“Interesting,” T’Pring said. “An emblem of learning, yet also of determination to strive against all obstacles—no matter the cost. It says much about your Federation.”
“Hm. And Muroc?”
“The hero of Paan Mokar. When the Andorian occupiers murdered Ambassador Soval during peace talks, Muroc escaped and waged a guerrilla campaign against the occupiers that eventually succeeded in driving them off. He went on to become a fleet commander in the invasion of Andoria and proved instrumental in its conquest.”
Spock permitted himself only a raised eyebrow. “Indeed.”
Watley was looking around at the personnel who passed them in the Vulcan ship’s corridors, noting that some of them bore unusually pronounced foreheads and showed less emotional restraint than the Vulcans. “Are those . . . Romulans?” she asked T’Pring in a hushed voice.
“Yes,” the subcommander replied. “Is this a difficulty for you?”
“No, no,” Watley said with poorly feigned lightness. “It’s just . . . I wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.”
Spock saw nothing to be gained by dissembling. “In this continuum, the Romulan and Federation governments have a hostile relationship.”
“One which the Romulans instigated, no doubt. Have no fear,” T’Pring told Watley. “Our Romulans were just as bellicose, once. They even infiltrated Vulcan and encouraged us to adopt a more martial value system, in order to prepare us for conquest and assimilation. But their efforts succeeded too well. When they attempted to conquer us . . . we conquered them instead.”
“I see,” Spock said, though at this point he was unconvinced that the distinction was relevant. These Vulcans might still embrace logic, but in many respects they were as martial as their Romulan offshoots. And that warrior’s discipline combined with Vulcan logic and intellect might well make them more dangerous than the Romulans had ever been.
He wondered if that was the only reason he continued to be so agitated by T’Pring’s proximity. He hoped it was.
U.S.S. Enterprise
Stardate inapplicable
“Force-field coils overloaded! Forward deflectors at twenty-two percent, starboard at forty-eight! Phaser banks four and five off line!”
“Hard to starboard! Target the lead ship!”
The Enterprise had managed to elude the Vulcans for just over two days before it came under attack again. A fleet of ringships intercepted the vessel a parsec antispinward of Coridan, a system that in this timeline was firmly under Vulcan rule. Kirk had tried to hail them and talk things out, but the Vulcans had fired preemptively, their only transmission a demand for unconditional surrender. Given the belligerence of these Vulcans, and the disquieting implications of their use of Romulan weaponry, Kirk wasn’t about to risk putting his crew at their mercy, so there had been no choice but to retreat. But they’d adapted to Sulu’s maneuver, bringing too many ships to allow the Enterprise to break for the straightaway.
“Sir! Torpedo incoming from starboard!” Chekov cried.
“Roll sixty degrees starboard!” Sulu ordered Ledoux. It would mean taking the hit on the dorsal saucer grid, dangerously close to the bridge, but they had little choice. Their phaser power and coverage were inadequate to detonate all the plasma bolts.
But then Uuvu’it cried, “Captain! New ships incoming! They’re firing on the plasma bolts!”
“And on the Vulcans!” Chekov added a moment later. “The ringships are breaking formation!”
“Science officer, can you identify those ships?” Kirk asked.
“Consistent with Andorian design,” Uuvu’it said. “But much of the technology seems almost . . .” He hesitated.
“Incoming hail, sir,” Uhura said.
“Onscreen.”
A leering humanoid face appeared on the view-screen—swarthy, thick-bearded, with sharp, stained teeth . . . and a heavy ridge of bone down the center of his forehead. Uuvu’it completed his sentence, unnecessarily. “Klingon.”
“I am Captain Tunzos of the Klingon-Andorian Compact,” the Klingon intoned, grinning. “I don’t know who you are, but if the Vulcans don’t like you . . . then I do.”
The Klingon’s grin widened, and Kirk feebly tried to muster one in return.
Klingon-Andorian Compact Regional Capital, Chasav III
Stardate inapplicable
It took two days for the Compact armada to tow the damaged Enterprise to its spacedock facilities at Chasav—the Andorian name for the Regulus system. Any indication of Andorian influence in the KAC was reassuring to Kirk. True, they were a warrior culture themselves—particularly in this timeline, where they’d been hardened by a century of conflict with Vulcan—and they seemed to mesh well with the Klingons here. But at least Kirk knew that in his own history, the Andorians were an honorable people who had learned to trust and cooperate with the other races of the Federation, including their onetime enemies the Vulcans.
Indeed, although Tunzos was the battle leader of the KAC armada, it was under the overall command of an Andorian admiral, Revethanis ch’Naras. According to the Enterprise’s computer banks, the Revethanis ch’Naras of the home universe was a minor regional official in the Sheineth Province on Andor, unremarkable but known for his reliability. Kirk hoped this ch’Naras was as trustworthy, for he had no choice but to answer the admiral’s probing questions honestly. He was hesitant to give the KAC answers about the Enterprise’s true origins or access to its technology, which was more advanced in many respects than the Compact’s systems—the fruits of a century and more of cooperation and technological cross-pollination among dozens of Federation worlds. But the Vulcans’ attacks had left the ship in dire need of repairs, and the Compact’s assistance was the only option available. So it was better to be upfront about where the Enterprise and the humans aboard her came from, rather than try to hide it and risk their tenuous allies’ anger if the deception were discovered.
At first, ch’Naras and Tunzos had been skeptical of Kirk’s tale. Fortunately, thanks to the cosmopolitan leanings of the erstwhile Captain Decker, the refitted Enterprise boasted the most diverse multispecies crew currently in service, including several Andorian personnel. As it happened, one of them, security crewman Shantherin th’Clane, was the quantum double of a squad leader aboard one of ch’Naras’s own ships, and seeing th’Clane brought face-to-face with himself had quite an impact on everyone involved. Another, sociologist Pasthemon sh’Levram, had a counterpart who had been married to the cousin of one of ch’Naras’s fleet engineers prior to her death in a Vulcan raid two years earlier. The engineer had been to her funeral and had no doubt of her death. Ch’Naras was left with no choice but to accept Kirk’s astonishing tale.
And so the Enterprise and her crew came to Regulus—rather, Chasav—as honored guests, with ch’Naras offering the full benefits of the planet’s orbital drydock facilities. That night, once the most urgent repairs had been seen to, Kirk and his command crew were invited to a celebration in their honor, courtesy of ch’Naras and the planetary governor, a Klingon who introduced himself as Barak, son of Krase. To Kirk’s surprise, he recognized Barak’s name and face; the Captain Barak of his reality had commanded the I.K.S. Amar, lead ship of the battle group that had confronted V’Ger on its passage through Klingon space. It had been Barak’s transmissions, intercepted by the Epsilon IX listening post, that alerted Starfleet to V’Ger’s approach to Earth and enabled the Enterprise to launch in time to intercept it. In a way, the now-departed Captain Barak had been an unwitting hero of the Federation. Kirk hoped that this reality’s Governor Barak would be as helpful.
At the very least, the party they threw looked to be diverting, if raucous. Kirk had left Sulu in command of the Enterprise, wanting his ship to remain in trusted hands, and of course Scotty had refused to leave his baby while she was injured. So Kirk was accompanied by Doctor McCoy, Uhura, and Chekov. The security chief had brought th’Clane along as backup, figuring it was a good idea to have an Andorian in the group. McCoy had bro
ught his own backup in the form of Reiko Onami, the ship’s xenopsychologist. Although the two of them had clashed vehemently at first, McCoy had appreciated the dainty petty officer’s willingness to ignore the niceties of status and seniority and tell him in no uncertain terms when she thought he was wrong—particularly when she’d turned out to be right and forced him to confront and rectify a serious limitation in his knowledge of nonhuman medicine. Since then, he’d practically adopted her as a junior McCoy, a fellow gadfly whom he trusted to keep him honest the way he kept Kirk and Spock honest—namely, by pestering and challenging them with a gleeful disregard for rank, tact, or propriety. Kirk had been wary about bringing her down to Chasav for that very reason, but McCoy had reassured him: “Reiko grew up on a planet where she and her folks were the only humans around. She gets along better with aliens than with her own species.”
Indeed, Onami’s deceptively delicate features were as happy and bright as Kirk had ever seen them as she took in the sensory tumult of the governor’s private reception hall—though “barroom” was more the word. The garishly decorated hall was crowded with noise, bodies, and aromas both enticing and pungent. Most of the occupants were Klingon and Andorian, but Kirk saw others as well: Elasians, Troyians, Nausicaans, Lorillians, Aulacri, Suliban. Orion and Risan females, clad only in smiles, jewelry, and the occasional diaphanous veil, danced onstage or offered drinks, food, and other services to the guests. Ahead of Kirk, Captain Tunzos laughingly slapped an Orion serving girl’s bare green rump and commanded, “Get me some meat!”
McCoy looked embarrassed on Onami’s and Uhura’s behalf, but Uhura maintained a practiced neutrality while Onami seemed to be enjoying herself. “Don’t worry,” she whispered to the others. “Orion females are a lot more in control of themselves than it appears.” When the serving girl returned with a large platter of assorted meats for Tunzos, Onami joined him in tearing into them with gusto, and soon they were laughing together as the Klingon captain regaled her with accounts of his heroism in something called the War of Kentin.
Kirk found it more difficult to dine amiably with Klingons, and Barak noticed this as the evening went on. “And do you, Captain Kirk, have any great tales of combat with the Klingons of your universe?” he eventually asked. The captain fidgeted, and Barak gave a snarling grin. “No cause for shame, Captain. We are conquerors. We grow to survive, in any universe. That you stand against our time-spawned brothers to defend your territory does you honor. No doubt we would have warred with the Andorians as well had not the Vulcans given us common cause. That is the way of things. Neighbors fight for power, for territory, unless they have a common foe to join against.”
“On Earth,” Uhura said, “we once had a philosopher who believed the same thing. His name was Kautilya.”
“Your Earth, or ours?” ch’Naras asked.
“He lived long enough ago that it would have been both. But here, his writings would have been lost along with the rest of humanity’s lore and knowledge,” she went on sadly. “Perhaps we could share some of that forgotten lore with you as a gift, to thank you for your repairs.”
Kirk smiled at her, appreciating the sentiment—and understanding what drove it. Beyond any practical interest in deal-making with these allies of convenience, Uhura must share his anguish at the notion of a reality where humanity had effectively ceased to exist, where its great works had crumbled to dust, unknown to the rest of the galaxy. True, the Vulcans may have gleaned some fragments in their few clandestine surveys, but given Commander Sekel’s complete ignorance of humanity’s existence, any such information was probably buried deep in their databases, unknown to all but a few scholarly specialists.
“There is something more you can offer us,” Admiral ch’Naras said, taking in all the humans’ gazes. “You offer hope. You offer the vision of an Andor that is free.” He focused on th’Clane. “I envy you, having known such a world, having walked its streets and known you were a free Andorian. Tell me of it.”
Th’Clane happily regaled ch’Naras with tales of his life in Andor’s capital city Laibok, dwelling particularly on the times he’d spent in his favorite park as a child. He broke off when he realized ch’Naras was weeping. “Forgive me,” the admiral said. “I am moved by what you offer. Here, we have no such simple freedoms to enjoy. The people of my Andor have languished under Vulcan occupation for over a century. A puppet government offers a mockery of home rule while collaborating in the Vulcans’ repression—helping their so-called Protectorate enslave our people, ‘civilize’ them with their barren, ruthless logic, and imprison any who resist.” His voice trembled with bated fury.
Young th’Clane was dumbstruck. “That’s . . . hard to imagine,” he finally said. “The Vulcans I know . . . they would never tolerate that.”
The admiral studied the security crewman a moment longer, then spoke to Kirk. “That offers hope as well, Captain. The knowledge that the Vulcans of your reality are . . . friends to the Andorians.” It seemed a struggle to get the sentence out. “As difficult as that is for us to imagine, I must accept that it is a truth in your world.”
“It is,” Kirk said, “though it wasn’t always that way. In our world, the Vulcans and Andorians had a history much the same as yours until a hundred and twenty years ago. But the invasion of Andor that happened in your world was avoided in ours. The Vulcans found they were being duped into a manufactured war by one ambitious ruler, and they turned away from that path. And before long, the Vulcans and Andorians were able to put aside their past disputes and work together for the common good.
“So I agree, Admiral. If it happened in our world, there’s hope that it could still happen here . . . if both sides are willing.”
Ch’Naras’s antennae tilted skeptically. “Perhaps one day. But as things stand, the Vulcans have no incentive to come to the table. It would take much to change that. What I perceive, Captain, is a more immediate hope that your Vulcans can offer.”
Kirk furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”
The admiral nodded toward th’Clane. “As we have seen, many of the same individuals live in both universes. So surely many of the cruel Vulcans of this world must have more decent counterparts in yours. As th’Clane said, your Vulcans would not stand for what their twins have done here.” Ch’Naras sat forward, speaking with growing intensity. “If we could establish a regular exchange between universes, then we could recruit the counterparts of key Protectorate officials. Use them to replace their doubles, infiltrate the Vulcan government and military as sleeper agents. With their help we could undermine the Protectorate from within and ultimately bring about its destruction!”
“Qapla’!” Tunzos cried. “More meat!” He slapped Onami on the back in celebration, but the formerly jovial xenopsychologist was now staring at ch’Naras as though concluding he was in dire need of her professional services.
Before Onami—or McCoy, who looked just as dumbstruck—could blurt out something that would get them eviscerated, Kirk tried taking a more diplomatic tack. “I’m sorry, Admiral, but that’s out of the question. The laws of the Federation forbid us from taking sides in a military conflict. If we can establish ongoing contact, we’d be glad to provide humanitarian aid, or serve as a neutral mediator between the Compact and the Protectorate, help you end this conflict peacefully. Just the example we can provide of Vulcan-Andorian cooperation and its benefits could do a great deal to convince the Protectorate of the logic of making peace.” He shook his head. “But military or intelligence aid is out of the question.”
“Besides,” McCoy finally spoke up, “you can’t ask random Vulcans to turn spy just because they have important counterparts over here. What if they’re schoolteachers or artists? What if they just had babies? Not to mention that a lot of Vulcans on our side are pacifists.”
“Those problems can be surmounted,” ch’Naras insisted. “Given what is at stake, they must be!”
“Please understand, Admiral,” Kirk told him. “We’ll do everythin
g we reasonably can to help. It’s the least we can do to repay you for your aid and hospitality. But what you ask is not something we can legally or ethically provide.”
“Think carefully, Kirk,” Governor Barak said. “Your only way home is on a planetoid in Vulcan hands. By now it is surely under heavy guard and study. And who knows when they might accidentally trigger another jump, and send it forever beyond your reach? Without our aid in retaking the planetoid . . . you will never return home.”
“And remember,” Tunzos added, “we are Klingons. We are generous hosts to those who share common cause with us.” The Orion serving girl arrived with another platter of meats. “But if we aren’t given what we want—we simply take it!” He grabbed the serving girl’s arm and pulled her roughly onto his lap, making her squeal and giggle. “Remember that,” Tunzos told him with an amiable, sharp-toothed grin, “when you return to your powerful starship . . . which is in our spacedock . . . surrounded by many of our ships.” He used the hand that wasn’t pawing the Orion to grab a large, dripping drumstick and shove it into his mouth.
Kirk exchanged concerned looks with his crewmates, then carefully rose. “With your permission, Admiral, Governor, Captain, I think we should return to our ship. You’ve . . . given us a lot to think about.” Ch’Naras nodded gravely, looking uneasy about the threats the others had made, but determined to let nothing stand in the way of his quest. Barak simply gave a confident grin.
“Mm,” Tunzos said. “Good meat.”
X
U.S.S. Hypatia
Stardate 7585.3
By their third day working together on the confluence drive in the Muroc’s hold, it was clear to Spock that spending time with Subcommander T’Pring was becoming a problem. He found himself distracted by sensory input from her, focusing on the fullness of her voice or the suppleness of her musculature when he should be concentrating on the analysis of the Vedala drive. It was becoming increasingly difficult for him to concentrate on his thoughts. His emotions had become more volatile, harder to control, than at any time since the first days after his meld with V’Ger.
Star Trek: DTI: Forgotten History Page 18