“Many?” Vetch looked down at Hekan to ask the question, nodding in the direction of the Shenzhou as the ship grew larger.
Hekan glanced at Saru. “The Federation’s Starfleet is quite large, is it not?”
“Yes.” Saru nodded and looked to Vetch. “Many, indeed. The Shenzhou is an older craft, but it is only one vessel in a fleet that operates across several sectors.”
“More come here?”
Saru wasn’t sure what the question was leading toward. “If they are needed.”
Vetch pursed his lips and said nothing.
Weeton brought them around and into the starship’s open hangar bay in a smooth, gentle turn, and the ensign deftly dropped the Yang back into the very same spot it had left several hours before.
As the shuttle settled to the deck, Saru saw three figures waiting on the flight apron—Captain Georgiou, Lieutenant Burnham, and the captain’s yeoman, Ensign Danby Connor. Inwardly, he winced. Saru’s actions aboard the Peliar ship had crossed a line of due comportment that would earn him censure from his commander, but it would be worse if he was forced to suffer it in front of Burnham and Connor.
He shook off the thought. If the captain was going to give him a dressing-down, it wouldn’t be now. No, he thought, that is something I will have to look forward to.
The Yang’s aft hatch dropped open and Saru led the way, followed in order by the Peliar security guard, Hekan, Vetch, and finally Ensign Weeton. Georgiou caught Saru’s eye as he drew himself up to attention, and he knew his earlier thoughts were correct. At least the first officer isn’t present. Saru doubted that Commander ch’Theloh would be discreet about pointing out his shortcomings.
Captain Georgiou gave Vetch an official greeting in line with his status as the representative of the Gorlan, but he appeared distracted, warily peering into the far corners of the cavernous landing bay as if looking for something.
“I asked for you to be brought here because I have some questions,” Georgiou went on. “I wanted to converse with you face-to-face. And please understand, you’re under no duress here. You may speak freely and make any request you require.”
Saru was aware of Hekan and the other Peliar shifting nervously as the captain concluded her opening statement. If there was a moment for this to all become even more complicated, then it was now. The Kelpien ran through possible scenarios in his head. What if he asks for asylum? What if there is violence? What if someone produces a weapon?
It was a fact of life for Saru that he entertained such worst-case scenarios every minute of every day.
He glanced at Burnham, recalling something she had said to him a few months ago. You always expect the worst, Saru.
Yes, he had replied, but I always hope for the best.
“Ask what is to be asked,” said Vetch, making a beckoning motion. “Will reply.”
Georgiou exchanged glances with Burnham and Connor, then returned her attention to the speaker. “Are the Gorlans aboard the transport vessel in any distress?”
“Distress?” Vetch’s face wrinkled.
“Is anyone . . . is anything hurting your people?” offered Saru. From the corner of his eye, he saw that Connor was discreetly conducting a tricorder scan of the group.
“Gorlan-kind are hardy. Spirited,” replied Vetch. “Little hurts us. We endure.”
“She wants to know if we have harmed you,” said Hekan, shooting Georgiou a look. “That’s it, isn’t it? You’re afraid we’ve enslaved these people, or something equally heinous? You just don’t want to say it out loud.”
“We’re looking for some clarity,” offered Burnham. “That’s all.”
“You’re judging us,” Hekan shot back, “and them, on a matter you know next to nothing about!” She made a terse, negative gesture at her throat. “Does the Federation think so little of Peliar Zel’s people? I swear to you, on Beta’s lands, I would not be party to such a thing.”
Hekan spoke with honesty and passion, enough that Saru was willing to believe her. But she was only one person, he reminded himself, and the Kelpien wondered how Nathal would have responded in her place.
Vetch’s head bobbed. “Peliar-kind have . . . not harmed Gorlan-kind. All is calm between us on the journey to the new place. Have no concern for us.”
“Uh, pardon me . . .” Connor cleared his throat. “Sorry. I couldn’t help but notice, the scans . . .” He held up the tricorder. “I’m detecting below-average biometrics compared to the Gorlan norms we have on record. Although admittedly, those are pretty vague.”
“Ah.” Vetch ran a hand down his beard. “Is nothing. Only fatigue caused by extended travel. Affects all of us, but it is inconsequential. We do not speak of minor thing.” He frowned. “Gorlan-kind do not live at their best under metal skies,” he admitted, pointing at the ceiling above them. “We need earth beneath feet. True air in breath.”
“Are you talking about a vitamin deficiency?” said Burnham.
“That’s about right,” agreed Connor. “Noticeable but not life-threatening.”
“We can help with that,” said the captain, seeing an opportunity. “My chief medical officer, Doctor Nambue, can offer the Gorlans a medicine that will alleviate your fatigue. If you wish it.”
“That would be of use,” said Vetch, and the air of bluff inscrutability he affected dropped away, revealing genuine appreciation. But still, his eyes darted, watching the angles, and Saru realized he was seeing another emotion in the alien. The fear again, the same fear Saru had sensed back in the gathering space.
He let his other senses lessen and concentrated again on the aura-field of the Gorlan. Vetch was agitated, but he concealed it well.
“We are glad to assist,” Georgiou was saying. “That’s why we are out here.”
But Hekan had more to say. “I believe you have good intentions,” she began. “However, I must tell you that my commander considers your presence in this sector to be more interference than assistance. This space is beyond the boundary of your Federation. You cannot enforce your values here.”
Saru had the immediate sense that the words Hekan was speaking were really Nathal’s. “Would you prefer that we left you all to perish?”
“What my lieutenant means,” interjected Georgiou, “is that Starfleet has a duty to protect all life. That goes beyond lines on a map.”
“And I thank you.” Hekan gave a small bow. “But I have my orders, and I must relay a message.” She stiffened and her manner became formal. “Commander Nathal will be filing an official complaint with the Federation Diplomatic Corps over the Shenzhou’s conduct in this situation. Now that your demand to meet the Gorlans has been fulfilled, she asks that you withdraw your crew members from our ship and leave us to our mission.”
The captain glanced at Saru and Weeton. “Are the repairs complete?”
“Almost done, Captain,” replied the ensign.
“We will respect the wishes of our Peliar neighbors.” Georgiou nodded. “My chief engineer will certify your warp drives are safe to operate.” Hekan opened her mouth to protest, but the captain continued on. “It’s the very least we can do for prospective members of the United Federation of Planets.”
At length, the Peliar woman made the affirmative gesture at her throat and relented. “Of course.”
“Yeoman.” Georgiou looked to Connor. “Escort our guests to sickbay and see that Speaker Vetch is provided with medicines from ship’s stocks.”
“Aye, Captain.” Connor stepped forward to meet the group and gestured toward the turbolift across the shuttlebay. “If you’ll follow me, sir?”
Saru watch Vetch and the Peliars walk away, noting that the Gorlan moved slowly and carefully, as if he were unused to the gravity level on board the starship. When Saru turned back, he found the captain’s hard look boring right up at him.
• • •
“I know I have a reputation for giving my people a lot of leeway,” she began, holding Saru’s gaze. “Is that a mistake on my part?”
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br /> The Kelpien squirmed a little, and she let it happen. “No, Captain. I admit I allowed my interest to get the better of me.” He sighed, and Georgiou knew he was already beating himself up about it. “I couldn’t ignore what I saw,” concluded Saru.
“Sure made things a lot more complicated,” muttered Weeton, and then he caught himself. “Did I say that out loud?”
“Lieutenant Burnham was right,” she went on, letting the ensign’s comment pass. “Clarity is what we need here. Despite your methods, Saru, it’s important that we learned about the presence of the Gorlans on that ship, and their circumstances.”
“Given their attitude toward us, I very much doubt Commander Nathal would have freely volunteered that information,” noted Saru.
“Is she hiding something else?” As ever, Michael was first to cut to the core of things. “Or is this just resentment directed toward us as outsiders?” Burnham cocked her head in that Vulcan way of hers as she analyzed her own questions.
“Uncertain,” Saru said ruefully. Then he took a step forward and lowered his voice. “However, Captain, I do feel that there is more to this than we know. The speaker, Vetch?” He jutted his chin in the direction of the turbolift. “Who was it that provided him for us to converse with?”
“The Peliars,” said Weeton.
“You don’t trust him?” said Burnham. “What are you basing that on?”
“Instinct.” As soon as he said the word, Georgiou saw the Kelpien’s shoulders slump. “I know. It’s hardly the most solid basis for scientific scrutiny.”
“Weeton.” She shifted her attention to the junior officer. “You were over there too. Do you share Lieutenant Saru’s opinion?”
The ensign frowned. “Nathal doesn’t like us and she doesn’t want us around, that’s as plain as the nose . . . I mean, the noses on her face. But, I mean, we might feel the same way if things were reversed, right?”
“Commander Nathal could perceive our intervention as a threat to her authority,” said Burnham, mirroring Weeton’s frown. “Admittedly, it’s an illogical reaction.”
“Not everyone is as rational as you, Michael,” said Georgiou, letting some mild reproach into her tone.
“Are we going to just . . . let them leave?” Saru fixed her with those searching eyes of his. “We can’t do that. There are too many unanswered questions.”
The captain saw a look pass between Weeton and Burnham. The other officers were thinking the same thing she was. Georgiou had rarely seen Saru push the point, as he was doing now. It was out of character for the Kelpien to react in this fashion. “Lieutenant, that’s all we can do. We don’t have a right or due cause to restrict the passage of a Peliar Zel starship. Frankly, I’ve already overstepped my remit by sending the rescue team in blind. We can’t risk causing an interstellar incident by involving ourselves in the affairs of non-Federation worlds.”
“This isn’t a Prime Directive issue, Captain,” Saru insisted, his tone rising.
“I know the regulations,” she said firmly, shutting him down. “And that’s why we’re going to abide by them.”
“There’s also another danger to consider,” offered Burnham. “The Tholian Assembly is an ever-present threat to the Peliars. Commander Nathal and her crew have to deal with that potentiality every day. An increased Starfleet presence in this area, even one ship, risks an escalation of Tholian involvement.”
“They want us gone,” said Weeton, echoing his earlier statement.
“And we’re going to oblige. Let’s not forget, we have a mission of our own to get back to.” Georgiou nodded toward the Yang. “Be ready for immediate departure, Ensign. Let’s not outstay our welcome any more than we already have.” She turned away and threw Burnham a glance. “I’ll be on the bridge. In the meantime, Michael, bring Saru up to speed on the buoy situation.”
The captain’s last look was toward the Kelpien, but Saru was staring out and away, through the shimmering force field over the open shuttlebay door, toward the massive alien freighter floating beyond.
• • •
“The buoy,” began Burnham. “I’ve uploaded the data from the preliminary tear-down into your queue.”
Saru nodded, but it was difficult for him to focus on the thought of the analysis. His mind kept drifting back to the face of the Gorlan female in the white robes. There was something compelling about her, and he felt a growing sense of incompleteness at the prospect of never learning what she might have said to him.
“The memory cores were affected by an outside energy source,” Burnham went on. “I’m not sure of the origin, but we have to consider that the Tholians may be behind it.”
Saru nodded absently. “They have been known to interfere with attempts to scan their domains in the past. They utilize radiation baffles to conceal sections of their ships from close-range sensor sweeps.” He watched Weeton through the open hatch of the shuttle as the ensign ran the Yang through a prelaunch checklist.
“That’s a passive measure. We’re talking about an active one, a deliberate denial operation.” Her lips thinned, and Burnham moved to step in front of him, blocking his view. “Saru, do I have your full attention?”
“Not really,” he confessed. “Perhaps a third of it?”
“What’s going on?” Burnham looked him over. “This morning you were fixed on the idea of running the analysis by the book from start to finish, now you’re barely listening to me . . .” Her tone softened. “What happened to you over there? What did you see?”
“I don’t have a good answer for that question,” he admitted. For the most part, Saru was a stickler for process and protocol, a firm believer in scientific rigor. But there was also a side of him that was pure Kelpien, a throwback to the reactive, primitive nature of the prey species his kind had once been. That conflict was pressing on him, the responsive elements versus the rational, both trying to make sense of the emotions that his venture into the Gorlan gathering had brought up. “I believe . . . this situation has affected me more deeply than I was aware of.”
“Do you need to see Doctor Nambue?”
He waved the comment away irritably. “I am not unwell, Lieutenant. I am . . . disquieted.” Saru saw the questions in her expression. “You don’t understand. But you would, if you had been there.”
“Maybe,” she allowed. “Perhaps then you would be the one asking me if I was okay.”
“I think the captain is wrong to disengage from this situation.” Normally, Saru would think twice about voicing such a comment, but it fell from him and he didn’t try to walk it back.
“You made that clear enough,” said Burnham. “But there are regulations that have to be followed. Captain Georgiou knows that, and it appears that Commander Nathal has read the same rulebook.”
He eyed her. “You talk about following the letter of the regulations, but that isn’t what you said in the mess hall. You ignored protocol by having the buoy beamed aboard the ship.”
“That was different,” she replied.
“How so? You advocate following the regulations in one case but not another? It seems very arbitrary to me.” They were falling into their familiar, combative rhythm once more, but Saru didn’t care to halt it. At times he felt he understood Michael Burnham best when they were disagreeing.
“We’re trained to interpret a situation based on the unfolding circumstances,” Burnham shot back. “This is the frontier, Saru. The nearest starbase is days away at high warp; the same for the closest Starfleet vessel. We have to be ready to bend the regulations if the moment demands it. That’s the thing that separates a good officer from a great one, knowing when to bend and when to be firm.” She cocked her head. “If you want to command a starship one day, you need to learn when to make those calls. When to show boldness and when to use restraint.”
A retort was forming in his mind when something in Saru made him halt. The human had a point, as irritating as it might have been to admit it. Perhaps I should consider things from her viewpoint,
he thought. What would Burnham do if our situations were reversed?
“You appear to have things in hand with the monitor analysis, Lieutenant.” He pulled the tricorder from his belt and moved off. “I’m happy to follow your lead.”
“You are?” Burnham raised an eyebrow.
“Yes,” he said distractedly, spooling through the tricorder’s memory files for the data recorded by his universal translator. “Carry on. I want to review these scans and upload them to the Shenzhou’s computer . . .”
A plan of action was starting to form in his thoughts, each element building on the next.
• • •
“That’s it, sir,” said Yashae as she pulled a hand across her brow. “I think we’re all good.”
Johar didn’t say anything, instead making a give it here gesture. The chief petty officer handed him the data tablet she had been using, and he tabbed through the display, holding up the device so he could look at it and the Peliar warp core side by side.
On the portable screen, green status flags illuminated in a line to signify that all the systems inside the alien machinery were now operating normally. The repairs were complete, and they were ready to give the word to Nathal, up on the command deck, to begin the cold-start sequence that would spin up the big cargo ship’s warp nacelles.
But Johar hesitated. “Did Subin report back to you about the pulse-wake scan I wanted?”
Yashae nodded, blinking her long-lashed eyes. “She ran the checks, sir. No detection of any lingering nadion particles in any of the emitter coils or injector mechanisms. Whatever caused the pulse effect they encountered, there’s no trace of it now.”
“Yes,” he agreed, “and that annoys the hell out of me.” Johar waved at the warp core. “I mean, we know it wasn’t a transient subspace effect they passed through; that would have left a different decay signature. We know it wasn’t an imbalance in the warp field. Again, that would have been obvious.” The engineer started to pace. “So what made this happen? I want a conclusive answer, mister. Otherwise, we’re leaving the job half done, and you know how I feel about sloppy workmanship.”
Star Trek: Discovery: Fear Itself Page 7
