Orion's Hounds

by Christopher L. Bennett

  “Aq’hareq speaks of balance. If you want to see balance, look around you. Look where we are. The Proplydian is the greatest starbeast in all of Vela. It’s a symbol of the life force that pervades the galaxy, that sustains and defines you as a people. Do you have to kill it, or it you, to be in balance? No. You live alongside it, in symbiosis with it, in balance with it, as do countless starbeasts. It sustains a vast wealth of life, and does not need to die in order to do so. It pulses with life of its own, and does not need to kill to do so. Is this corrupt? Is this a path doomed to destruction? The Proplydian has lived longer than any other star-beast, longer than your entire species. It has earned your reverence and your awe. And it has done this without death. It has done this by balancing life with life.

  “And now, here under the gaze of the Proplydian itself, the Pa’haquel can choose to do the same.”

  For some time, there was silence, broken only by a few furtive murmurs between elders and advisors. Aq’hareq clearly was not convinced, but sensed the mood of the chamber and stayed quiet. Se’hraqua followed his lead.

  Now the youngish elder Rhi’thath rose. “If we made this change, what would become of our traditions as a people? How could we ever ascend to manhood or eldership without the blood of skymounts to anoint us?”

  “There are still other hunts in which you can win honor,” Riker said. “They don’t all have to be against skymounts.”

  “But our most important ones do.”

  “There may still be a solution to that,” Deanna said. “It was suggested to me by a fellow crew member, Orilly Malar. I’d like to ask her to tell you about it herself.”

  After a bit of prompting, Orilly diffidently stepped forward. It had taken some doing to convince the Irriol cadet to come here; she still didn’t fully trust herself. But at the same time she had seen this as a way to help absolve her guilt, to offer something positive to make amends for the damage she’d done, and that had convinced her to come. “On my world of Lru-Irr,” she began slowly, “we have our own balance, and all living things are attuned to it. When…when there is need, sometimes the sick, elderly or…or injured members of a species—even my own species, sometimes—may allow themselves to be taken by predators. So that…so that the rest of their members may be spared, and the gestalt served. I…we have suggested to the jellies—the skymounts, sorry—that maybe their sick and elderly members, those who are past healing, could allow themselves to be ritually hunted, and end their lives swiftly rather than slowly and in pain. They, ah, they were uneasy with the thought…but they said they would consider it. That maybe you and they could negotiate something…along those lines.”

  There was much muttering and discussion among the Conclave members. The empathic timbre was a mix of distaste and hope. “How can we settle for hunting the weak and feeble?” “We often take the weak and feeble as it is; there is no shame in it.” “But only to hunt volunteers? Could there be enough?” “We should give thanks that the skymounts would consent to it at all.” “And you saw how well they wielded the branchers. Imagine that power fighting for us instead of against us!”

  Once the chatter settled, one of the matriarchs rose to ask a question. “What of the implementation of this? It requires telepaths for us to know the skymounts’ thoughts and wishes. Will you of Titan remain with us indefinitely?”

  “I’m afraid we’d have to decline that honor,” Riker said. “We still have a mission of our own to resume. But there are other telepathic species in the region. The Vomnin are acquainted with several. You’ve excluded them from your alliance before because they were a security risk, but now that risk no longer exists.”

  “If I may, sir,” Orilly said. She was terrified, Deanna could tell, but determined to get it out. “I’d like to stay with them,” she finally forced out in a rush of breath.

  Riker and Deanna stared at her. “Cadet?” Riker asked.

  “No disrespect to you or Titan, sir. It’s been an honor to serve with you. But…I think I can do more good here. I have a good rapport with the jellies…almost like the gestalt back home, except more conscious. These past few days, working with them to train the branchers…I’ve felt more content than I have since I left Lru-Irr.”

  Deanna knelt to bring herself to Orilly’s eye level. “Malar, are you sure? You’ve worked so hard on your Starfleet training. And you have friends on Titan, you know that, right?”

  One of Orilly’s trunk-hands patted her shoulder. “I know, Counselor. But it might not be forever. The Pa’haquel travel all over this part of space…we may run into each other again.”

  Shortly thereafter, a vote was called. Many of the elders and family heads were slow to decide. The results trickled in slowly, and it was hard to get a sense of the outcome. But finally Qui’hibra’s proposal passed by a narrow but decisive margin. “So it is decided,” Qui’hibra announced. “From now on, the Pa’haquel will hunt alongside the skymounts and the branchers. We enter this covenant under the gaze of the Proplydian, and pray that it grant us its blessing, and its guidance in finding this new balance.”

  But Aq’hareq, after a moment of building anger, shot to his feet. “My fleet-clan will not abide by the Conclave’s ruling! It is blasphemy and cannot stand! My clan will find a way to carry on the Hunt. We will go on killing skymounts as tradition demands. And any Pa’haquel who stand in our way will die as well!”

  “The skymounts will not forgive your kills,” Qui’hibra shot back. “They will be tainted, corrupt. Your reanimations will fail, your clan will die.”

  “That is for the Spirit to decide. Now you will leave my skymount. Along with any elders who would abide by this corrupt ruling. Any who wish to join me in the fight to preserve the Spirit’s traditions may remain, regardless of their clan.”

  The declaration brought many angry replies from the high elders. “Outrageous!” “No one else dictates to my clan!” “You claim to stand for tradition?” But Deanna sensed much division. Many of the junior elders and family heads were tempted to stand with Aq’hareq, and his prestige and seniority carried much weight. But for the most part, loyalty to their own clans won out. Most chose to follow their high elders and beam back to their own fleets, but a few broke ranks to stand with Aq’hareq.

  Finally only the Qui’Tir’Ieq contingent was left. Deanna looked to Se’hraqua, expecting him to stand with Aq’hareq. He and Qui’hibra locked gazes for a long moment. “Do not be a fool, Se’hraqua,” the elder said. “Do not defy the Conclave.”

  “The Conclave is nothing,” Aq’hareq said. “It has grown weak and illegitimate. Come with us, Se’hraqua, and we will build a new Conclave, a new tribe. Come with me and you can kill a skymount of your own! Not some feeble old one that would have died soon anyway, but a vigorous, vital one, worthy to be the command mount of your own fleet, the birthplace of your own clan!”

  Deanna felt his excitement. Aq’hareq offered him the fulfillment of all his desires, of the demands of his strongest instincts. But Qui’hibra’s stare still held him, refused to let him go. “Would you truly wish to make your choice based on that, Hunter? On your own gains, your own ambitions? Is that a righteous choice in service to the Spirit?”

  “I…” Se’hraqua faltered. “I wish to defend our traditions. To keep things as they were meant to be.”

  “I know you love our traditions, cherish the ancient ways. But you also love the skymounts, as much as I do. Possibly more, in your way—you are young, and your passions still burn hotter than mine. But I cannot tell you how deeply it has moved me to get to know the skymounts as living allies, to fight and hunt by their side, to feel them respond willingly to my needs and wishes. To know them, not as cold, dead machines, but as friends and partners. It has revived in me a love of the skymounts that I had almost forgotten. Imagine what it could be like for you, Se’hraqua.

  “And imagine how it would be to go with Aq’hareq. To struggle to chase skymounts that could see you coming, that could brush off your attacks, that could
drain your mounts of power and leave you stranded, unable to warp. And even if you could manage to kill one, imagine knowing that its spirit would never forgive you. Knowing that its body would only be a slave, not a gift. And knowing that you had chosen that path, not for love of the Spirit or the mounts, but for love of your own ambition and greed. Is that the life you would choose, Hunter? Is a clan of your own worth the price of your soul?”

  Se’hraqua stood there, torn, for long moments more. Finally, Deanna felt him make his choice. It was a choice he still had doubts about, but he had made his decision and would abide by it. His eyes went to Aq’hareq’s, held them for a time—and then he stepped over to stand by Qui’hibra and his clan.

  “A foolish choice,” Aq’hareq said. “And one you will pay for, Hunter.”

  “Perhaps,” Se’hraqua replied. “But at least it is my choice.”

  “As you will. But you and your clan are no longer welcome on this mount. And neither are your people, Riker. All of you, know that if our paths cross again, it will be as enemies.”

  Qui’hibra ignored the other elder’s rhetoric, and came over to Riker and Troi. “It seems we must go now. Thank you for all you have done—for my people and the skymounts, and perhaps the galaxy.”

  “Glad we could help,” Riker said.

  “But the burden remains ours to carry. As you said, you have your own mission to resume.”

  “We could stay with you a while longer,” Deanna said. “Help you with the transition.”

  “No. This will be a difficult enough adjustment to make—if it is to work, the Pa’haquel must know that it is our own adjustment, not one imposed from without.”

  Deanna nodded. “That’s very true.”

  “However, I would accept your cadet’s offer to join us, if you will grant her leave.”

  Riker looked to Orilly. “All right—let’s call it leave, then. An extended leave, until you decide to come back to Starfleet. Granted effective immediately.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Orilly said. “I’ll try to do the Federation proud, as well as Lru-Irr.”

  “I know you will be an asset to the Hunt,” Qui’hibra said.

  That reminded Riker of the one thing that was still troubling him about this. “One more thing before you go,” he said. “I’d like you to consider something. In the past couple of weeks, you’ve learned that you can coexist peacefully and beneficially with two species you formerly believed you had to kill. I hope you—and your people—will keep in mind the possibility that the same could be true of the other starbeasts. That maybe the jellies and the branchers are only the first in this new covenant.”

  The elder looked at him skeptically. “I am an old hound, Riker, slow to change. I may have reached my limit of changes by now.” He threw a look at Se’hraqua. “But maybe younger minds are more flexible. And it may be the wish of the Proplydian, of the Spirit. I will pass along the suggestion.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I will pass it along as well,” Orilly said. “On my world, living as one with our biosphere is second nature. Perhaps I can offer insights in how to coexist within the galactic biosphere.”

  Deanna smiled at her. “If anyone can, Malar, you can. Good luck.”

  Qui’hibra led Orilly over to stand with his group, and signalled his skymount. A watery shimmer came over them, and then they were gone. Riker looked around him one more time. “And I for one am tired of standing inside a corpse. Deanna—let’s go home.”

  Epilogue

  Captain’s Log, Stardate 57223.6

  Since the breakup of the Conclave, there have been several mutinies aboard various Pa’haquel fleets, as additional junior elders have chosen to reject the so-called Proplydian Covenant and join Aq’hareq’s dissident group. And there are still countless more Pa’haquel fleet-clans scattered throughout the Gum Nebula, clans that weren’t involved in the Conclave and will have to be persuaded individually to change—or to resist change. So far, though, the majority are abiding by the Covenant, and Qui’hibra believes that will continue. He’s also convinced that the dissidents are doomed to failure as they eventually run out of skymounts and are outcompeted by the new alliance. The process could take generations, though, and I fully expect us to find ourselves dealing with its consequences somewhere down the road.

  For now, though, things seem well enough in hand, and the process will likely go better without further interference from us. But we haven’t yet said our last good-byes to the star-jellies. At their invitation, we are returning to their breeding world in the Kyle system for shore leave and scientific research—which I suspect are much the same thing as far as Jaza and our science staff are concerned.

  T’Pel quirked a brow at Tuvok as she came out of the bedroom to find him standing near the entrance to their quarters. “Is it not time for your daily meditation?” she asked.

  “Yes. However, I wished to see you off.”

  “That is not necessary.”

  “No.”

  “But…I appreciate the support.”

  “As I have appreciated yours, my wife.” Their fingers touched. “And I am certain that Dr. Ree, Nurse Ogawa, and the Bolajis will appreciate your assistance as well.” After finding a sense of purpose in tending to the Shalra refugees, T’Pel had proposed to Ree that she could be of value as a sickbay assistant, taking some of the responsibility for the care of the premature infant Totyarguil Bolaji along with other duties as needed. Ree had readily accepted her offer, and Ogawa had suggested that those other duties could include tending to the needs and education of her own son, Noah Powell. T’Pel had welcomed the opportunity to care for children once again, and she displayed a palpable eagerness to begin her work. Not that she was emotional about it, of course; it was simply an accumulation of energy which could be directed into her work. Eminently logical, as always.

  After she left, Tuvok darkened their quarters and sat before his meditation flame, contemplating it, yielding to peace and clarity. A sizable fraction of the crew was taking leave on Kyle III right now, with others awaiting their turn, but that held no allure for him. To a Vulcan, to rest was to rest, to cease using energy.

  The presence of the star-jellies on Kyle III was not a factor in his decision. He could detect their telepathic communications just as strongly here in orbit as below. But their ongoing chatter posed no obstacle to his ability to meditate. His melds with Counselor Troi had helped him recover much of his shielding ability, though it would never be as strong as it once was. And though some residue of the star-jellies’ emotions continued to pervade his awareness, he was confident now in his ability to manage them.

  But when he rose to respond to the door signal and found Melora Pazlar standing there, he realized he still needed to work some on managing his own.

  “Mr. Tuvok, can I talk to you?” the Elaysian asked with apparent unease.

  “Certainly, Lieutenant. Please come in.”

  She walked in slowly, leaning on her cane, her motor-assist servos whirring softly. She gladly accepted his offer of a seat. “I am gratified to see you regaining your full mobility at last,” Tuvok said neutrally.

  “Yeah, I’m almost there. Good as new.” She took a deep breath. “Physically, at least. Tuvok, I’m going to be frank with you.”

  “I would expect nothing less.”

  A nervous laugh. “Yeah, I guess so. Look. Ever since the…since you attacked me, I’ve been—hell, I’ve been scared. I’ve…it made me feel so helpless, so violated, and I’m—I’m kind of nervous to be in the same room with you.”

  Tuvok yearned for the calm he’d had moments ago. “Lieutenant, I cannot express how truly sorry I am for what—”

  She held up her hand. “Screw the apologies, Tuvok. That’s not what I need, not what I’m asking for.” He raised a curious eyebrow, and she went on. “When I get afraid, the way I like to deal with it is to face it head-on. That’s what I’m here for. Tuvok—I want you to teach me to defend myself.”

  Tuvok’s hea
d pulled back fractionally. “Lieutenant?”

  “I know, I took the usual Starfleet courses, but they didn’t quite know how to deal with someone as—as fragile as me. It basically came down to ‘keep your phaser handy and try to stay out of the way.’ But obviously that can’t always work. And it’s not enough for me, to be dependent on a weapon, on a machine, on other people. Because other people can’t always protect me.

  “I need to learn how to defend myself better against people much stronger than I am—which, let’s face it, is going to be just about everybody. And I want you to teach me how.”

  “Lieutenant…I appreciate the request, but perhaps you would benefit more from a more qualified teacher. Commander Keru, perhaps.”

  “No. No, it has to be you. I understand, you’re afraid of hurting me again. Hell, I’m afraid of you hurting me again. But that’s why it has to be you, Tuvok. If I can learn to hold my own against you, then I can beat this…this emotional baggage you’ve saddled me with.

  “Besides…we’re crewmates, right? We’re going to be working together for, probably for years. We need to be able to trust each other. So here I am…extending my trust to you. Do you accept it?”

  Tuvok pondered. It was a very surprising gesture. He would not have expected an emotional being to be so prepared to trust him after…

  No. His surprise was not about her ability to trust. It arose from his difficulty trusting himself. Yet the star-jellies had trusted him. Deanna Troi had trusted him with her mind. Captain Riker still trusted him as his tactical officer. T’Pel had trusted him enough to join him in his new life. And now Melora Pazlar was offering him her trust in spite of everything. With so much trust extended his way, was it logical to deny it to himself?

  Tuvok rose. “I will meet you in holodeck one at 0800 tomorrow morning, Lieutenant. I expect you to be prompt. And I expect you to follow my instructions without protest and without distracting attempts at humor.”