and Sorak were both on the way down to regroup with Ilucci and Theriault. “Take that crystal back to the rover and find some way to pack it safely for the ride back,” Terrell said. “We’ll dump some of the ship’s cargo so we can use the empty crates to box up the other crystals. Master Chief, we’ll need both rovers to move them to the ship, so have your team get Ziggy ready to roll. We’ll come back with Threx, zh’Firro, Dastin, and Cahow.”

  Ilucci stared at the huge wheel, its spokes clustered with artifacts. “This could take days.”

  “I estimate it will take us four days and twenty-one hours,” Sorak said.

  “Then we’d best get started,” Terrell said. “The sooner we finish, the sooner we leave.”

  Ilucci plucked an artifact from its cradle, tucked it under his arm, and started walking back to the rover. He said nothing, but his gut told him this mission would not end well.

  12

  Captain Khatami jolted awake in her quarters at 0418, instantly aware that something was amiss. The drone of the Endeavour’s warp engines had pitched upward by an octave, and she had felt a subtle moment of disorientation as the ship’s inertial dampers lagged a few thousandths of a second behind the change. She threw aside her bedcovers and was crossing the room to her desk when the intraship comm split the silence with an electronic boatswain’s whistle, which was followed by the voice of the ship’s second officer and gamma shift commander, Lieutenant Commander Paul Norton. “Bridge to Captain Khatami.”

  A jab of her thumb on the comm’s controls made it a two-way conversation. “Khatami here. Report.”

  “That Tholian battle fleet we’ve been shadowing since it crossed the border just took off at high warp, destination unknown.”

  For several days, the Endeavour had maintained a close watch on the Tholian fleet, which until that moment had followed a course parallel to their territory’s border, albeit a few dozen light-years outside it, through the unclaimed sectors of the Taurus Reach. Khatami didn’t know what the sudden change meant, but she suspected it would not be good news.

  “Set a pursuit course, then wake up Stano and Klisiewicz. I’m on my way.” She closed the channel and dressed in a hurry without bothering to turn on the lights. In less than a minute she was out the door and squinting against the harsh light in the corridor while she pushed her unwashed sable hair out of her eyes and smoothed it with her hands. A pair of ensigns, one human and the other Vulcan, held the turbolift for her as they stepped out of it. She sprinted into the waiting lift, gripped its control handle, and guided it toward Deck 1.

  The doors parted with a pneumatic hiss, and she strode onto the bridge, which was as busy with comm chatter and routine shipboard activity in the middle of the night shift as it was during the day. Norton, a very tall and gangly man whose bald, narrow head reminded Khatami of a Crenshaw melon, vacated the command chair as he noted Khatami’s entrance.

  “The Tholians are still pulling away,” he said. “Warp seven and accelerating.”

  Moving with a grace that came from practice, Khatami stepped past Norton, pivoted on her right foot, and spun herself onto her chair. “Helm, increase to warp eight.”

  Ensign Sliney answered, “W
arp eight, aye.” The engines’ whining pitched up another note as the rail-thin Irish helmsman tested their limits.

  The turbolift door opened again, and from it emerged Commander Stano and Lieutenant Klisiewicz. The lieutenant relieved his gamma shift counterpart at the sensor post, while Stano situated herself on Khatami’s right, opposite Norton, who handed a data slate to the captain. “We’ve been monitoring their communications,” he said, “but they’ve maintained subspace radio silence. Not a peep in or out.”

  Khatami wondered aloud, “So, what changed?”

  “Whatever it was,” Stano chimed in, “it lit a fire under them. Wherever they’re headed, they’re in a hell of a hurry to get there.”

  Klisiewicz backed away from the sensor hood and shook his head. “It just doesn’t make sense. The Tholians are isolationists and xenophobes. They’re almost never this bold.”

  “Except when they’re on the warpath,” Stano said. “Remember Ravanar IV.” Her comment drew dour nods of remembrance from the other bridge officers. Three years had passed, but no one had forgotten the Tholians’ ambush and destruction of the U.S.S. Bombay.

  “I just hope we’re not being suckered off our patrol route,” Norton said. “This battle group is only a fraction of the armada we detected massing at the border. Who knows what the rest of those ships are doing while we’re chasing these?”

  Realizing that Norton’s concern was sensible, Khatami asked Klisiewicz, “What possible destinations lie within a week’s travel on the Tholians’ current heading?”

  “Too many to know which one might be their target. At least two dozen colony planets—some of them ours, some the Klingons’, and a few independents.” He seemed befuddled. “I’d say warn them all, but I can’t see what that’ll do besides start a panic.”

  Stano frowned. “I’d have to agree, Captain. Until we know what the Tholians are after, there’s not much point sounding the alarm. After all, the Taurus Reach is still mostly unclaimed space. They have as much right to haul ass through here at warp eight as we do.”

  “Be that as it may,” Khatami said, “I still think it’s worth sending up a red flag. Log the Tholians’ current speed and heading, and send that data on a priority channel to Vanguard.”

  Norton lowered his voice to ask, “What if that fleet attacks one of our colonies?”

  Khatami clenched her left hand into a fist. “Then we’ll have to step in.”

  “But, Captain, they outnumber us twelve to one.”

  A rakish smile. “What? Are you worried it won’t be a fair fight?”

  His eyes widened, and he cocked his head nervously. “A bit, yes.”

  “So am I,” Khatami said, “but I won’t just wait around while they look for more ships to even the odds. If twelve is all they’ve got, that’s their problem.”

  Unshaven and out of uniform, Xiong bolted from the turbolift, crossed the operations center at a quick step, and ignored the shocked protest of Nogura’s yeoman as he passed her and entered the admiral’s office without breaking stride. T’Prynn and Nogura turned away from the large tactical display on the wall to face Xiong as he joined them. “Admiral? You said it was an emergency.”

  “It is.” Nogura motioned for Finneran to stand down. “Lock my door, Ensign.”

  “Aye, sir,” Finneran replied as the door slid closed.

  Glancing at the admiral’s icon-covered star map of the Taurus Reach, the nearly breathless Xiong asked, “What’s going on, sir?”

  “The Tholians know about Eremar,” Nogura said in his sepulchral rasp.

  Dread became a swirl of nausea in Xiong’s gut. He looked at T’Prynn. “Are we sure?”

  The Vulcan woman pointed at a cluster of orange icons shaped like slender isosceles triangles. “The Endeavour is pursuing twelve Tholian warships on a heading that leads directly to Eremar. The battle group is proceeding at what we believe is their maximum warp factor. We need to assume the Tholians know about the Tkon artifacts.”

  Xiong knew as well as T’Prynn and Nogura did that the Tholians were going to Eremar not to research the ancient artifacts but to obliterate them—and that they would not hesitate to destroy the Sagittarius and her crew in the process. He struggled to rein in his temper as he asked T’Prynn, “How did the Tholians find out about Eremar?”

  “I suspect the Orion slave-mistress Neera sold the information to the Tholians after the Omari-Ekon left Vanguard, but before it met with its . . . unfortunate accident.”

  The admiral looked puzzled. “I thought Reyes wiped that data from the Omari-Ekon’s databanks after he copied it.”

  “He did. As I feared, Neera must have realized the data’s potential value and kept a secret backup. In retrospect, it’s regrettable that we didn’t impound her vessel, but Starfleet regulations and political considerations made that . . . impractical.”

  Nogura grimaced. “The damage is done. So, what are we going to do about it?”

  “We warn the Sagittarius,” Xiong said. “Then we send the Endeavour to help them.”

  “It might not be that simple,” T’Prynn said.

  “Why not?”

  “If we’re mistaken about the Tholians’ destination, sending a warning to the Sagittarius might alert them to our operation, and instigate exactly the sort of incident we wish to prevent.”

  Her icy detachment stoked Xiong’s anger. “I think that’s a risk we ought to take.” He pointed at a huge cluster of triangular orange icons massed along the border of the Tholian Assembly’s declared territory. “The Tholians are primed for a major offensive. I think the armada waiting at their border is meant as a warning. They’re telling us not to mess with the battle group they’ve sent to Eremar.” Waving his hand at the rest of the map, he added, “If they were planning to invade the Taurus Reach, they’d all have come across at once, right?” Neither T’Prynn nor Nogura answered, so he continued. “If that fleet’s not heading to Eremar, where the hell is it going?” Fed up, he folded his arms. “We need to move on this before it’s too late.”

  The admiral’s aspect was grave. “Mister Xiong, I know how much you have invested in your research of the Shedai and now the Tkon artifacts, and you’ve made it clear to us more than once how vital it is to protect the unique alien antiquities—”

  “Screw the artifacts,” Xiong snapped. “I’m talking about saving our people. If the relics have to burn to get our ship back in one piece, so be it.”

  His outburst seemed to catch Nogura by surprise. It certainly had come as a shock to Xiong himself. Until that moment, he hadn’t realized how much guilt he’d harbored over the death of his surrogate big sister, Bridy Mac. In many ways, the crew of the Sagittarius were like a second family to Xiong, and he couldn’t bear the thought of losing any more of them—not in the name of science, security, or anything else.

  He hung his head. “Sorry, sir. I guess I got a bit carried away there.”

  “Perhaps,” Nogura said. “But that doesn’t mean you were wrong.” He looked at T’Prynn. “I think Mister Xiong’s point has merit. All the evidence says the Tholians are going to Eremar. At this point, I think we should assume our mission’s secrecy is fatally compromised.”

  T’Prynn was silent for a moment, then her brows arched upward. “I concur. Given the facts in evidence, I suggest we direct the Endeavour to take any steps short of preemptive attack to enable the crew of the Sagittarius to abort their mission and escape. While the recovery of the Tkon artifacts should remain a mission objective, I believe it should now be considered secondary to the safe return of our ships and personnel.”

  “Then we’re all in agreement,” the admiral said. “Time to bring our people home.” He walked to his desk as he added, “Lieutenant T’Prynn, get word to the Endeavour, and take every precaution to keep the contents of that message encrypted.”

  “Aye, sir.” The Vulcan turned to leave, Nogura sat down in his chair, and Xiong stood alone in front of the star map, feeling as if he must have missed something.r />
  “Hang on. What about warning the Sagittarius? That’s our first priority, right?”

  Nogura’s face slackened, and with a look he delegated the task of answering Xiong to T’Prynn. “We have no means of warning the Sagittarius crew,” she said. “Even if they hadn’t been ordered to maintain subspace radio silence for the duration of their assignment, their flight plan indicates their destination lies inside the emission axis of a pulsar. Until they’re clear of that high-energy phenomenon, we will be unable to reach them via subspace radio.”

  “In other words,” Xiong said, “they’re deaf, dumb, and blind, and they have no idea what’s about to hit them.”

  T’Prynn averted her eyes from Xiong’s. “Correct.”

  Too angry to respond, Xiong headed for the door and hoped his friends’ homecoming wouldn’t be in the form of a memorial service.

  13

  Vivid hues of patriotism coursed through the communal thoughtspace SubLink of the Tholian battle cruiser Toj’k Tholis, and its commanding officer, Tarskene [The Sallow] telepathically shared his own colors of confidence with his crew. As the leaders of the attack group that had been dispatched to rid the galaxy of a dangerous abomination, it was absolutely essential that he and his crew project unity and assurance to their caste-peers on the other ships of their fleet. At the moment of action, he could brook no hesitation, no dissent. All must act as one.

  Brightening his mind-line to convey an aura of authority, he inquired of tactical officer Lostrene [The Sapphire], Range to target?

  Lostrene momentarily attuned herself to the ship’s sensing units, then she responded, Six-point-three-one million and closing. She relayed to the SubLink a kaleidoscopic array of images she had witnessed through the ship’s systems—an irregular network of artificial objects in a stationary formation around the pulsar, and a connective web of energies linking them all to one node that lay directly in the path of the neutron star’s radiation emissions.