Star Trek Mirror Universe - The Sorrows of Empire

by David Mack

  He resolved to find out.

  “First the Halkans, then that business with Coridan,” whispered Montgomery Scott. “Now a peace treaty? It’s damned peculiar, that’s what it is.”

  Huddled with him were McCoy and Uhura. Their clandestine meeting was safe from eavesdropping in the dimly lit maintenance bay on one of the lowest decks in the secondary hull of the Enterprise. Scott himself had personally rid the compartment of listening devices and set up surveillance countermeasures in the bulkhead around it. There was no place on the ship more private than this.

  “I agree,” McCoy said, leaning forward over a scuffed workbench. “Spock’s behaved oddly ever since the Halkan mission, when he asked Captain Kirk not to destroy the planet.”

  Uhura got a ferocious look in her eyes. “Our duplicates,” she said. “From the other universe. You think they got to him.”

  “I don’t know, lass,” Scott said. “I can’t prove it.”

  McCoy’s tone was sharp. “You don’t have to prove it. Starfleet ordered Spock to subdue Elas and Troyius, but he went and made them stronger than ever—then secured their dilithium rights for himself. He disobeyed fleet orders, Scotty—you can assassinate him for that.”

  “Not without orders from Starfleet Command,” Scott said. “I keep filing reports, but nothing happens.”

  Pushing away from the workbench, Uhura sighed with anger and frustration. “It’s as if he’s protected by the gods,” she said. “He disobeys Captain Kirk, and nothing. Seizes the ship, and nothing. Defies Starfleet Command, and nothing. It’s like they’re afraid of him!”

  “Maybe they are,” McCoy said. “After that business with the Klingon cruiser, I’m starting to fear him a little myself.”

  Scott nodded. “Aye. You didn’t see it, lass. The whole ship was deserted, like the crew just up and vanished.” His stare became distant and creased with horror, and his voice, already quiet, hushed even lower. “Mess hall tables covered with plates of food half eaten, the gravy still fresh on the knives. A half-buffed pair of boots next to a bunk, the rag and the polish just lying on the deck. You could tell what every man on that ship was doing right before he vanished.” He looked Uhura in the eye. “And not one bloodstain. Not a single phaser burn, no carbon scoring, no sign of a struggle. Just pieces of the lives they left behind. I’ve never seen a weapon that could do that.”

  She looked skeptical. “Then what did it, Mister Scott? Magic? Fairies and elves? A genie from a bottle?”

  McCoy folded his arms and shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe the legends are true,” he said. “Even in medical school I heard about Vulcan psionics. Some people think they’re telepaths. Others say they can be clairvoyant or precognitive. Hell, I heard that in ancient times Vulcans could kill with a thought.”

  Uhura rolled her eyes. “And you really believe that?”

  “I don’t know what I believe,” McCoy said. “But what I know is three days ago a Klingon ship was stalking us in the Tellun system. Then, less than an hour after Spock found it, it went adrift, and we boarded it to find every last member of its crew gone without a trace.”

  Scott looked from McCoy to Uhura and lifted his brow imploringly. “You have to admit, Uhura, it seems a bit too convenient to be mere coincidence.”

  “But we have no proof,” she said. “We can’t send a message to Starfleet Command that says we think Spock is using ancient telepathic powers to crush his enemies.”

  “You’re telling me,” McCoy grumbled. “They’d probably give him a medal and call him a hero of the Empire.”

  They wandered apart in the shadows and remained silent for a long moment. “So,” Uhura finally said. “What are we going to do?”

  Scott shook his head. “There’s nothing we can do. We don’t have any proof Spock’s been compromised, and Starfleet hasn’t ordered us to take action.”

  “Maybe I could declare him mentally unfit,” McCoy said. “I could say his brokering a peace treaty was irrational, and—”

  “And he’d give you a half-dozen reasons why it’s completely logical,” Scott cut in. “You should know by now not to argue logic with Spock. It’s a losing proposition.”

  Uhura’s temper flared higher by the moment. “Listen to the two of you!” she hissed. Backpedaling away from them, she continued. “ ‘Nothing we can do. Losing proposition.’ You’re not men. Men would stand and fight! Men would eliminate Spock now, before his brand of appeasement spreads. But since neither of you seems willing to act like a man”—she drew her dagger from her boot—“I guess I’ll have to do it for you.”

  Scott tried to interpose himself between Uhura and the door, but he wasn’t quick enough. She cut him off and started backing out of the room. “Where do you think you’re going, lass? What do you think you’re going to do?”

  “What you should have done, Mister Scott,” she replied. “I’m going to kill Captain Spock before he—”

  An incandescent flash of light and a lilting, almost musical ringing filled the air around Uhura—and when it faded she was gone. No bloodstain. No phaser burns. No sign she’d ever been there at all.

  All Scott could do was stare at the abruptly empty space in the room where Uhura had stood. He tried to control his terror as he realized with a shudder the same fate might be about to befall him, as well.

  A glance to his right confirmed McCoy was harboring the same brand of paranoid musing.

  Their shared horror was interrupted by the shrill whistling note of the intraship comm, followed by Captain Spock’s baritone voice. “Spock to Mister Scott.”

  Trading fearful looks with McCoy, Scott moved to a nearby panel and thumbed open a secure, encrypted channel that would mask his location if anyone happened to be monitoring for such information. “Scott here.”

  “Mister Scott,” Spock said over the comm. “Please meet me on the bridge at once. We need to discuss an adjustment to the bridge duty roster.”

  A sick feeling churned in Scott’s gut. He knew what was coming, but the protocol of the situation demanded he play along as if he didn’t. “The duty roster, sir?”

  Spock’s voice was ominous. “Indeed, Mister Scott. … We appear to have an opening for a senior communications officer.”

  Rumors spread quickly on any starship, but some traveled faster than others. “I heard it directly from Doctor M’Benga,” Lieutenant Robert D’Amato said in a nervous whisper across the mess hall table. “And he heard it from Doctor McCoy himself.”

  “It’s just not possible,” Lieutenant Winston Kyle said, hunched over his soup. “People don’t just wink out of existence.”

  “Mister Scott saw it, too,” D’Amato said. “Just zap—and she was gone. No blood, no ashes, nothing.”

  “Big deal,” Kyle said. “A phaser on full power can do the same thing. Seen it a hundred times.”

  “But there weren’t any phasers in the room,” D’Amato said. “It’s been torn apart three times, nothing.”

  Kyle swallowed a spoonful of his soup and shook his head. “You ask me, I think Scott and McCoy killed her, then they made up this stupid story to cover their tracks.”

  Lieutenant Michael DeSalle, who had taken over for Mister Scott as chief engineer, put down his tray next to Kyle’s and joined the conversation. “Be careful what you say,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Captain Spock hears everything.”

  Rolling his eyes, Kyle asked, “Now you’re paranoid, too?”

  DeSalle shrugged. “Caution pays dividends on this ship. Always has. You know that.” He sliced through a rubbery-looking breast of chicken. “I heard Palmer got Uhura’s job. She’s keeping her distance from Mister Scott, though.”

  D’Amato shook his head. “I don’t know. Way I heard it, Scotty’s being set up.”

  “Forget ‘set up,’ he did it,” Kyle said. “Don’t you guys remember that flap on Argelius II? Three women dead, all evidence pointing at Scotty, then all the charges got dropped?”

  “Thanks to Kirk,” D’Amato said. �
�Like any of us would’ve gotten that kind of favor.”

  “That’s what I’m saying,” Kyle continued. “He has a history. And you know McCoy must have helped bury those forensic reports. So it’s a lot easier to believe Scott sliced up Uhura and disintegrated the evidence than to pin it on some kind of crazy Vulcan psychic mumbo-jumbo.”

  DeSalle took a sip of his drink and raised his eyebrows at Kyle. “Don’t be so quick to write off the Vulcans’ psionic powers. If they can do half the things I’ve heard, we’re lucky we outnumber them seven to one in the Empire.”

  “You ought to hear what M’Benga says about Vulcans,” D’Amato said. “He interned on Vulcan. Saw things you wouldn’t believe. He says they can read minds, plant delayed suggestions, even control weak minds from a distance. And in one of their oldest legends, the most powerful Vulcans used something called the Stone of Gol to kill people with just their thoughts—destroy people’s minds, even erase them from reality.”

  “Sounds like someone’s been hitting the Romulan ale again,” Kyle quipped to DeSalle.

  D’Amato’s temper rose to the surface. “You don’t believe me? Go ask M’Benga, he’ll tell you.”

  “Proving what?” Kyle said. “That he’s crazy, too?”

  “I think you’re forgetting something,” DeSalle said.

  Turning slowly to face DeSalle, Kyle asked, “What’s that?”

  A wan smile crept across DeSalle’s face. “The Kling-on cruiser,” he said. “Its entire crew missing, like they’d been beamed out of their seats into space.”

  “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Kyle said. “Can you really not think of a single way that could’ve been done without some kind of magical trick? Occam’s razor, guys. What makes more sense—that cloaked Romulan ships used transporters to kidnap and dematerialize the Klingon crew, or that Captain Spock thought about it really hard and made all the Klingons go poof?”

  “There’s no evidence the Romulans were anywhere near here,” D’Amato said.

  DeSalle added, “Or that they can use transporters while cloaked.”

  Kyle nodded. “Exactly. And there’s no evidence Vulcans have amazing psionic powers that can vaporize people. But which explanation sounds like it has a better chance of being true?” When neither DeSalle nor D’Amato replied after several seconds, Kyle shook his head in disgust, stood, and picked up his tray. “And you call yourselves men of science,” he grumbled, stalking away to turn in his half-eaten lunch.

  D’Amato and the chief engineer watched Kyle leave the mess hall, then they continued eating their own lunches. “Kyle’s story does actually make more sense,” D’Amato admitted.

  “I know,” DeSalle replied. He washed down another mouthful of chicken before he added, “But I still think M’Benga’s right.”

  Checking to make sure no one was eavesdropping, D’Amato whispered back, “So do I.”

  It didn’t take long for the stories to spread beyond the confines of the Enterprise. Missives sent via subspace radio carried word of Captain Spock’s eldritch powers throughout the Empire. Tales traded during shore leaves and transfers from crewman to crewman, and from officer to officer, inflated the story with each retelling. Within a few months, Spock’s powers were said to be on a par with those of ancient Vulcan myths. His name became synonymous with power, and the terror he inspired made his growing reputation for mercy, compromise, and restraint all the more beguiling. Why, many wondered, would a man who could destroy any foe choose to promote peace?

  That question now preoccupied Empress Hoshi Sato III. At the head of an oblong table, she presided over a meeting of her senior advisers in the war room of the imperial palace on Earth. Sheltered deep below the planet’s surface, the vast, oval chamber was illuminated solely by the glow of its massive display screens, which ringed the walls.

  “Grand Admiral Garth,” she said, eyeing the notorious flag officer from Izar. “Where is Captain Spock now?”

  Side conversations around the table fell away to silence as Grand Admiral Kelvar Leonard Garth straightened his posture and replied to the young monarch. “Your Majesty, Captain Spock and the Enterprise have just returned from their successful mission to the Rom-ulan Neutral Zone. They are en route to Starbase 10 with a captured Romulan bird-of-prey in tow.”

  “And the disposition of the Romulan crew?” Sato asked.

  Garth shifted slightly before he answered. “Eliminated, Your Majesty. The ship is empty.”

  A nervous murmur worked its way around the table. Empress Sato did not like the fearful tune this report was striking up among her cabinet. In a pointed manner she inquired, “By what means were they dispatched, Admiral?”

  Garth cocked his head nervously. “The boarding party was not able to determine that, Your Majesty.”

  “But the ship was manned when Enterprise made contact with it, yes?”

  The admiral nodded. “Yes, Majesty.”

  Sato nodded slowly. Pressing the question further would serve no purpose but to embarrass Admiral Garth and make herself seem insecure or fearful. She had ascended to the throne less than nine months earlier and was determined not to be perceived as weak. What would my first royal namesake have done? She adjusted her tactics to turn this scenario to her advantage—or, at the very least, to postpone the crisis until she had amassed sufficient political capital to entertain greater risks.

  “If memory serves, Admiral, similar circumstances attended Captain Spock’s capture of a Klingon cruiser just a few months ago, correct?”

  “Yes, Majesty,” Garth said.

  “And his family and heirs have secured the dilithium mining rights in the Tellun system?”

  Again, Garth dipped his chin and confirmed, “Yes, Majesty.”

  “Then it seems to me that Captain Spock is an officer of greater resources than we thought,” Sato proclaimed, projecting her voice to the far end of the table. “Admiral Garth, move Captain Spock to the top of the list for new Admiralty appointments.”

  “As you wish, Majesty,” Garth replied, “but granting him that kind of power could be dangerous.”

  Sato frowned. “Clearly, Spock is already dangerous,” she said. “Prudence would suggest we try to make an ally of him.”

  Apparently, Garth was unconvinced. “And if elevating his rank only fuels his ambition … ?”

  “In that case,” she said, her melodic voice laced with menace, “we shall make an example of him, instead.”

  2269

  6

  Vices of Authority

  “Welcome to Elba II, Captain Spock,” said Grand Admiral Garth, or, as he was more commonly known, Garth of Izar. The handsome, silver-haired flag officer gestured to his seductively attired female Orion companion. “This is my prime consort, Marta.” The green-skinned woman curtsied to Spock and flashed a grin that hinted at the madness lurking behind her eyes.

  Spock greeted Garth and his concubine with polite nods. “Thank you, Admiral. Allow me to introduce my wife, Lieutenant Commander Marlena Moreau.” He gestured at Marlena, who bowed her head at Garth before shooting a quick but poisonous glance at Marta.

  “A pleasure,” Garth said, returning Marlena’s slight bow. Gesturing at the dignitary-packed ballroom behind him, he said, “Your banquet awaits, Captain.”

  Garth and Marta led Spock and Marlena into the thick of the party. Among the guests crowded into the gilded room of the Elba II governor’s mansion were many high-ranking members of the Starfleet Admiralty, as well as a dozen or so local planetary governors. All were accompanied by their spouses or lovers, and several also were attended by one or more aides-de-camp.

  Marlena clutched Spock’s arm excitedly as they walked together. “Isn’t it magnificent?” she asked, her eyes darting from one splendor to the next.

  “Admiral,” Spock said to Garth, “I wish to thank you for personally officiating at my advancement ceremony. It is a great honor to be so recognized.”

  The Grand Admiral of Starfleet gave Spock a cordial slap on t
he back. “The honor is all mine, Captain. Your defeat of M-5 is almost as famous as my victory at Axanar.” Lowering his voice and cocking one eyebrow, he added with obvious admiration, “And might I say, your victory was twice as ruthless. Sacrificing Hood and Lexington was genius, Captain. If that oaf Wesley had thought of it, this would be his banquet instead of yours.”

  “Indeed,” Spock said. He let the grand admiral make the introductions as they circuited the cavernous room. The socially mandated exchange of pleasantries took significantly longer than an hour. As they reached the end, Marlena’s demeanor had devolved from weariness to boredom to outright surliness.

  It seemed fortunate, then, that the ceremony itself was brief and perfunctory. Standing with Spock in the center of the room, Garth said only as much as Starfleet regulations required for the promotion to be official, and then he pinned Spock’s new rank insignia on his uniform.