She considered his words for a time. “I want to believe you’re right… but it’s hard to reconcile a commitment to peace with the perpetuation of such a warlike custom.”
Kirk replied slowly, thoughtfully. “I think every culture that pursues the path of peace must struggle with the potential for violence that still remains within their nature, and attempt to reconcile themselves with the ways it’s shaped their history and values.” He gestured to McCoy. “For Bones, it’s the role of slavery in Southern heritage. For me, it’s the paradox of American freedom being built on continent-wide conquest and genocide.”
She nodded, conceding the point. “I’m Russian-Chinese. Plenty of autocrats and mass murderers in both those histories.”
McCoy leaned in. “Then you’ve got a planet like Argelius. Two centuries of peace, but they’ve never bothered to repeal the law that murderers are put to death by slow torture. Even Vulcan still has a legal form of ritual combat to the death in…” He cleared his throat. “… certain rare cases.”
“The point,” Kirk said, “is that no culture is perfect. No matter how much you strive to be better, some mistakes and bad habits will remain. The Federation’s made its share of mistakes too, like Captain sh’Prenni’s botched first contact with the Partnership, or John Gill’s misguided experiments on Ekos.
“The important thing is to face those flaws, to admit them as part of ourselves. That’s the only way we can hope to overcome them. And just as importantly, that ability to acknowledge our own flaws is what enables us to forgive the flaws we see in others. To understand that they might be struggling to improve themselves just as we are, and that they need encouragement for what they do right, rather than just condemnation for what they get wrong.”
Janith-Lau smiled at Kirk in appreciation. “You do have a way with speeches, Jim.”
“I’ve caught him practicing in a mirror more than once,” McCoy teased.
“You make a good point. It is important not to be too self-righteous. I should talk to Commander Rakatheema again, try to understand his side. If I can relate to his intentions, maybe we can find some common ground when it comes to his methods.”
“That’s an excellent idea,” Kirk said. “I believe in the commander’s good intentions. He only wants what’s best for both Starfleet and the Warborn. It’s just a matter of finding the right balance between the two.”
Janith-Lau sobered. “I hope you’re right, Jim. But I’m not sure he and I will ever agree on what that balance should be. And only history will be able to say if his vision of the Warborn’s future in Starfleet will turn out to be another of the Federation’s great mistakes.”
U.S.S. Enterprise
Earth Spacedock
“But how could you not have known this Jen was a man?” Montgomery Scott asked Uhura as they and Spock sat with her in the officers’ lounge, listening to her account of her discoveries on Earth. “When you talked about him in your logs and letters, you must have used a ‘he’ or ‘him’ somewhere.”
“Those logs and letters were in Kiswahili,” she told him. “The pronouns are ungendered.”
“Oh.” Scott flushed, embarrassed not to have known that.
Captain Spock steepled his fingers. “Now that you know, do your logs provide any further insights?”
“Nothing yet. But I did send a message to his current residence at the Penthara IV colony.” She did not let herself show how difficult that had been, given her uncertainties about the state of her relationship with this person. She had kept her communique as objective and calm as possible, focusing on the urgency of the vacuum flare crisis. “The only response was an automated notification that my message had been deleted unread.”
Scott rolled his eyes. “Oh, this just keeps getting better. Bad enough you lost your memory of all this—it’s like the universe is conspiring to keep you from getting it back!”
“I’m almost tempted to believe you, Scotty, given that the universe itself seems to be generating these flares in response to me, somehow.”
Spock addressed them patiently. “It is premature to ascribe cosmic design to what may yet be accounted for by coincidence. We have made some slight progress, and there are still avenues of investigation we may pursue.”
He contemplated Uhura. “You said that the emotional stimulus of your reunion with your family triggered the recollection of fragments of memory you had believed were lost. Has your contemplation of Mister Shastri provoked any similar recollection?”
She winced. “I’ve tried. As much as it… roils my emotions just to hear his name, I get no specifics, no matter how much I try to face those feelings. There’s just not enough there to latch onto.” She paused, thinking it through. “Yes… it was the sense memory of my mother’s touch, her scent, the surroundings of home, that sparked the connection. With Shastri, I have little more to think of than the name. It’s too abstract.”
Scott cleared his throat. “Forgive me if I’m crossing a line here, Captain Spock… but isn’t there some Vulcan mind technique you can use to find those lost memories in Uhura? You brought Admiral Kirk back after that Preserver obelisk thing wiped his memory.”
Spock shook his head slightly. “Believe me, Mister Scott, were that a feasible option, I would have proposed it already. In that case, the memories were fully intact, simply blocked from the captain’s conscious mind.
“There is a theoretical Vulcan technique that has been proposed for the restoration of memories deeply repressed due to psychological trauma. However, it would require the subject to meld with a close family member—someone who knows their mind and their personality intimately enough to function as a guide and interpreter, in order to assist them in understanding and reintegrating the memory. While Commander Uhura and I have had an excellent professional relationship for many years, we are not as close as family. Nor am I personally familiar with the details of the technique. It might not even be applicable to this type of memory erasure.”
His lips narrowed. “It would seem that our best option would be to speak to Mister Shastri. Regrettably, as he is a civilian, as well as a resident of a remote colony, there is little we may do to gain his cooperation if he chooses to withhold it.”
Uhura sighed. “You’re right. It’s not the universe that’s to blame for these dead ends, it’s me. When my past was erased, I chose to let it stay that way. I thought it would be easiest for everyone to make a clean break and start over.” She lowered her head. “I was wrong. I see now just how much I cost myself, and my family. It’s no wonder my old friends feel alienated too.
“I’ve always prided myself on my ability to make connections—to bridge seemingly impassable divides and create understanding. But I cut off my own connections to my old life. I let them wither and die, and now we’re all paying the price.”
“Hey, hey.” Scotty moved to sit beside her on the couch and put an arm around her shoulders. “Don’t beat yourself up, lass. Nomad did a hell of a number on both of us, you know that. The only one to blame is that blasted machine.
“And the connections didn’t die. You reconnected with us on the ship, stronger than ever. And now you’ve got your family back too. Give this Shastri bloke some time. If he was really such a fine friend, maybe he’ll come around. And in the meantime… well, I’m sure he was very far from your only friend at the Academy. So let’s talk to the others and find out if they can tell us anything.”
Uhura hugged him. “Thank you, Scotty. You’re right.”
Starfleet Academy
When Uhura tracked down her old Academy classmates to ask about Ravinder Shastri and any communications research she might have done with him, it finally seemed to bear fruit. More than one old friend confirmed that she and Shastri had worked together on some kind of unusual research project. However, they agreed that the two cadets had been reluctant to offer details, telling their classmates that whatever they were investigating was a long shot and they did not wish to commit to anything until or unless th
ey obtained positive results. The interviewees also agreed that both cadets had stopped talking about it early in their fourth year, beyond saying that their research had led down a blind alley and been abandoned. Given the increasing frequency and size of the vacuum flares, Uhura could not afford to believe that assessment.
The next day, Spock and Uhura met with Admiral Kirk in his office. The admiral wasted little time getting to the point. “I had my staff investigate Academy records for any use of the communications or subspace physics labs by Cadets Uhura and Shastri at the time in question. They found nothing… or so it seemed.” Kirk handed a data slate of their findings to Spock. “Tell me if you notice the same pattern I did.”
It only took moments before Spock responded. “I see. Not merely an absence of evidence… but evidence of absence. Something has been redacted. With skill, but a footprint remains if one knows what to look for.”
Kirk nodded. “Which suggests that whatever you and Shastri were investigating, Commander, it infringed on a security or intelligence matter. Most likely you were ordered to drop it and sworn to secrecy, and the evidence was classified.”
Uhura sagged. “Scotty was right. It’s like the universe is conspiring to erase all the leads.”
“On the contrary, Commander,” Spock said. “This is our most promising lead yet. If Starfleet did order the matter classified… then someone in Starfleet knows why. If we can determine who gave the order, we should be able to persuade them that the vacuum flare crisis demands its disclosure.”
The admiral rose and came around the desk, addressing Uhura. “I looked a little deeper into your contacts around the time you appeared to abandon the research. There were three visits to the Academy grounds that month by Starfleet Security or Intelligence personnel whose specific activities were redacted. I’ve determined that one was in connection with a member of the faculty, while another involved a non-Federation exchange student.
“The remaining visitor was a Commodore Conrad Reppert of Starfleet Intelligence.” He handed her a second, smaller slate with an image of a light-skinned human male with a broad face, salt-and-pepper hair, and a pug nose. “I don’t suppose his face rings any bells?”
Uhura studied the image. “I’m afraid not. But you think he’s the one who classified our work?”
“He’s the only credible possibility we’ve found. Unfortunately, Cartwright wasn’t able to find any entries in his record confirming it, and Reppert’s superior at the time is deceased now. If the commodore did talk with you, the report was buried so deep that even Cartwright can’t find it.”
“Is Commodore Reppert still alive?” Spock asked.
“He’s retired now, living on Kaferia.” Kirk paused, shifting his weight uneasily. “But even he may not be able to tell you what you need to know.”
Chapter Twelve
Starfleet Headquarters
“… So that is where we stand.” Pavel Chekov tried not to sound too apologetic as he finished his report to the room full of high-ranking Starfleet officers, all of them captains and above. Admiral Cartwright had gathered this group to discuss defense plans for the vacuum flares, and Chekov had been given the unenviable task of summarizing how little they had to work with. “We know that if the vacuum flares continue to backtrack through Commander Uhura’s life history, they will soon reach the Sol system. But we have not yet devised a means to predict their onset or shield against them. Nor are we any closer to determining their origin or finding a way to prevent them.” He searched for words. “I’m afraid that’s all I have to report at this time.”
“Thank you, Mister Chekov,” Cartwright said, rising to take the floor. Chekov returned to his seat at the meeting room’s long, black oval table as the admiral moved behind the podium. “But I have to disagree with you. The fact that we know they’re coming is an advantage in itself. It means we have a chance to prepare.
“That’s why we’re gathered here, people. We know a storm is coming. We can’t stop it, can’t shield against it, but we can still cope with it. Working alongside civilian emergency response organizations, we can patrol the endangered volume around Earth’s orbit and be ready to respond swiftly to any outbreak, with enough ships to provide evacuation and medical treatment in a timely manner.”
“Is the risk really that great?” It took Chekov a moment to place the speaker as Lawrence Styles, captain of the U.S.S. Artemis. The narrow-faced, high-browed Earthman went on with a skeptical twist to his mustachioed lip. “I mean, it’s called ‘space’ for a reason. Even if the flare hits somewhere around a point in Earth’s orbit, the odds that Earth will actually be there at the time are one in a hundred thousand, and that’s not even counting the margin of error for these things. What happened at Denobula was an incredible fluke. The odds of it happening again here are minuscule.”
“If I may, sir?” Chekov asked Cartwright. The admiral nodded. “With respect, Captain Styles, we are not expecting only a single flare. We believe that whatever research these flares are reacting to was underway while Commander Uhura was at Starfleet Academy. We have no idea how long her efforts lasted, but we can safely assume there will be more than one flare in this system. Possibly quite a few.
“Not only that, but the flares last longer and spread over a larger volume of space each time—and we have no idea what upper bound there is on their size and duration, if any.”
“There’s another possibility.” The speaker was Admiral S’rrel, a brown-furred Caitian male who served as a Starfleet liaison to the Federation Council. “The flares so far have been tracking back through years of the commander’s life in a matter of months—and they have been accelerating. Aside from the backward order, the only correlation is to place, not timing. So for all we know, every flare aimed at Earth could arrive simultaneously. The whole inner system could be engulfed, and the combined surge of radiation and gravimetric distortion could cause massive disruption to ships and infrastructure even beyond the directly affected areas.”
Styles scoffed. “What are you basing that on?”
“That’s the point. We don’t know enough to make assumptions either way. We must be ready for anything.”
Commodore Margaret Song of the Mars Defense Perimeter leaned forward in her seat. “And let’s not forget that there’s more in Earth orbital space than Earth and Luna,” the statuesque, black-haired Martian pointed out. “The various colonies and stations around the L4 and L5 points are spread out across volumes much larger than the Earth itself, meaning that the odds of at least one of them being struck are commensurately greater. Not to mention that the ‘margin of error’ you pointed out, Lawrence, might be wide enough to encompass Mars’s orbit.”
“The risk of that is even slighter, Margaret,” Styles insisted. “And in any case, it’s only a short-term concern. Eventually whatever’s paging backward through this woman’s biography will run out of chapters, and the flares will stop. Maybe all at once, if S’rrel is right.”
“So what are you saying?” S’rrel demanded. “That we just do nothing about the risk of injury and death?”
“How much greater will the risk be if people panic? The public is still reeling from the Naazh crisis and that hullabaloo around the New Humans. They’re getting stirred up by fearmongers about Arcturian Augment shock troops, or whatever they’re claiming they are this week, being let into the Academy. They’ve lost enough faith in Starfleet’s ability to protect them. We don’t want to lose more face by admitting weakness.
“Sure, we could mobilize some massive emergency force here in the heart of the Federation, but that would just call attention to the fact that we have no plan beyond trying to clean up after the fact. And if that’s the best we can do anyway, then it makes little difference whether we mobilize or not.”
“It makes plenty of difference, Captain!” Cartwright’s fierce exclamation silenced Styles quite effectively. “Don’t be a fool. You know as well as anyone that lives depend on the speed and effectiveness of the response in
the wake of a disaster.
“You’re concerned with Starfleet’s image? How good will we look after the fact if we failed to prepare for a threat we knew was coming? It’d be V’Ger all over again. Days of advance notice, and we couldn’t mobilize more than one capital ship to defend the heart of the Federation!” He shook his head. “We waited too long to rebuild the fleet after the Klingon Wars. We trusted too much in Earth’s defense grid to protect us, and V’Ger shut it down effortlessly.
“This time, we have weeks of advance warning. And we have more ships on hand in the home system now. So let’s use them the way they’re meant to be used.”
Chekov winced at the reminder of V’Ger. The admiral declined to mention that the powerful artificial intelligence had stolen the planetary defense grid’s shutdown codes from the Enterprise’s computer—a massive breach of security on Chekov’s first mission as that ship’s security chief. No matter how many people assured him that nobody could have prevented an entity of V’Ger’s immense power from doing what it wanted, his pride had never fully recovered.
Worse, it was a reminder that he felt just as helpless in the current crisis. As mysterious as V’Ger had been, at least they could see it and track its movements. At least it had been possible to confront it before it reached Earth and find some way to stop it. The vacuum flares were a more inchoate threat. After all these weeks, they were still stuck with reacting rather than anticipating.
Not that Styles was right, of course. It was still worthwhile to be ready—to assign local Starfleet and civilian assets to patrol Solar space for rapid response, and to coordinate with civilian authorities to effect evacuation and relief plans. But it chafed Chekov to have to settle for cleaning up after the fact.
He prayed that Uhura’s search for answers would pay off soon. There was no telling how much time the Sol system had left before the flares began—or how bad they would get once they came.
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