by Various
“Do not let my appearance fool you,” Staal said. “I am not human.” He held up his left forearm, and T’Pol noted the small, thin gash just below his wrist that now dripped a line of dark green blood. His attacker’s blade had come closer than she had first thought, after all.
“Perhaps you failed to note his fighting skills, Sevor,” T’Pau said. “Have you ever seen a human demonstrate such proficiency with a lirpa? He has also mastered the nerve pinch, another skill Terrans lack.” Indicating her surgically altered companion, she added, “This is Staal, a member of the resistance cell that once operated out of ShiKahr.” Looking to T’Pol, she added, “That is, until the cell was eradicated by Vulcan security forces loyal to the Empire.” To Staal, she said, “Of course, that massacre occurred while you were embedded among the Terrans. For a time, it was believed that you had turned against us.”
T’Pol did her best to hide her surprise at this revelation—the apologetic look in Staal’s eyes told her all she needed to know.
He had been a rebel spy all along.
Staal cooly countered. “Regardless of what you know about me, there is much you do not know about T’Pol. She was imprisoned by the humans for betraying the Empire, for sabotaging their new warship, and nearly destroying it.”
T’Pol watched as the former minister’s eyes widened—if only slightly—as she listened to Staal. T’Pau turned back to face her; there was no mistaking her piqued interest. “Fascinating, if irrelevant. The war is over.”
“I do not understand,” T’Pol said.
Stepping away from her, T’Pau folded her arms across her chest as she began to pace the cave’s perimeter. “The warship from the future has added an element to the war which we cannot overcome.” She eyed T’Pol again. “The new empress has made no secret of her plans to use Defiant to destroy us. Imperial broadcasts are flooding subspace, telling how the Terran Empire will flourish well into the next century, conquering worlds throughout the galaxy with ships just like the one she plans to send against us.”
“From what I have heard,” T’Pol replied, “you would never accept defeat so easily.”
T’Pau shook her head. “It is simple logic. Our spies within the Empire have confirmed the information contained within the Defiant’s memory banks—history records the Empire’s victory. Vulcan, Tellar, Andoria, the Orions, and numerous other worlds are doomed.” Her pacing brought her back to stand before T’Pol once again. “The war is lost, but we may yet survive. We will leave Vulcan, leave the quadrant if necessary, traveling far beyond Earth’s influence, and begin anew. Perhaps, one day we will be able to challenge the Empire’s tyranny.”
Interesting, T’Pol decided. While she had heard of the Empire’s ongoing propaganda campaign, she still was surprised to learn just how effective the disinformation efforts had been. As she listened to the resignation in T’Pau’s voice, T’Pol also heard the reluctance to admit defeat, to scurry away into some dark corner of space. The once-proud Vulcan minister obviously was not satisfied with the actions she must take, but had accepted them as necessary for preserving the lives of thousands of followers who had pledged allegiance to the pursuit of freedom.
The needs of the many—as always—outweighed the needs of the few.
“Sato is lying,” Staal said. “The future she describes for the Empire is fiction.” T’Pol watched as her companion looked to her, his gaze locking with her own. “Tell her the truth.”
“The Defiant is from the future,” T’Pol told her, “but it is not from our future. The vessel traveled here from a parallel reality—a universe where the Empire never existed. The Empress is a scheming opportunist and a liar—the outcome of this war is no more known to her than it is to us.”
The diminutive Vulcan woman absorbed this, intrigued, but not entirely convinced. “The Empire is still in possession of that vessel. We cannot defeat it.”
T’Pol reached into her clothing—Sevor readied his lirpa, believing she may be moving for a hidden weapon. The former minister raised her hand, and Sevor lowered his blade.
T’Pol removed the data card from her clothing—the same card she had forced Tucker to hand over many months ago. “With this, you will be able to destroy Defiant—and defeat the Empire.”
The once-respected minister looked at her again. T’Pol saw renewed determination in her eyes. “I must know the truth,” she said. Stepping closer, she held up her right hand. “There can be no doubt.”
“I understand,” T’Pol said.
She felt the warmth of the woman’s fingers as they pressed to the katra points on her face. Almost instantly, T’Pol was aware of the initial tentative probing of another mind, seeking out her own.
“My mind to your mind,” T’Pau said, her voice low. “My thoughts to your thoughts.”
Soon, T’Pol knew, the truth would be known.
Then the war would begin anew.
3
I n every conceivable manner, this ship is extraordinary.”
Shran’s voice echoed in Defiant’s spacious engineering section, which to Hoshi seemed to pulse with the very energy being channeled through the starship’s massive warp engines. As she moved deeper into the cavernous chamber, nodding to various members of the engineering staff who had come to attention and rendered salutes as she walked past, the Empress once again found herself in awe of the restrained fury at the heart of this starship.
“With her at the forefront of the fleet,” said Travis Mayweather, who walked beside Hoshi, “the rebels won’t stand a chance.”
The Empress regarded the tall, dark-skinned man who to her looked most dashing in his tailored Starfleet uniform replete with captain’s insignia. “Captain, is your vessel ready for battle?”
“At your command, Your Majesty,” Mayweather replied, his confidence reigned in just enough to avoid appearing arrogant. “Defiant and her crew pledge eternal loyalty to the Empire.”
Stopping her slow stroll across the floor of the engineering room, Hoshi turned to face the young captain, her right eyebrow rising as she smiled. “Do you include yourself in that pledge, Captain?”
There was a momentary flash of irritation in Mayweather’s eyes, but he suppressed it with surprising speed, offering a succinct nod. “With my life, Your Majesty.”
Hoshi knew that the former MACO sergeant—for a time, at least—had felt betrayed by her recent decision to take Shran as her husband. No doubt he also was disappointed by the loss of the benefits and pleasures that had come during what he likely considered an all too brief tenure as her consort. Still, his ego was soothed to some degree by her decision to give him command of Defiant. He answered solely to her rather than the Admiralty, and Hoshi figured she had no reason to worry about Mayweather’s allegiance, for the moment.
Her attention was drawn to Shran as the Andorian stepped toward one of the room’s few bulkheads that was not packed with all manner of status monitors or instrumentation. Instead, the wall panel was adorned with a depiction of the planet Earth impaled on the double-edged blade of a sword—the symbol of the Terran Empire—rendered in a monochromatic dark blue that contrasted sharply with the pale gray surface of the bulkhead.
“This vessel is a wondrous testament to the Empire’s continued dominance in the decades to come,” Shran said as he rubbed his hand lightly over the wall panel and the symbol emblazoned upon it.
Hoshi smiled in response to the general’s all but poetic observation. Among the first secret orders the Empress had given was for the imperial crest to be applied to all interior doors, as well as prominent locations throughout the ship. She also had ordered the modification of the vessel’s exterior markings so that they more closely resembled those of ships currently in service to Starfleet.
One of the more complicated matters was Defiant’s historical database. She had seen first-hand how its revelations could turn loyal Starfleet officers against the Empire. If the knowledge it contained were to become public—if the species of this universe learned o
f the “peaceful Federation” that existed, or will exist, in the parallel reality—the Terran Empire would be finished. Hoshi took the only action a responsible leader could take—she secured an archival copy for herself, then used a tapeworm algorithm of her own design to erase the original database, leaving absolutely no traces of it in the ship’s library computer.
“Your Majesty,” a voice said from somewhere behind and above her. Hoshi turned to see Commander Charles Tucker, Defiant’s chief engineer, standing atop a service platform leading toward one of the section’s smaller systems control rooms. “I wasn’t told you were coming aboard. I would’ve prepared a proper reception.”
As he spoke the words, which dripped with the engineer’s usual sarcasm, Hoshi noted the passing look of irritation he offered to his captain.
“Your staff should be ready for inspection at all times, Commander,” Mayweather said, his own voice tight. “Besides, I don’t recall any requirement to alert you to the comings and goings of the Empress, or myself, for that matter.”
Keeping her own expression neutral, Hoshi knew that the two men had never been friends, but she trusted Defiant’s captain to resolve the situation. If he could not, then she was certain that someone else would assume Mayweather’s responsibilities.
Something tells me that eventuality may come sooner rather than later.
Making his way down a narrow service ladder set between two banks of consoles, Tucker stepped onto the main engineering deck and stood before Hoshi, snapping to attention and offering a formal salute. “Welcome aboard, Your Majesty. How may I be of service?”
Instead of Hoshi replying, it was Shran who stepped forward. “What is the ship’s status, Commander?”
Tucker glanced toward the Empress with momentary uncertainty before answering, “As ready as I can make her, General.” Returning his attention to Hoshi, he added, “We’ve repaired all of the damage she took during the battle with the fleet. Our diagnostics picked up a minor molecular phase variance early on, but it faded during the course of the repairs.” Shrugging, the engineer added, “I figure it must’ve been some kind of transitional residue from coming through that rift the Tholians created.”
“It’s had no measurable effect, Your Majesty,” Mayweather said. “All systems are fully operational.”
“Naturally, I’d like more time to study everything,” Tucker continued. “I’m still not comfortable with my knowledge of the power distribution systems, the shield generators, and about two dozen things I could rattle off the top of my head.” For a moment, the engineer sounded the way Hoshi had remembered him on Enterprise, cynical yet casual in his demeanor, his mood almost always lightening when discussion of his ship’s innards came to the forefront of conversation. Then, as if realizing just how much had changed since then, the commander cleared his throat and bowed his head. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty. I forgot my place.”
“Indeed, Commander,” Shran snapped, his one functioning antenna curving until it pointed toward Tucker. “See that you avoid such lapses in the future.”
Eyeing her husband with a tolerant smile, Hoshi said to Tucker, “You always were passionate about your work, Commander. There’s no need to apologize for that.” She knew that Charles Tucker possessed one of the few engineering minds capable of understanding and—eventually—duplicating Defiant’s advanced systems. He was useful, but would he remain loyal? The Empress resolved to never turn her back on the man even for a microsecond.
Hearing the distinctive pneumatic hiss of doors opening behind her, she turned to see three new arrivals enter the engineering section. The ship’s chief of security, Major Malcolm Reed, was at the front of the trio, which also consisted of Doctor Phlox as well as Hoshi’s science adviser, Professor Arik Soong.
After first nodding in greeting to Phlox, whom she had appointed her personal physician, Hoshi shifted her eyes to Reed, imagining she felt a cool chill on her exposed skin as she beheld the security chief. Though he had recovered from the injuries he suffered in his fight months ago with the Gorn, a black patch covered his left eye. That side of his face and head remained scarred and darkened from burned tissue, to the point that the major now wore a dull metal plate shaped to the contours of his ravaged face, designed to conceal the disfigurement.
“Captain,” Reed said as he saluted first Hoshi and Shran and then Mayweather, “Professor Soong asked to see the Empress.”
“Your Majesty,” Soong said, holding his hands out toward her as he approached. Dressed in a brown leather jacket over a dark shirt and slacks, Soong was a thin wiry man in his fifties who appeared somewhat older due to his gray hair, which he wore long and secured in a ponytail that lay draped over his right shoulder. A pair of wire-framed glasses with blue, mirrored lenses sat perched atop his nose, and he gazed over them at her. “It is so good to see you again.”
Making a mental note to have the exasperating professor executed the instant his usefulness proved to be at an end, Hoshi allowed him to take her hands in his own as she nodded in greeting. “Professor. I trust your inspection has gone well.”
Soong nodded toward Phlox. “Thanks to the good doctor’s comprehensive tour. I could spend the rest of my life crawling through this vessel. The technology is simply incredible.” He held his arms up and to either side of his body as though to indicate the engine room and presumably the rest of the ship, his smile widening. “The Defiant is the tip of the spear that will pierce the heart of the rebellion.”
An eccentric man, to say the least, Arik Soong always had possessed something of a flair for the dramatic. One of the few members of the previous Emperor’s inner circle whom she had not replaced, Soong had been retained solely for his unmatched intellect, which she knew would be needed if she was to realize her plan of replicating Defiant’s technology and using it to arm the rest of Starfleet in like fashion.
Once that was accomplished, the professor naturally would share the fates of his fellow former advisers.
Tucker reacted violently at the sight of Phlox. “What the hell’s he doing in my engine room?” he asked, his tone hard as he pointed to the doctor. “Why is he still alive?”
“He’s here at my direction,” Hoshi replied, allowing a hint of warning to lace her words. “Like you, he lives or dies at my command, and that’s all the explanation you require.”
She understood Tucker’s anger. Phlox’s sabotage had left Defiant vunerable to attack by the mutinous crew on the Avenger while it was under attack by rebel forces. When interrogated afterward about the incident, the doctor had pleaded his innocence, claiming that T’Pol had subjected him to drugs from his own dispensary—compounds he himself had created and which were most effective in rendering patients susceptible to suggestion—inducing him to carry out his acts of sabotage against his will. It was an assertion he had maintained even after being subjected to three days of near-continuous torture. A medical scan revealed traces of the illicit compounds in the Denobulan’s system, though of course there were those who offered the theory that the doctor could easily have injected himself with the drugs. In the end, sufficient grounds had been offered for Hoshi to exonerate Phlox of any culpability in the affair. That was a fortuitous resolution, as she had always harbored a fondness for the physician.
Properly humbled by her stinging rebuke, Tucker nodded. “I meant no disrespect, Your Majesty.” There still was an edge in his voice as he continued to eye the doctor. “I’m just worried about…security issues.”
“Your concern is touching,” Reed said from where he stood next to Phlox, making no effort to mask the scowl clouding his mangled features, “but I can deal with those issues well enough, thank you.”
Tucker glared at the major. “Nice job keeping T’Pol from making off with one of our shuttles, by the way. You can bet the Vulcans have already torn that thing apart by now.”
“That’s enough,” Mayweather snapped. To Reed, he said, “I’m sure you have other duties to perform, Major. See to them.”
; Hoshi watched the major bristle as he absorbed the dressing down from his former subordinate. Nodding stiffly, Reed said, “Aye, sir,” saluting before turning on his heel and marching out of the engineering room.
Despite the long recovery from his injuries, there was no mistaking the lingering desire for power and advancement that had always driven Malcolm Reed. He had been loyal to Jonathan Archer, at least in so far as it furthered his own agenda, and the Empress had seriously considered executing him after seizing the throne. Mayweather, curiously, had instead requested the tactical officer be spared before assigning him to Defiant as the starship’s security chief. To think that Reed would ignore the unparalleled opportunity such a promotion offered would likely prove a fatal mistake for the young captain.
As long as the Defiant’s captain remained loyal, Hoshi cared little who occupied the center seat.
“All of this advanced technology will be for naught,” Soong said, “if we don’t apply it to our primary goal of crushing the rebellion.” He turned to face the Empress. “Your Majesty, the longer we wait to take advantage of the opportunity this vessel represents, the more likely your enemies will find some means of defending against it. We must act now, for the preservation of the Empire.”
“If you start tearing this ship apart, I’m not sure I can put everything back together,” Tucker said, his mouth curling into a sneer. “It’s taken me this long just to figure out the basics.”
Without turning away from Hoshi, Soong adjusted his glasses. “Then perhaps it’s time better minds were set to the task.”
“And what if the rebels decide to attack?” Mayweather asked, folding his arms across his chest. “How powerful will Defiant be with its weapons scattered across the deck? Will you be leading the charge to repel the boarding parties, Professor?”
“There is much more at risk than one ship,” Hoshi said, her tone of voice serving to remind her entourage who would be making the decisions on this day. “Earth itself would be defenseless.”