Star Trek: Vanguard: Storming Heaven (26 page)

He did not need to ask why he had been cast as the Empire’s whipping boy. By the time he had risen from his bed that morning, half the galaxy had seen the latest top story from the Federation News Service: a feature article that accused Duras personally as well as his entire House with numerous specific acts of collaboration with the Romulan foreign intelligence service known as the Tal Shiar. His first instinct had been to dismiss the story as a clumsy attempt at a smear campaign—but then he’d read it.

To his chagrin, it appeared to have been impeccably researched, sourced, and documented. It was replete with names, dates and places of events, accounts of criminal activities perpetrated by Duras and his agents, and the details of promises made by and transactions between both Duras and his Romulan contacts. It had laid bare his House’s plan to ally itself with the Romulan Star Empire as a means of seizing political and economic power at home, even if it meant turning the Klingon Empire into a de facto puppet state of the Romulans.

Worst of all, it had revealed his affair with Valina. After surviving the wrath of his wife, confronting the High Council had come to seem like a trifling matter to Duras.

He let them shout their curses and heap derision upon his name until his temper boiled over and he could bear no more. “Silence! Who are you to judge me? Mine is one of the oldest Houses in the Empire! Why would you take the word of
novpu’
over mine?”

Councillor Kesh yelled back, “You deny its claims?”

“Of course I deny them, you fool!”

“If we investigate this ourselves,” said Councillor Kulok, “what will we find?”

Duras waved away the accusation. “Nothing!”

Councillor Molok howled, “Because you’ve buried the evidence?”

“Because there’s no evidence to find!” Duras’s protestations were met by another long, deafening babel of discord. Spittle flew with the invective, all of it directed at him. Pivoting and snarling like a trapped animal, his bloodlust grew hotter and more bitter until he roared, “Damn you all! Since when does this council believe the lies of its enemy’s propaganda machine? Not one soul inside the Empire has ever accused me of such heinous crimes. To think I would debase myself and dishonor my House by betraying the Empire is absurd!” He drew his
d’k tahg
and waved it menacingly at his detractors. “If any of you have proof, present it. If any of you have the courage to accuse me, step forward and draw your blade.”

Gorkon’s stentorian voice reverberated from the far end of the chamber. “Enough of this. All of you step back. Duras, sheath your blade.” The councillors withdrew from Duras with great reluctance. Some glowered at him with contempt while others stared resentfully at Gorkon. When Duras returned his blade to its sheath, Gorkon continued. “Councillor Duras is correct: the slander of a Federation civilian carries no weight under Klingon Imperial Law. The contents of that article are to be considered suspect, and may not be introduced as evidence here.”

Duras accepted Gorkon’s support with a small nod. “Well said.”

“However,” Gorkon added, drawing out the word for dramatic effect, “the surprising level of detail in that article does raise a number of difficult questions, Councillor Duras—some of which might be possible to answer with a formal inquiry by Imperial Intelligence.”

The mere suggestion had Duras squeezing the grip of his blade and shooting a murderous look at Gorkon.
You arrogant
toDSaH
!
Swallowing his curses for another time, Duras bellowed to the other councillors, “This is a smear campaign! My House is being framed! Can’t you see that?” None of his peers would look him in the eye. Some merely averted their gaze; others turned away from him entirely. He turned in one direction, then another, searching for support but finding none. Even his old friend Kesh had turned against him. Desperate for an ally, he turned to Sturka. “Chancellor! Tell me you haven’t been taken in by these outrageous lies!”

“I’ve heard a great many outrageous lies in recent days, Duras.” Sturka’s guttural croak of a voice was thick with disdain. “Most of them, I think, from you.” He got up from his throne and gathered his long cloak of silvery fur lined with black silk. “Gorkon is correct: This is a matter best remanded to Imperial Intelligence for investigation.” He turned his back on Duras and walked away, heading toward his private portal.

Standing beside the throne, looking down at Duras with smug self-assurance, was Gorkon. “Take heart, Duras. If you’re guilty of no wrong, you have nothing to fear.”

Standing alone in the midst of his rivals, Duras realized Gorkon was the only person in the room who would meet his stare. In that moment, he intuited who it was who had bested him. He snarled at the chancellor’s éminence grise. “This isn’t over, Gorkon.”

Gorkon taunted him with his maddening, wry smile. “Nothing ever is.”

Duras turned and marched out of the chamber, vowing revenge every step of the way.

Jetanien greeted Lugok by holding out a large stein as the portly Klingon waddled into his office. “A drink to celebrate our fruitful collaboration,” said the Chelon ambassador emeritus.

Lugok accepted it but held it at arm’s length. “This isn’t a mug of that rotten fruit you like to swill, is it?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, old friend. Only the most ungracious host serves his guest an unpotable beverage. You hold in your hand some of the finest
warnog
ever smuggled off Qo’noS. I believe it’s of a variety known as
QIp’chech bel’uH
.”

The Klingon took a deep whiff of the liquor’s bouquet and reacted with delight. “Now
that’s
more like it.” He quaffed a cheek-bulging mouthful and gasped in appreciation.

“Typically, one waits for the toast before indulging in one’s drink,” Jetanien said. The mild reproof earned Jetanien a low growl of irritation from his guest. Lifting his own glass, Jetanien continued. “To the truth: may it always come back to haunt our enemies.”

“And leave us in peace,” Lugok added. “Can I drink now?”

“Go ahead.” Jetanien sipped from his bowl of
N’va’a
.

Lugok emptied his stein and set down the empty vessel. “Gorkon and I are in your debt for feeding that story to the human reporter. I’m told that Duras is politically toxic now, and it might be a generation or more before his House regains its former stature.”

“That is good news,” Jetanien said. “I hope it gives us enough time to steer our two nations toward peace—and keep the Romulans on their side of the Neutral Zone.” He waved a clawed manus toward the bottle of
warnog
atop the liquor cabinet beside his desk. “Another?”

“Yes!” Lugok handed Jetanien his stein. He waited while Jetanien refilled it and smiled as he handed it back. “A very generous pour, my friend. You’d make a good bartender.”

“Hardly,” Jetanien said. “I have no patience for other people’s problems.”

“I see. You like the idea of serving
the
people, but you don’t actually like people.”

“In essence, yes.” Jetanien savored another long sip of his fermented fruit cocktail while Lugok filled the room with the joyous noise of a deep belly-laugh.

The Klingon slapped Jetanien’s shoulder. “You slay me,
Jetanien, really.” After recovering some of his composure, he added, “This business with your friend Pennington has given me a new appreciation for a peculiar human phrase.”

“Which one?”

“I believe the saying is, ‘The pen is mightier than the sword.’ That certainly proved true in Duras’s case.” He took another gulp of
warnog
and smiled. “But I’d still rather go to war with a
bat’leth
than a quill.”

Jetanien lifted his bowl in affirmation. “Very sensible, old friend. Very sensible, indeed.”

The longer he spoke to his supervising officer at Starfleet Command, the more seriously Nogura considered the possibility of early retirement. “All I’m saying,” he argued, “is that we should consider giving Doctor Marcus the benefit of the doubt. She has a distinguished record as a research scientist, and she’s responsible for many of our biggest discoveries about the Shedai.”

Admiral Harvey Severson, a rail-thin, pale-complexioned man of Swedish ancestry, looked back at Nogura over the real-time subspace channel, his affect one of long sufferance that was reaching its limit.
“I don’t mean to denigrate your faith in her, Chiro, but this isn’t a time for sentimental decision-making.”

“I think my concerns are eminently
practical
.”

“Other members of the admiralty don’t agree,”
Severson said.

“Tell me which ones, and I’ll talk to them myself. I’m not saying we should close down the Vanguard project. I’m simply suggesting we heed Doctor Marcus’s advice to take a step back and make sure we aren’t being careless in our approach.”

A worried look crossed Severson’s face.
“I hope you haven’t encouraged her dissent.”

Nogura was almost offended by the question. “Not at all. I’ve been careful to make clear that I represent the express wishes of Starfleet. But in case you’ve forgotten—”

“Marcus is a civilian—we know.”
The senior admiral took an accusatory tack.
“Most of your researchers are civilians, which is one reason we’re concerned. If she gets them riled up with her political agitation—”

“Most of them are too engrossed in their work to pay her any mind.”

“What about the ones who aren’t?”
He lifted a hand to stave off Nogura’s reply.
“The point of this is that we can’t afford any more delays on the Vanguard project.”

Moments such as this made Nogura feel as if talking to Starfleet Command was about as productive as shouting at the back wall of his office. “I think the point ought to be that Doctor Marcus might be right. We might have pushed this project too far, too fast.”

Severson seemed genuinely surprised.
“Forgive me, but weren’t you the one in command of Vanguard when a Shedai ripped through it like a battle-ax through a piñata?”

“I vaguely recall a Shedai attack on the station, yes.”

“Spare me the sarcasm, Chiro. You of all people ought to recognize the urgency of the Shedai threat. Do I really need to spell this out for you?”

Eager to hear his superior’s latest litany of condescension, Nogura reclined his chair and folded his hands across his lap. “Enlighten me.”

“The Federation is hemmed in on all sides,”
Severson said, lowering his voice as he leaned closer to the screen.
“The general public knows we’re butting heads with the Klingons and the Romulans, and a small percentage know about the Tholians, the Patriarchy, and the Gorn. But there are plenty of others the public doesn’t even know about yet.”

The implication of Severson’s words snared Nogura’s attention. “Such as . . . ?”

“Our long-range scouts have reported hostile encounters with several new species. Two in particular, the Breen and the Cardassians, might be real trouble in the next few decades. A few others, like the Tzenkethi and the Talarians, don’t seem likely to warm up to us, either.

“Now, add all that to the ongoing threat posed by the current Romulan-Klingon alliance and the fact that the Tholian ambassador just walked away from diplomatic talks in Paris. Regardless of what direction the Federation tries to expand, it’s slamming up against foreign powers that don’t want us there, and a few that actively want us dead.

“All those threats are potentially disastrous but ultimately manageable, with time, effort, and strategy. Those are enemies we can understand and defend ourselves against, if necessary.

“But the Shedai? They’re an angry genie we’ve let loose from the bottle. It was just sheer, stupid luck that your crew had the resources and expertise to capture the one that hit you. But imagine what would happen if one of those things got loose on a populated Federation planet. Civilian law enforcement and local militaries don’t have the technology or firepower to defend themselves against the Shedai. We’d be talking about millions of fatalities, at a minimum. Hell, the only way your predecessor stopped those things was by turning Gamma Tauri IV into radioactive glass. As you might imagine, that’s not a solution I’d want to use on planets like Rigel, Vulcan, or Earth. But until you and your team give us something better, General Order 24 is the only weapon we’ve got against these things.

“So, while I understand the sincere and reasonable concerns that you and Doctor Marcus have raised with regard to the pace of the Vanguard project, I need you to put them aside. We need that array up and working, and we need your team to figure out how to use it, as soon as possible—if not sooner. That’s not a request, it’s an order. Get it done.

“Severson out.”

The screen faded to black as Severson terminated the subspace link. Nogura looked at the ceiling of his office and wondered who, ultimately, history would decide had been on the right side of that argument: Severson or Marcus? At the same time, he knew that in the here and now, the answer to that question was irrelevant. All that mattered was that he had his orders, and like a good soldier, he would follow them—even if he suspected the result would be a catastrophe.

As he sat and brooded, the words of an ancient Earth poem haunted his thoughts.

Theirs not to make reply,

Theirs not to reason why,

Theirs but to do and die.

Into the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.

Nogura looked at the star map on the wall to his left, and his eyes fell upon the dense cluster of icons that reminded him daily of the Tholian armada assembled within prime striking distance of Vanguard.

Into the valley of Death, indeed
.

Carol Marcus stood back from the Vault’s master control panel and watched Lieutenants Xiong and Theriault. The young Starfleet scientists conferred in excited whispers in front of a huge vid screen as they debated how to apply the new intel from T’Prynn to the alien array. Hours earlier, when the Vulcan intelligence officer had delivered the results of her follow-up debriefing of Cervantes Quinn, Marcus had succumbed to curiosity and pored over the arcane mishmash of symbols, formulas, and molecular models. She had even felt a flush of excitement when she, Xiong, and Theriault had begun to parse the alien syntax—a bizarre fusion of pure mathematics, applied chemistry, and quantum physics. Then she had remembered what they were working toward, and her elation turned to shame.