Rise of the Federation: Live by the Code (23 page)

And that was why Mayweather was here on Cotesc alongside Captain Reed, attempting to convince the Senior Partners to reconsider their refusal to release Hari Banerji. “This is absurd,” Tefcem var Skos complained. “We have already convinced the judicial council to delay the
Vol’Rala
crew’s trial to allow you time to familiarize yourselves with Partnership law and custom and to negotiate a diplomatic agreement. Now you ask us to intervene once again and have one of the defendants released?”

“You already agreed to release Vabion in exchange for his help,” Reed countered.

“Vabion left us with no choice. His freedom was the price for his protection—from you.”

Mayweather spoke up. “This could protect you, too,” he said. “Our engineers have an idea for a way to unify the conversion process—not only use the Ware to replicate the bioneural replacement circuitry, but to program it to automatically install those circuits and remove the sleepers all at once. Commander Banerji’s the one who devised the means to interface remotely with the data cores and override their commands. We need his expertise.”

“Why?” asked Chouerd, the Nierl Senior Partner, from within the hovering environmental capsule it occupied. “We already have the ability to enter the cores and awaken the sleepers. We do not need such an indulgence.”

“But others don’t have that ability,” Mayweather went on. “Other nations out there still fear the Ware, and they’re a threat to you because of it. If we can find a solution that works for them as well as you, one that makes the Ware harmless and useful for everyone, then their danger to you would be over. And wouldn’t that be a far better form of protection that hiring a bunch of Klingon mercenaries?”

Rinheith and others seemed swayed, but var Skos still resisted. “You demand too many indulgences. We have already given you license to conduct your experiments on the Etrafsoan Ware, in exchange for your commitment to reactivate it. You have yet to deliver on that promise.”

“Because we can’t,” Reed told him, “without putting living people in there. We know you have volunteers ready and waiting, but we just aren’t ethically comfortable with using people in that way. Especially when we’re so close to finding a better alternative.”

After giving Reed a querying look and getting a subtle nod
in return, Mayweather stepped closer to the wide, curved table that the Senior Partners sat (or floated) around. “I understand that you have reason to resent Banerji, and sh’Prenni, and the others. I know resentment. Vabion and I have a history. He kidnapped me and my friends, threatened the life of a woman I cared about to force me to cooperate, and made me relive one of the most frightening experiences of my life by putting me back into the Ware against my will. And he did all that deliberately, purely for his personal gain. But I’m willing to put that aside and work with him now, because we need his skills to make this happen. And,” he confessed, “because I’m willing to believe that maybe, just maybe, his discovery of the truth about the Ware has changed him, given him a chance at repentance.

“Hari Banerji, on the other hand, is a man who was only trying to help you—who made a mistake because he didn’t understand the situation. I know he’d want nothing more than to make amends for that—not because he’ll get something from you in return, but because it’s the right thing to do. Why not give him that chance?”

The Partners deliberated, and finally cast their votes in the affirmative. “We will intervene on Doctor Banerji’s behalf,” Rinheith stated. “But our indulgence has its limits. If we do not begin to see positive results from these licenses you have demanded, there will have to be consequences.”

Reed locked eyes with all the Partners in turn (those who had eyes) and spoke with solemn sincerity. “The Federation will not let you down. I promise you that.”

Mayweather suppressed a frown at the captain’s words. He had made a similar promise of his own when this had started, guaranteeing a liberated Menaik that she was safe from the Ware; but he had ultimately been helpless to prevent her
recapture. Time and again, the Ware had proven to be a more intractable challenge than anyone had expected. Mayweather only hoped that Reed was not promising more than the Federation could deliver.

October 7, 2165

Partnership border outpost

Lokog finished off his latest stein of replicated bloodwine and tossed it against the boring white wall of the Ware station’s so-called recreation area. “To Gre’thor with K’Vagh and all his nobles,” he growled, not for anywhere near the first time. “They’re no better than the
HemQuch
. Looking down on me, treating me like their servant, even though they’re as deformed as the rest of us.”

Next to him, Captain Korok gave a warning growl, though it was halfhearted. Korok was
HemQuch
himself, but he was a commoner like Lokog, a raider and mercenary with no loyalty save profit and no love for the nobility. Lokog suspected that Korok thought himself better than the
QuchHa’
who made up the bulk of Lokog’s mercenary fleet, but if so, he had kept it to himself. After all, Korok was the captain who had once let himself be beaten by a group of backward, unarmed deuterium miners on Yeq. That planet had been a rare prize—a planet where gaseous deuterium was concentrated in underground pockets as a decay product of celebium, enabling it to be easily collected and purified, rather than existing in trace quantities that had to be meticulously sifted out of water or interstellar hydrogen. It had been just the thing for those who operated on the fringes and preferred to avoid the normal supply lines. Moreover, the alien miners who had settled there had been placid and easily intimidated
into compliance—or so it had seemed until they had somehow developed the backbone and the strategic skills to drive Korok and his men away in humiliating retreat. Korok insisted to this day that some third party must have trained the colonists, but he had never been able to prove it. In the thirteen years since, he had been a laughingstock even among his fellow privateers and outcasts. So he had come along readily enough when Lokog had put out the call for mercenaries to defend the Partnership’s borders in exchange for the drones now conquering the Empire.

“They forget that they need me,” Lokog went on. “Without my drones, their heads would be trophies on the High Council’s wall by now!”

“High Council, rebels, who cares?” Korok complained. “We’re way out here playing border guards for
Ha’DIbaH
. The
khest’n
things don’t even qualify as
jeghpu’wI’
.”

“Why should you mind?” Lokog countered. “Makes them all the easier to push around. You should appreciate that—they’re just your speed!”

Korok snarled and threw his half-empty stein at Lokog. But he was too drunk to throw straight, and the clean miss wasn’t sufficient provocation to start a fight they were both too drunk to bother with. Instead, the ridge-headed, long-haired Klingon pounded the table and ordered, “More bloodwine!” He only got a warning buzz from the table until he remembered to pull his hand away from the platform on which the new stein materialized. It would have served him right, Lokog thought, if the infernal mechanism had beamed away his hand instead. It would certainly have been funnier.

“Is drinking all you know how to do?” asked the third mercenary in the room. Umplor was a Balduk, a large, canine-featured biped with pitted black skin and a long white mane.
He sat alone at his table, due as much to his fierce territorial instincts as to his sheer girth, about equally fat and muscle, which left little room for company. “You’re boring me.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” Korok replied. “It’s boring here. There aren’t even any decent females in this Partnership.”

“There are those hairy ones,” Umplor said. “The big birds’ pets. I like the looks of them.”

The Klingons grimaced. “Little more than apes,” Korok said.

“I asked the birds to give me one,” Lokog admitted, drawing a stare from Korok. “What? I was as bored as you. And I thought they were bred for service, after all. For some reason, the birds said no.” He harumphed. “They’ll use their bodies to power the Ware, sure enough, but for a bit of fun? No!”

“Hey, hold on,” Umplor said, scratching his protruberant brow. “The command drones need people in the machines, right?” Lokog grunted an affirmative. “But the Partners, they’re all about volunteering and making sure people don’t die in the machines. They aren’t just giving you brain-slaves to die in battle, are they?”

“No,” Lokog said. “Vabion and I took a few Pebru captives to serve the first couple of drones we captured. For the rest, we’ve fed them the servitors and slaves from our own ships—and by now, there are probably a few
HemQuch
inside the things, guiding them to kill others of their kind.” He laughed. “A fitting fate for all the nobles! When we’re done, they’ll still be running the Empire—from inside the machinery!”

His laughter was interrupted by a call from Ghopmoq aboard
SuD Qav
.
“Captain Lokog! We’re reading multiple ships emerging from warp, heading this way!”

“Starfleet?” Lokog asked. He wouldn’t have expected them to make an aggressive move while trying to negotiate with the
Partnership. He hadn’t given them that much credit for deviousness.

“No, sir. Klingon! It’s the Defense Force!”

Lokog shot to his feet. His bloodwine-laden circulatory fluids were slow to follow his brain upward, so he reeled, almost falling until Umplor caught and steadied him. Trying to regain his command dignity, Lokog strode forward and yelled, “To the ships!” Korok started to raise his stein and repeat the cry, then realized it was not a toast and clambered from his seat, tossing the stein aside.

Once aboard
SuD Qav
’s bridge, Lokog ordered Krugt to cast off from the Ware station. Then he studied the tactical plot of the incoming Imperial ships, puzzling over how they had gotten past the multiple lines of Ware drones between the Empire and here.

The drones, he remembered, whose delivery he’d been delaying to make K’Vagh sweat.

All right, so that may have been a factor.
But still, the drones that were on hand should have been enough to hold them at bay.

Unless they made an end run around the drones and came at the Partnership from a different direction. Which could be why it had taken so long for them to get here. The bulk of the fleet must surely be busy with the uprising, but a few ships could have gotten through as an expeditionary probe to size up the Partnership as a threat . . . maybe just to posture and intimidate them. “How many ships?” he asked.

Ghopmoq was slow to answer. Was he counting on his fingers? “Fourteen, Captain.”

Lokog staggered. Then he ran to study the readouts over Ghopmoq’s shoulder. Yes, fourteen ships—and more than half were battlecruisers. This was a whole armada.

“They’re making challenge!” Ghopmoq said.

“Let’s hear it.”

The channel opened, and a heavy-browed young
HemQuch
appeared on the screen.
“This is General Ja’rod, commanding the Imperial invasion fleet. You are all under arrest for high treason against the Klingon Empire. You may surrender like the dishonorable dogs you are . . . or you may attempt to reclaim your honor by dying in battle. Choose well—and choose quickly.”

“Captain,” Ghopmoq said, “I’m getting hails from Bakokh’s squadron and M’Tar’s—there are Imperial fleets attacking their positions as well! This is a full invasion!”

Lokog’s breathing quickened, and he tried to get it under control. “Get me the other squadron captains.”

“I have Korok and the two Balduk ships,” the sensor officer reported a moment later. “The others . . . they have already retreated.” He threw Lokog an imploring look, as if hoping to hear the same order.

“Flee, you cowards!”
Korok was shouting drunkenly when he appeared in one segment of the screen.
“Lokog, order them back to die like men!”

“We . . . we should regroup,” Lokog replied. “Gather more ships to . . . to make a stronger stand.”

“No,”
Korok insisted.
“Never again will I be forced into retreat!”

“These are not a handful of miners, you fool! These are the Empire’s finest warriors!”

“I will not be remembered as a coward!”
Korok closed the channel with a forceful snap.

“We will go nowhere either,”
Umplor said.
“We are Balduk! We will stand our ground, even if we must be buried beneath it!”
He gave a howling battle cry, which the other Balduk captain echoed.

“The other ships are engaging the Imperial fleet,” reported the gunner, Kalun.

Lokog watched the screen a moment longer as return fire
began to blast through the fools’ shields. “Good. Let them buy us time.”
Who cares how I’m remembered, if I’m not around to know it? Let the nobles kill each other over honor—I fight to survive.
“Get us out of here,” he cried even as Korok’s ship was blown into a cloud of debris. “Do it now!”

14

October 8, 2165

I.K.S. Gantin
IKS-302

L
IEUTENANT
D’K
HUR HAD QUESTIONED
Worik’s strategy at every turn. “It is reckless,” the warrior-caste officer had insisted, “to sabotage a Starfleet listening station. They must surely monitor them closely. We could alert them to our impending invasion.” Worik had insisted that it was worth the risk to blind the Federation to internal Klingon communications.

D’Khur had objected even more fiercely upon learning of Worik’s full plan—not merely to disable the communications relay that Starfleet used to spy on the Empire, but to install a signal interceptor that would feed it false communications, the better to mislead the Federation. “The modifications will take too long! If Starfleet detects the signal interruption, a warship could arrive before we finish!”

Worik had asked if D’Khur feared the prospect of battle, shaming him into silence. But the captain knew it was only a matter of time before the lieutenant challenged his competence and fought him for command of
Gantin,
a command D’Khur had been slated for before Worik was promoted above him.

After all, Worik knew that D’Khur was entirely right. He only hoped the proof of that would come before D’Khur decided to kill him at last.

Fortunately, Starfleet’s response time lived up to D’Khur’s warnings.
Gantin
had barely left the station when a sphere-prowed, cylinder-bodied Starfleet vessel interposed itself in their path. Worik recognized it as a
Daedalus
-class warship, the kind that had formed the backbone of the Earth fleet during the war with the Romulans. The
Raptor
-class
Gantin,
a compact Bird-of-Prey variant with only a dozen men in its crew, was entirely outmatched. The human who appeared on the view­screen to issue his challenge appeared strong and stalwart as well.
“This is Captain Bryce Shumar of the
United Starship Essex
,”
he announced.
“Surrender at once or be destroyed.”
Shumar did not speak with fury, but he did not need to; it was clear from his eyes that he would make good on that threat. This was a man who had seen many battles and would not shrink from another.

Still, Worik had to make it look good. “Battle stations!” he cried. “Strike them hard!”

D’Khur and the crew fought well, not caring that they had no hope of victory. All that mattered to them was being true to the precepts of a warrior—to strike quickly or strike not, to face the enemy and reveal one’s true self in combat, to seek adversity and destroy weakness . . . and most of all, to choose death over chains and to die standing up.

That was what made it so hard for Worik to betray them—even if, by doing so, he was honoring two of Kahless’s most important precepts, the first and last: to choose one’s enemies well and to guard honor above all. He may not have been warrior caste like his crew, but he shared their belief in the
qeS’a’
, and he acted now for the Empire’s honor, even at the cost of his own.

And so it was that Worik exploited his crew’s lust for battle to lure them into recklessness, attacking when evasion would
be wiser and leaving
Gantin
open to crippling blows from
Essex
’s phase cannons and torpedoes. D’Khur was killed when a surge of phased energy penetrated
Gantin
’s failing shields and blew out a plasma circuit behind his station. Worik was glad that the first officer had been spared the ignominy that was to follow.

Soon,
Gantin
was crippled and helpless before
Essex
, and Shumar appeared again on the cracked viewscreen. Warrior or no, he proved himself human by declaring:
“I give you one last chance to surrender your vessel and spare your crew. There is no need for anyone else to die.”
Worik wondered how many of Shumar’s crew had been lost. Not too many to close his mind, Worik hoped.

The engineer placed his hand upon the control that would detonate the warp reactor. “I stand ready, Captain,” the veteran soldier announced with pride. The blast might not be enough to destroy
Essex
at its current range, but it would ensure the crew’s honor and their place in
Sto-Vo-Kor
.

It was the hardest thing Worik had ever done to open a return channel to Shumar and accept his offer of surrender.

U.S.S. Essex
NCC-173

Shumar’s security officer, Morgan Kelly, was a tall, strongly built female whose dark skin and unflinching manner would have let her pass easily as a
QuchHa’
Klingon. She and Shumar questioned Worik relentlessly about the purpose behind
Gantin
’s mission, looming over him in
Essex
’s compact brig while more guards stood by outside the grilled door. They pressed him to reveal whether his sabotage signaled an imminent ­Klingon invasion, and if so, where and when it would occur. Worik held out for more than an hour, not wishing to risk their disbelief by giving in too easily.

Finally, Kelly gave him an opening. “You understand what’s going to happen to you and your crew, don’t you?” she asked in a rough contralto voice that Worik had grown to find quite attractive. “You will rot in a Federation prison for the rest of your lives. All of you. But if you cooperate, things would go better for you. You could still see your homes again before you die.”

Worik took his time before answering. The reluctance in his voice was genuine, but hopefully he masked the true reasons for it. “Let them go,” he said.

“What?”

“My crew merely did as I commanded. I am the one responsible for the sabotage. Let them return home in
Gantin
. Let them escape the dishonor of letting a warship fall into enemy hands. And you can have me . . . and my cooperation. I will answer your questions if you set them free.”

Shumar leaned in closer. “Your crew are enemy soldiers captured in an act of sabotage. We can’t just let them go with a slap on the wrist.”

“You can if it lets you save an entire Starfleet outpost.”

That got their attention. “What outpost? Where?”

“That is my price,” Worik told them, crossing his arms. “Send my crew home, and I will answer.”

Kelly narrowed her eyes, studying him. “Why? Why would a Klingon captain surrender at all, let alone ask mercy for his crew? I thought you guys longed to die in battle.”

He looked at her through hooded eyes. “That is what our leaders teach us we should do. But we still know fear and pain. I saw my first officer die before me—an officer you killed, Lieutenant Kelly.”

“You attacked us first. You killed our helmsman and two engineers.”

“I know. But whoever started the fight, we all die the same. I do not wish to see more Klingons die for a pointless war. My men deserve better.” He grimaced. “They will call me a coward for this,” he said. “They will see that my name is damned for all time. But they will not die for no reason, or share in my dishonor.”

It was at most a partial truth. Even if they were sent home, his men were as good as dead. As honorable warriors, they would be compelled to commit
Mauk-to’Vor
to cleanse themselves and their families of the shame that Worik had inflicted upon them. They would believe—and the songs of history would record—that Worik had dishonored them by placing their lives above the good of the Empire. They would never know that he had done just the opposite.

But the Earthers did not think like Klingons. To earn their belief, he had to give them a reason for his betrayal that made sense in their terms. He had to make it seem he shared their morality, offering them the opportunity to save lives as an incentive to accept the truth he told them.

Shumar examined him closely. “
Are
you a coward, Captain Worik? Would you lie to us merely to spare your crew?”

Worik held his gaze without wavering. “If courage means being willing to throw away the lives of my crew in an unnecessary war, then I will embrace the mantle of a coward. And I will tell you where and when the attack will be, so that you may save hundreds of lives on your side . . . and perhaps millions more on both.”

He saw that Shumar was ready to believe him, and his damnation by Klingon history was assured. But this was how it had to be. He had to take the stain of this treason on himself alone, in order to spare his family—most of all Deqan, whose position in the High Council must not be compromised.
Worik’s act would help the Federation gird itself against invasion, but that might not be enough to avert the war by itself. Something more would be needed, and Deqan had to be in position to make it happen.

Hoping devoutly that Deqan knew what he was doing, Worik began to speak treason against the Empire.

Starfleet Headquarters, San Francisco

“According to Captain Worik,”
Shumar reported over the monitor in Jonathan Archer’s office,
“the first strike in the Klingon invasion will be against the Starfleet outpost on Ardan Four. It will be a swift, surgical attack by at least three warships, and it will come within the week, Worik estimates.”

“Ardan Four,” Archer repeated, sipping his herbal tea; it was too late in the day for coffee. “And you find his intelligence credible?” Even as he asked, he realized that an officer of Shumar’s experience would not call for help just two days after beginning his border patrol unless something were genuinely wrong.

“Ardan makes sense as a target, sir. It’s our strongest fortification in that sector of the buffer space between Federation and Empire, a key resupply and refueling depot for the border patrol and the exploratory fleet. And it’s strategically positioned to be a foothold for an invasion force.”

“All true,” the admiral replied, “but there are other targets just as good. What if this Captain Worik is sending us on a wild-goose chase?”

Shumar grew solemn.
“Worik surrendered this information reluctantly, and at great personal cost to his honor. He’s basically damned himself in the eyes of his people and his family to tell us this. At the very least, it’s worth taking seriously. And if I may, sir, given the report that they plan a surgical strike, it wouldn’t require that great a diversion of resources to safeguard against it.”

It was a bit brazen of Shumar to offer such unsolicited advice to his superior officer. Archer knew that Shumar disagreed with him on a variety of issues, most of all on the question of non-interference. But Shumar had accrued an admirable record in the Romulan War, and he took more readily to military matters than Archer ever had. The admiral was not averse to taking his advice.

Heaven knew, he had enough bad news to deal with already. The latest reports from T’Pol and Reed had been disheartening; solving the mystery of the Ware’s origins had brought them no closer to negotiating leniency for
Vol’Rala
’s crew. Tucker’s proposal to attempt re-engineering the Ware with Willem Abramson’s help was promising, but there was no guarantee it would work.

Meanwhile, Maltuvis was still tearing through the opposition on Sauria; only two major states had yet to surrender to his conquests, and their aerial defenses were inadequate to stand against the space-capable fleet he now possessed. Archer had tasked Starfleet Intelligence with finding evidence that could expose the dictator’s Orion backers, in the hopes that it would undermine his “Sauria for the Saurians” rhetoric and give political ammunition to the opposition; but the Three Sisters, heads of the Orion Syndicate, seemed to have been working on their subtlety following the defeat of their attempts to infiltrate and undermine the Federation. Proof remained elusive, and Maltuvis still had leverage over the Federation as long as the threat of war with the Klingons remained.

Which meant that if there was any chance of heading off that war before it started, Archer had to seize it. “All right, Captain. It’s your collar, so it’s your mission. Get
Essex
to the Ardan system and set a trap for the invaders.
Docana
and
Atlirith
are in the sector—I’ll ask Shran to divert them to meet you there.”

“Very good, Admiral. If that’s all . . .”

“One more thing—I’ll talk to Admiral Narsu about sending a ship to transfer your prisoner to Starbase Twelve. We wouldn’t be very good hosts if we took a cooperating prisoner into a war zone.”

“Indeed not, sir. I had planned to contact the admiral myself.”

“Then I’ll let you go ahead with that, Bryce. How are you enjoying having Uttan as your commanding officer, by the way?”

“A bit odd, sir, after fighting side by side so long in the war. But some of us are more comfortable behind a desk than others. He’s doing a fine job of it, sir.”

“Good to hear. Archer out.”

The screen blanked, and Archer shook his head.
Some more comfortable behind a desk than others. I just wish I were one of them.
He signaled the outer office. “Marcus, get me Admiral Shran as soon as you can.” He sighed. “And have the yeoman bring me some coffee.”

October 9, 2165

Ware orbital station, Etrafso system

“They want us to stop?” Hari Banerji asked in mildly cross befuddlement, which was as close as he ever seemed to come to anger. “But I’ve only just begun working!”

Vol’Rala
’s aging human science officer was crouched beside the Ware station’s primary data core along with Tucker, Akomo, Vabion, and T’Pol, the latter of whom had just arrived from
Endeavour
to deliver the message from the Senior Partners. “According to the Partners,” T’Pol told the engineering team,
“the Klingon invasion takes priority. They request that we join in the border defense efforts rather than continuing our work here. Their drone fleets are defending their borders as well as they are able, with assistance from that portion of the mercenary fleet that has not retreated in the face of the Klingon armada. But the Klingons have gained experience in combatting Ware fleets and have adapted to their weaknesses.”