Rise of the Federation: Live by the Code (14 page)

“Yes,”
the
Kinaph
captain replied.
“I have incurred a profound debt to them. I must put it right.”

“We all must,” Malcolm told him. “But first we need to figure out what ‘right’ means here.”

U.S.S. Endeavour,
orbiting Denobula

Archer paced
Endeavour
’s briefing room, trying to absorb what Malcolm Reed had related to him over the wall screen. The signal from
Pioneer,
relayed as it was through multiple widely spaced subspace amplifiers, was blurry and laden with interference, but at least it was in real time. On the other half of the screen was a much clearer transmission from Admiral Shran on Andoria. The chief of staff of the Andorian Guard did not pace, but the way his antennae folded back against his white-haired cranium revealed his fury. Only Captain T’Pol, who stood by the end of the briefing table nearest the screen, seemed calm in light of Reed’s revelations.

“How did it get to this point?” Archer demanded. “Why didn’t sh’Prenni wait to gather more intelligence about this Partnership?”

Shran looked surprised.
“You can’t be blaming her!”

“I’m not blaming anyone, Shran. I’m just trying to get answers.”

“You have to understand, sir,”
Reed said.
“We’ve seen the horrors
the Ware leaves behind, the way it enslaves and ruins entire civilizations, even while they believe it’s doing them a favor. The Partnership’s protests just sounded like more of the same to her. They would have to any of us. If she’s guilty of anything, it’s excessive zeal to help people. The same zeal that’s always made her an asset to Starfleet.”
He hesitated.
“Still . . . we can’t deny that there is some truth to the Partnership’s claims. We may have gravely misjudged the situation here.”

“You can’t know that,”
Shran said.
“Yes, you’ve seen disruptions on one world, but you only have the Partnership’s word about conditions elsewhere. Maybe Thenar was right—maybe these no-tech races are the fodder that the Partnership’s true masters feed to the Ware. Maybe they even created the Ware.”

“Nothing the task force has observed would suggest that, Admiral,” T’Pol put in.

“Maybe, but they’ve given us plenty of reason to question their integrity. Partnering with Vabion. Hiring Klingons and mercenaries. Not to mention their ties to the Pebru.”

“I
share your concern, Admiral Shran,”
said Reed.
“They want me to turn over . . . my consultants Collier and Akomo for their role in creating the shutdown protocol—something I’m vigorously resisting—but they’re working with Vabion even though he’s just as responsible for its creation.”
Pioneer
’s captain sighed.
“Granted, though, Vabion had them over a barrel. We could shut down the Ware, so he offered them a line of defense we couldn’t deactivate.”

“In exchange for working Ware of their own to use back home!”
Shran pointed out.
“Can you imagine what the Klingons could do with drone battle fleets that advanced?”

“We
do
have a defense against Ware, Admiral,”
Reed replied.
“Besides, these are privateers, not Imperial soldiers.”

“That doesn’t mean they won’t do serious harm. We’ve seen how virulent the Ware plague can be. If it’s allowed to spread at all, it could engulf the Federation in time—not to mention all those other worlds we sent you out there
to protect.”
Shran’s antennae thrust forward belligerently.
“We need to wipe it all out, without exception. If these Partnership people depend on it, find them an alternative. The one they’re using is unacceptable.”

“Shran,” Archer cautioned. Waiting until he was sure he had his friend’s attention, he said, “We’ve seen what happens when we meddle in other cultures without fully understanding them. Even with the best of intentions, it can go seriously wrong.”

“I know the rhetoric, Jonathan. The old Vulcan party line—let them develop at their own pace, make their own mistakes. If you ask me, that was just an excuse to do nothing to help others in need. The High Command certainly interfered when it was in their own interests.”

T’Pol retained her cool, but Archer could tell she did not appreciate the Andorian’s words. “Granted that the High Command abused the noninterference principle on occasion,” she said, “but are you suggesting that we should be just as arbitrary?”

“I’m suggesting that we live up to what the Federation stands for. We don’t sit idly by when people are in need. That’s the whole reason your task force is out there, Captain Reed. Thenar did what she was supposed to do.”

“That’s as may be, sir,”
Reed said,
“but the upshot is that she and her crew are in prison awaiting trial. If there’s a debate to be had over the ethics of her actions, that’s the place to have it—before the Partnership, so we can try to convince them that she acted with good intentions. Perhaps even convince them that there’s a better way than dependence on the Ware.”

“That presupposes,” T’Pol said, “that the Partnership’s justice system will be fair. Even if that is generally the case, civilizations often become unreasonable when they feel their survival or way of life has been threatened.”

“For what it’s worth,”
Reed said,
“they have agreed to delay the trial until sh’Prenni’s representative can gain sufficient familiarity with Partnership law.”

“Her representative?” Archer asked.

Reed grimaced.
“Me, sir. Apparently, as the one responsible for sh’Prenni and her crew, I’m to be the advocate on their behalf. I tried to convince them that, as the person responsible, I should be the one on trial instead of her. But apparently the Partnership is organized according to a complex network of interdependencies and shared responsibilities, so that logic would be effectively useless if they tried to apply it here. In their system, the ones who actually committed the act must be the ones put on trial.”

“And they expect you to become an expert in their laws quickly enough to offer a valid defense?”
a skeptical Shran asked.

“I’ve been assigned a Partnership legal advisor as co-counsel. And the trial isn’t scheduled for at least another six weeks.”
He paused.
“They’ve requested that the Federation send a diplomatic representative to negotiate a treaty agreement. They want assurances that we’ll honor whatever verdict they deliver.”

Shran sneered.
“Diplomats. We should be sending you more battleships, so you can get sh’Prenni and her people out of there by force.”

“You talked about our principles, Shran,” Archer said. “We should at least try to give their system a chance to work fairly before we write it off.”

“Even if it means sacrificing one of the finest officers I ever trained?!”

“With respect, Admiral,”
Reed said,
“would Captain sh’Prenni expect any less from us?”

Shran subsided, unable to deny it. After a momentary lull, Archer traded a look with T’Pol, saw that they were in agreement, and spoke. “I’ll send
Endeavour
your way immediately, Malcolm. I’ll make arrangements to have a diplomatic team join them en route.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“But in the meantime, you’re to continue your search for the Ware’s origin world. Shran is right—the Ware is still dangerous. Even if the Partnership is on the level, even if they
truly have found a way to coexist with the Ware, their use of it could still pose a threat to others.” On the screen, Shran looked up and met Archer’s gaze, but did not go so far as to convey gratitude. Shran could keep up a good sulk for months. “Everything we’ve learned about this technology suggests it was created as a trap, a tool to exploit other races. If we can prove that was the intent behind the Ware all along, it might convince the Partnership that sh’Prenni was acting in their best interests after all.”

“I agree, sir.”
Reed looked uncertain.
“If nothing else, it would keep my engineering team out of harm’s way. But as Thenar’s assigned advocate, I’m obliged to remain in the Partnership myself. And I’d prefer to stay close to Thenar in any case.”

“I understand.” Archer smiled for the first time in this conversation. “Why not turn
Pioneer
over to Travis? Give him some practice sitting in the big chair. I’d say he’s earned his shot by now.”

Reed smiled as well.
“He has indeed, sir. It’s a splendid idea.”

Archer’s eyes darted to the other half of the screen. “Anything more to add, Shran?”

“Not for the moment,”
the other chief of staff replied.
“I want to let this simmer for a while before I really give you a piece of my mind.”

With a wry smirk, Archer said, “I look forward to it.
Endeavour
out.”

Shran disappeared from the screen, and Reed followed after signing off. T’Pol turned to the human admiral. “I’ll have Hoshi call the crew back from the surface.”

“Do that. But first, I want to speak to Phlox personally.”

Within a few minutes,
Endeavour
’s doctor was on the screen, and Archer filled him in on the situation.
“I knew
Endeavour
would not be able to remain indefinitely, Admiral,”
Phlox said.
“However, I fear I will be unable to accompany it this time. I’m still needed here, as a
witness in the legal proceedings against Mettus. And I need to be with my family in these trying times.”

Archer shook his head in sympathy. “I can’t imagine how you must feel, Phlox. Your own son . . .” The investigation had confirmed that it was indeed Mettus’s weapon that had struck the killing blow against Sohon Retab.

Phlox’s expression was tightly controlled.
“I appreciate the sentiment, Admiral, but that . . . individual is my son in only the strictest biological sense. I gave him every chance, tried for years to get through to him, but this . . . this is what he has become, through his own choices. My only concern now is for Pehle and Vaneel . . . to help them work through this crisis
.”

Archer could not disagree with the doctor’s sentiment. As harsh as it seemed, Mettus had brought it on himself with his atrocious act. “I understand, Phlox. I just wish there were something I could do.”

“Well . . . the Antaran people have just lost one of their most respected statesmen at the hands of a Denobulan,”
Phlox said, his tone clinically detached.
“I know that neither of our worlds is a Federation member, but depending on how the Antarans react, we may need to request a neutral mediator.”

“Do you think that likely, Doctor?” T’Pol asked.

Phlox shook his head.
“I don’t know, T’Pol. I’d like to think that the Antarans wish to preserve the peace as much as we do. Our own Curia has already made it clear that they in no way endorsed this horrible crime and are receptive to extraditing Mettus for trial on Antar.”
His voice faltered for a moment.
“I suspect that should be enough to ameliorate any diplomatic tensions. Still, if you could monitor the situation, just in case . . .”

“Of course, Phlox,” Archer said. “Don’t you worry about that. Just take care of your family.”

The doctor nodded.
“I do apologize, Captain, for leaving you without my services for such an important mission.”

“The cause is more than sufficient,” T’Pol told him. “I shall simply have to locate a substitute.”

Phlox brightened, in the sense that a dense fog is brighter than a thunderhead.
“If I may make a suggestion . . . Jeremy Lucas is as accomplished an IME physician as I am. His credentials in interspecies medicine are impeccable, and he’s currently between assignments. He’s also charming company. I couldn’t recommend a better person.”

T’Pol tilted her head in acknowledgment. “Your endorsement is sufficient, Doctor. Provided Doctor Lucas is amenable, I have no objection.”

“Excellent.”
Phlox foundered, unsure what else to say.
“Well. Thank you both for attending the wedding. I’m sorry it couldn’t be a more positive memory for you.”

Archer smiled. “The
wedding
was great, Phlox. That’s the part I choose to remember. Thank you for having us.”

Phlox blinked his eyes several times, and hastened to sign off before he betrayed any more emotion. T’Pol turned to Archer and raised an eyebrow. “We seem to find ourselves amid a glut of prosecutions.”

“It never rains but it pours,” Archer agreed. “Let’s just hope that only one of them returns a guilty verdict.”

8

August 13, 2165

Ware construction complex, Rastish system

L
OKOG STARED THROUGH
the wide viewport and grinned as he watched the automated manipulators of the Ware spaceyard beyond assembling drone after drone with untiring efficiency. “With these,” he said, “the Klingon Empire will soon belong to the
QuchHa’
!”

Daskel Vabion looked at him sidelong. “Or perhaps the
QuchHa’
will belong to the Ware.”

The Klingon scoffed. “Do not worry, businessman. If the drones develop an appetite, we will have plenty of
HemQuch
to sate them.” A rough chuckle followed. “And if we run out of them, there are always the humans.”

“Take care,” Vabion advised. He was not sure why he wasted his advice on this boorish pirate, although he supposed the man had a drive he could identify with. “Ambition is admirable. Ruthlessness is often necessary. But cruelty tends to backfire. I learned that the hard way. Look how many of the Ware’s users have turned against it when they learned the true price of its use. It’s a poor product that inspires such customer disloyalty.” He gazed around him at the automated station on whose indulgence he, Lokog, and so many in the Partnership relied. “Why do you think I seek the Ware’s creators rather than simply using their product? I will be at no other’s mercy, person or machine. This technology is astonishing, but it has a fatal design flaw.”

“The ability to kill is not a flaw.”

Vabion resisted glaring at the Klingon, aware that it could provoke a primitively violent reaction. “I meant fatal to it, and to the purposes of those who wish to profit from it. Once I find its creators and obtain their secrets—with or without their cooperation—I will show them a better way of applying this technology.”

Lokog sneered. “So that no one will be harmed anymore? You sound like a human.”

“No, Lokog. So that its owners’ control of the market will not be harmed due to the blatant shortcomings of their product. Feed off the consumers, yes. That is what they’re for. But do it in a way that makes them think you’re serving them.”

“That sounds no different from what the machines already do.”

“Except that the machines do it
badly
. They ruin or alienate their customers and thereby lose business. Have I not been explaining this to you?” He paused, reminding himself to temper his irritation. No matter how this primitive provoked him, he would not succumb to the same lack of control. “The difference is one of judgment. The judgment I can provide to perfect their flawed business plan.”

The Klingon examined him. “I respect your ambition, businessman. But do not underestimate the value of cruelty.” His jaw tightened. “You are used to being on top. It has been long since you have had to struggle and suffer beneath the heels of those who would hold you down. Perhaps you have forgotten how satisfying it is to put them in their place—to see them squirm beneath your own heel.”

“My ambitions are not so base as that,” Vabion insisted. Then he gave a slight sigh. “But I do not begrudge you yours. I have fulfilled my part of the bargain,” he said, gesturing
toward the drone fleet quickly taking shape on the other side of the port, “and you have fulfilled yours. What you do now is no concern of mine. Once I master the Ware, I will have no shortage of other clients.”

“If Starfleet does not destroy it first,” Lokog countered.

“Starfleet is reasonable. If I show them I have overcome the Ware’s more predatory aspects, they will no longer be compelled to destroy it. They are an intelligent people who value progress and knowledge, even if their ethics occasionally blind them to opportunity. If I salve their ethical concerns sufficiently, I am sure they will come to appreciate the Ware’s value. They may even become valued customers of mine.”

“And how can you be so sure you can manipulate them?”

Vabion smiled. “Because they are idealists, while I am a pragmatist. That gives me the advantage. They will throw enormous resources into an act of charity, however misguided. I invest only in my own profit. And that is why I will inevitably win.”

Lokog laughed and clapped Vabion on the back, staggering the Vanotli and earning a glare of irritation. “To victory!” the Klingon crowed.

Vabion stared out at the Ware, seeing power in it far beyond the raw force that Lokog craved. “Yes,” he murmured. “Always.”

August 22, 2165

Partnership planet Cotesc

When Reshthenar sh’Prenni was brought into the visitation area, she brightened at the sight of Malcolm Reed, cried his name, and ran over to clasp his shoulders firmly—hard enough to make him wince. “Forgive me,” she said, letting go.
“I’m just so glad to see you. And I forget how little you are in person,” she added, tousling his hair.

His urges to laugh and fidget were equally strong, so he gave in to them both. If anything, he was grateful that the Partnership did not forbid direct physical contact between prisoners and visitors, trusting the Ware’s sensors to detect any contraband. “It’s good to see you too, Thenar. I wanted to come much sooner, but—”

“The damn Partnership, I know. I’ve screamed at them for hours about my rights, and all I get are excuses.”

“How’s the rest of your crew?”

“They’re fine. Well, they’re in cells, but they’re no worse off than I am.” She gave his shoulders another squeeze. “Please tell me you’re here to get us out.”

Reed sighed. “Thenar . . . the reason we’ve taken so long to come here is that we’ve spent the better part of the past two weeks helping to provide emergency relief to Etrafso—the planet whose Ware you deactivated.”

The Andorian captain stared at him. “Emergency? I know what they’ve claimed about the consequences there, but I took it for propaganda.”

“I’m sorry,” he told her. “But I’ve been there. Seen for myself, and heard the details from Kulef, who’s been dealing with it even longer.”

Her antennae folded back in alarm as she studied his expression. “Tell me.”

So he did. It was at once a relief to unload the burden of the horrors he’d seen and an ordeal to force sh’Prenni to hear the full consequences of her actions. “Things are getting under control now,” he finished. “Other Partnership worlds have provided relief supplies and evacuated the Nierl and Xavoth surv . . . survivors to safe environments. The Tyrellians
have agreed to set up a regular supply line to help sustain the rest of Etrafso’s population. It’ll be some time before things are normalized there, but . . . at least the deaths have stopped.”

It was some time before she spoke. “I thought . . . I knew losing the Ware would be a hardship, but I thought, let those spoiled, self-indulgent people have to work a little for the needs of life. It’ll teach them character. Admiral Shran always taught me, it’s only the things you struggle for that have any real value. He really drilled that in, since everything always came so easily to me.” She shook her head, her antennae curling downward. “I was starting to think this was easy too, letting myself get careless. I should’ve investigated more closely before I acted.”

Reed moved forward and laid a hand on her shoulder. “You thought you were helping them. We’ve all seen the damage the Ware has done.”

She stared. “You think I don’t know that, Malcolm? Of course this is ultimately the Ware’s fault! One more atrocity to lay at the feet of its creators, when we find them.” She paced the austere but spacious visiting area. “But I let myself get drawn into one more layer of their deceptions and manipulations. They’ve made their clients so dependent that you can’t even free them without killing them! And I should have seen that. I should not have underestimated the enemy.” Growling through her teeth, she spun and pounded the wall with one sharp, ferocious blow. The guard, one of the burly humanoid Monsof, stepped closer.

“Thenar,” Reed cautioned in a soft voice. She turned, saw the guard, and gathered herself. The human continued: “I didn’t come here only to give you bad news. The Partnership says you’ll have a fair trial. And I’m to be your advocate. I’m working with their legal counsel to study their laws and
prepare a defense. And
Endeavour
’s coming with a diplomatic team. They may be able to negotiate an agreement for your release.”

Her antennae took on a skeptical twist. “And the Partnership swears they’ll play fair—even while they cozy up to Vabion and Lokog. Do you believe them?”

“Two weeks ago, I would have said no. But now . . . I don’t think they saw any other recourse. They need the Ware to survive, more than we ever could’ve anticipated.”

“They’re still addicts, Malcolm. And addicts will do anything if their supply is threatened.” She took a deep, controlled breath. “How’s
Vol’Rala
?”

“Still under impound. They won’t let us see her.”

“Well, that’s something,” she said. “I was afraid they’d just destroy her. The poor girl took an awful pounding from the Klingons, but she survived. I would’ve hated to think she’d end so ignominiously.” She started pacing again. “Though I’m not much happier to think about
Vol’Rala
just sitting there somewhere, her wounds untended, with no one to keep her company.”

“Who knew you were such a romantic?” Reed asked. “Though I suppose ships named
Enterprise
will do that to you.”

“Well, it could be worse,” she said. “The Klingons could’ve taken her as a prize ship. I’d have blown her cores myself before I let that happen.”

She stopped pacing and faced Reed gravely. “Still . . . what matters most is my crew. If you’re my lawyer, then my instructions to you are not to worry about me. I’ll take responsibility for everything, just so long as they let my crew go free.”

“Thenar, don’t be noble. There may still be a way to get you out. Travis and
Pioneer
are still searching for the Ware’s creators. If we find them, if we can prove their intentions are
malevolent, maybe we can convince the Partnership you were acting in their defense.”

Her piercing green eyes met his intently. “You think good faith matters to the dead? No, Malcolm. Whatever my intentions, my methods were reckless. My crew was just following my orders, but those orders were issued in excessive haste.” She smirked. “Admiral Archer cautioned me once—he said I was paradoxical because I was a creature of impulse, yet I tended to act at warp speed. It confused me until I learned English better; the pun doesn’t work in Andorii. Perhaps I got so distracted by the wordplay that I missed the underlying point.”

Sh’Prenni moved closer, looming over Reed. “Now, though, I’m the distraction. You mustn’t make this about me. Yes, find the Ware’s creators, prove to the Partnership the trap they’ve fallen into. But do it for
them,
not for me. Convince them to free themselves. Convince them the Federation will help. Let me accept my fate as a show of good faith.”

“I can’t ask that of you, Thenar!”

“
I’m
asking it of
you
. If that’s what it takes to save my crew
and
the Partnership, I’m willing to pay that price. Would you do any less?”

He met her gaze with sadness, but with the deepest of respect and admiration. “I haven’t told you how honored I am to call you a friend.”

She clasped his arms again. “You’ve shown me. Every day. It’s been an honor to serve under you, Captain Reed. I only wish I could have been as fine a captain as you.”

“We’re well-matched as captains, Thenar,” he told her. “Because we both refuse to give up on anyone under our command.”

•   •   •

“No!” Ramnaf Breg lunged at sh’Prenni after the captain relayed the news about Etrafso to the rest of her crew, gathered together
for their daily exercise session. Most of them were in Ware-gray tank tops and shorts, barely standing out from the institutional-white walls that surrounded the yard and the overcast sky above. The blue of their skin—and the orange of Breg’s and the ruddy brown of Banerji’s—provided the only color to the place.

But Breg’s face now flushed bright red as Giered Charas and Zoanra zh’Vethris grabbed her arms and held her in place. “How could you?” the young Arkenite screamed at her captain. “I thought Starfleet were liberators! You made us mass murderers! Monsters!”

“Control yourself, child!” Charas barked. “Even in these rags, she is still your captain!”

“It’s all right, Giered,” she said. “She’s just saying what a lot of us are thinking.”

“But it . . . it was all a mistake,” Hari Banerji said. “We couldn’t have known. Could we?”

Breg whirled on him. “And you. You’re as much to blame as she is! You made the shutdown code into a weapon. Something we could fire without thinking, without stopping to ask! You and your pinkskin impatience!”

“That’s enough!” Charas roared. “No one insults Hari but me, have you got that?”

Breg slumped, her fury spent, and Banerji threw Charas a look of appreciation that the first officer did not acknowledge in any way. Zh’Vethris took the weeping Arkenite in hand and led her away to a more private corner, stroking her smooth-skinned head and kissing her gently.

“Banerji is right,” Charas went on to the rest of the crew. “We are not to blame here. The Ware is a scourge to the galaxy. These Partnership people are its victims whether they admit it or not. Their dependence on it was their own mistake.”

“Yes,” Tavrithinn th’Cheen spoke up, stepping forward. Even in his drab exercise clothes, he carried himself with all the dignity of his clan. “Let us not forget, we are on a mission to defend the Federation against an unfeeling enemy. Any collateral damage falls into its ledger, not ours.”

“How are we defending the Federation?” Silash ch’Gesrit countered, his engineer’s skepticism fully engaged. “We’re two moons’ travel from the nearest Federation border. We’re meddling in the affairs of total strangers.”

“We are extending the benevolence of our protection to our neighbors.”

“They didn’t ask us to get involved.”

“Enough,” sh’Prenni said. “You’re to stop thinking in terms of ‘us’ right now, and that’s an order. I gave the commands. The responsibility of all of this, right or wrong, is mine.”