“I did what I thought would save lives,” said Saru, silencing them both. “And then again when Madoh threatened to kill Hekan. And again when he promised he would execute Johar and Nathal if I did not assist him.”
“And what about now, sir?” Yashae said, her voice catching. “Are we really going to help these hijackers take control of the Shenzhou as well? Madoh thinks if he pulls a gun, you’ll buckle. Are you going to keep on making compromises? Where do we draw the line?”
Saru marshaled his thoughts. This is my only chance to make them comprehend, he told himself. If I can’t convince them to stand with me, then my rank and commission mean nothing. He looked down and glumly realized that his rank insignia was already gone, already sacrificed elsewhere for the vain hope of a peaceful resolution. “On my homeworld, our lives were an endless cycle of fear. We could never stand our ground, because the odds were always against us. Then things changed, and I left my world behind. I became part of this.” He pulled at the blue metallic material of his uniform. “And I learned that there are always predators, and that they wear many skins. But I also learned what Madoh and Nathal and the angry, bitter people on both sides of this conflict have not.” He looked toward Ensign Weeton. “Compassion is not weakness. Enduring is not living. And belligerence is not strength.”
The phantom weight that had been bearing down on Saru seemed to lessen and fade. Saying the words out loud, meaning all of it. The sensation was freeing.
“This conflict we have been drawn into is about to get much worse,” he told them. “And we have a duty to stop it from devolving into open battle.”
“What are you talking about, Lieutenant?” Weeton paled.
Saru quietly explained the content of the troubling message Burnham had sent from the Shenzhou. He offered Weeton the earpiece, the decrypted signal still loaded into its internal memory, and one by one the ensign and the noncoms took turns to listen to her warning.
Saru watched the slow spread of realization across their faces. “I’m sharing this with you so that everyone here understands the stakes. This is not just about us and Lieutenant Commander Johar. There are people among the Gorlans and the Peliars who will be in grave danger if the shooting starts. I know you believe I am afraid to take a stand, but you have to see the reality of this. I am trying to prevent bloodshed. I can’t do it alone. I need you, all of you, to work with me.”
“Would the chief engineer agree?” said Weeton.
Saru’s skin tightened around his skull-like aspect. “He can’t answer that question, Ensign. Do you want to challenge my command? Go ahead. But it won’t change what is coming.”
Saru wondered if the ensign would oppose him; but then Weeton blew out a breath and shook his head. “What exactly is it you want us to do, sir?”
Saru reached for a tricorder resting on the table in front of him, and with the other hand he pulled the slim data card from a pocket. He offered both to the junior engineer. “I need you to program something for me.” Then he looked at the rest of them. “And I need you to trust me with your lives.”
• • •
The red-bands brought Saru before Madoh once again, marching the Kelpien onto the command tier before the leader of the Gorlan hijackers. After learning of his plan, Ensign Weeton had surprised Saru by insisting on coming with him, ignoring the lieutenant’s protestations. I’ve been thinking about being insubordinate all day, sir, he said, so I’m disregarding your orders to stay put.
Saru felt strangely heartened by the ensign’s company, and left Chief Petty Officer Yashae in charge of the remainder of the Starfleet team. He did not allow himself to dwell on the possibility that this might be the last he would see of them, or that those orders might be the last he would ever give.
“Not turning out how you expected, is it?” said Weeton, out of the side of his mouth.
Saru said nothing, catching sight of Nathal and Hekan across the compartment, both of the Peliars under the guns of Madoh’s men. Commander Nathal gave Saru a hard, unreadable look.
“She blames you, outworlder,” said Madoh as they approached the main control podium. “There might be something to that.”
The Kelpien’s shoulders slumped as he sighed deeply. “I’ve done what you asked. This will activate a purge protocol to clear this ship’s systems of all automated command-and-control software.” He offered up the slim data card and Vetch stepped forward, snatching it from his grip. The speaker flipped it from hand to hand, before slotting it into a port on the control panel.
“Purge is running,” said Vetch, as he watched the progress of the program across the screen in front of him. “Soon this ship will finally be under our control.”
“You’ve doomed us all!” Nathal called out.
Madoh eyed Saru with a mixture of arrogance and pity. “You serve well, Saru. Your Captain Georgiou clearly instilled a sense of discipline in her officers.” He glanced at Weeton. “Do all you Starfleet types obey so readily?”
“Not really,” admitted Saru, nodding at the ensign. “This one, certainly not.”
“It does not matter.” Madoh came closer. “I have a new order for you. You will tell me how and where I need to board the Shenzhou in order to take control of it. You have my word the crew will not be harmed, if you assist me.” He paused. Saru could feel the pressure of Madoh’s aggressive aura-field churning at the edges of his senses. “The Peliars already know the price of defiance. Must I teach it to you as well?”
“No.”
“Good,” Madoh went on, “now, do as I—”
“No,” Saru repeated firmly. “I will not help you anymore. This is as far as I will go.”
The compartment fell silent as Madoh turned back, one of his hands rising up to rest on a holstered phaser stolen from the Yang. “Saru, you have sung this song before, and it failed then. Do you expect me to believe you have waited until now to grow a spine?” He looked around, finding Vetch and the others, playing to his audience. “Or is it that you doubt me? You don’t think that I will take a life to get what I want?” He started to draw the phaser.
“I do not doubt you,” said Saru. “I have seen what you did. I know you are more than capable. But my refusal stands.” He continued as the Gorlan’s face grew thunderous. “We will help you take this vessel away from the sanctuary planet, but that is all. We won’t give up our ship or any more of our people to you.”
Madoh removed a communicator disc from a pouch on his tunic and raised it to his lips. “Tayak, status?”
“Standing guard outside the mess hall,” came the gruff reply. Saru recognized the voice as belonging to one of the red-bands who had been watching the hostages. “Is something wrong?”
“We’ll see,” Madoh replied. “Pick out one of the Starfleet captives. Be ready to execute them when I contact you again.” He clicked the channel closed, and shot Saru a level look. “Do you want to reconsider your previous statement?”
Slowly, Saru drew up until he was standing at attention. “I am . . . ashamed that I allowed the situation to go this far.”
“You should be,” sneered the Gorlan, and with those words he offered up the opening that Saru had been hoping for.
“Like you?” he shot back.
“I have no regrets about the choices I have made,” Madoh went on.
“You’re lying,” Saru said, refusing to back down. “You are ashamed of those choices. That’s why you are hiding them from the rest of your people. The other Gorlans, the ones down in the cargo modules. They have no idea what you’ve done. You haven’t told them the price of their safety, because you know they would be appalled by it!”
“Not as many as you might think,” he replied coldly.
“Ejah would,” Saru said firmly, and he saw Vetch and some of the others look away at the mention of her name. “That’s why you are hiding this from her. The hub believes in unity and peace. What you are doing dishonors her.”
“I do what is necessary for our people to survive!” Mad
oh’s voice became a snarl. “I protect her from all this! She is not to be sullied!”
“You lie to her,” Saru countered. “Tell me how that shows respect, Madoh. You lie to her because you know she would never agree to this!”
Madoh teetered on the edge of imminent violence, and Saru felt his threat ganglia writhing over the flesh of his scalp. Then the Gorlan spat on the deck and rocked back. “What happens next is on your head, outworlder,” he said, bringing up his communicator. “I gave you a chance to stop it.”
“No!” Saru’s hand shot out and he snatched at Madoh’s wrist. One of the Gorlan’s arms grabbed his, another ripping the stolen phaser pistol from its holster. “Listen to me,” he called out, ignoring the weapon, pitching his voice so that everyone on the command deck could heard him. “This vessel needs to leave here immediately. A Peliar warship is on its way, and their intentions are to attack! We are all at risk! We will help you leave, but it must be now.”
“How do you know this?” demanded Vetch.
“A signal from the Shenzhou. Sent to our shuttle. A warning.”
“You fool,” said Madoh, tearing free of Saru’s grip. “Is this weak ruse all you have left?”
“He’s not lying,” said Nathal, pushing forward. “I managed to transmit a distress signal to Peliar Zel when you launched your takeover. The Cohort will have received it and dispatched a warship to track us down. And when they come, it will not be with peaceful intent.”
“How soon?” Vetch strode over to her, his hands slashing angrily at the air.
Nathal shot Saru a look. “I expected them to arrive hours ago.”
“Computer, scan nearby space,” Vetch addressed one of the control podiums. “Alert us to any incoming objects.”
“Processing command,” said a stilted, Peliar-accented voice. “No detections. At this time.” The large scanner screens showed empty space and the planet below.
Madoh gave a dismissive grunt. “You are stalling,” he concluded. “It will gain you nothing.”
“You’re not leaving me with any other option,” said Saru. “Please reconsider.”
“And if I will not?”
Saru took a deep breath, and when he spoke again, he pitched his voice toward the nearest console. “Computer, the sun is getting low.”
“What did he say—?” Vetch began.
“Processing command,” replied the synthetic voice. A heartbeat later, all but one console in the compartment went dark, and the hatchways leading to the corridors slammed shut. The main screens winked out and ambient lighting slowly dimmed to less than a quarter of its standard levels.
“Computer, respond . . .” Madoh slammed his fist on the single illuminated console. “Respond, now!”
Across the way, Nathal gave a low, humorless chuckle. “Very clever, Lieutenant. The data card, yes? That’s how you did it.”
At her side, Nathal’s second-in-command peered at another dead panel. “Voice-controlled shutdown command, linked to a specific key phrase. He reprogrammed one of our own security protocols.”
“Actually, I did that,” said Weeton, then reconsidered. “Well. Team effort. It started running when the data card was uploaded.”
“Idiot!” Madoh glared at Vetch. Then he rounded on Saru, clutching the phaser in his hand. “What do you think you have achieved here?” he barked.
“Listen,” said Saru, pointing a long finger up at a vent in the bulkhead above them. “The atmosphere processors have been deactivated. Along with every operational control matrix in this section of the ship. All hatches have been sealed. In a few minutes, life-support functionality will cease and it will get very cold in here, very quickly.” He gestured to Weeton. “I instructed the ensign to isolate the forward section of the ship only. None of the cargo modules will be affected. The refugees will not be harmed. But everyone in this compartment, your men in the engine core, and those in the mess hall or elsewhere . . . we will either freeze or asphyxiate.” He gave Nathal and Hekan a sorrowful look. “My apologies.”
“Undo it!” said Vetch, his voice rising in alarm.
Madoh nodded slowly, and glared up at Saru. “Do as he says, or I will make your last few breaths agonizing.”
“No,” said Saru. “Have your men surrender their weapons and stand down. Relinquish control of this vessel and I’ll deactivate the program. Or else we die here.”
“I do not fear death!” Madoh retorted.
“I believe you,” said the Kelpien. The next words he spoke were difficult for him, but he pressed on. “That is why I am threatening the one single thing I know you do care about. Ejah. The hub.” A ripple of consternation went through the chamber. “We will perish, and this ship will be left to drift with no one to keep her or the rest of your people safe.”
“If the Cohort have declared this ship a renegade, when they arrive they may not even pause before destroying it.” Nathal’s bleak prediction only served to narrow the corner that Saru had backed Madoh into.
The Gorlan’s fierce expression shifted, turning bitter. “I was wrong about you, Kelpien. There is some of the hunter in you after all. Without it, you could not be so callous.”
“I asked you to reconsider,” he said. “We’re here now because of you, Madoh. But it’s not too late to step back from the brink.” In the dimness, a polar chill was spreading through the air, and Saru’s words escaped in a puff of white exhalation.
Madoh became silent and still as the reality of Saru’s threat became clear. He had been outmaneuvered, and he knew it. “Curse you,” the Gorlan said stiffly, and then with an angry flick of the wrist, he tossed his stolen phaser to the deck. He raised the communication disc. “Kindred . . . this is over. Give up your weapons and stand down. We are returning control of this ship to the Peliars.” His voice was thick with frustration, resignation, and remorse.
“Madoh, are you sure of this?” Even over the communicator link, Tayak’s shock was palpable.
“The deed is done,” Madoh told him. “Do as I say.”
Weeton grabbed the phaser as Nathal and Hekan surged forward to disarm the other Gorlans. None of them resisted, but Saru could feel the resentment and dejection coming off them in waves as their aura-fields darkened along with their emotional states. When the weapons were gathered up, Weeton contacted Yashae, and the Vok’sha reported that all the hostages were free.
“They gave in quick,” said the noncom. “After all that happened, didn’t think they would . . .”
Saru shook his head. “It isn’t that,” he said. “I just didn’t give them anywhere to go.”
“You have what you want,” Madoh called out, hugging himself as the cold grew deeper with each passing second. “Keep your promise, outworlder.”
“Computer,” said Saru, “the moons have risen.”
“Processing command.” The console accepted the code phrase, and the systems cycled back to an operational state. One by one, the screens hanging over their heads blinked on, showing views of the space beyond the freighter’s hull.
Out of the cold and the silence, a braying shriek of alarms shocked abruptly through the compartment as brilliant blue alert beacons flashed in unison. Several of the consoles switched to panic mode, warning of imminent danger close at hand.
Saru’s threat ganglia opened in twitching fans as he felt the sudden and very real sense of threat.
On the closest screen, a scan return from the star-freighter’s sensor array was alight with new detections.
Where there had been nothing before, now there were dozens of objects emerging from behind the sanctuary planet. A flotilla of attack drones were closing in on the transport in a swift, purposeful swarm. Trailing behind them was the wide arc of a carrier vessel, its particle beam turrets target-locking one after the other. Flickering globes of energy gathered at the tip of each cannon, holding in check enough firepower to rip the ship open with a single salvo.
11
* * *
The ship approached in an obliq
ue trajectory, using the mass shadow of the sanctuary world to mask its approach from the star-freighter’s sensor array. In the moments of blindness while the transport’s central computer matrix was offline, the Peliar warship had crossed the day-night terminator and powered toward its target. The remaining complement of its autonomous drones were deployed, blasting out of their silos and into a widening attack formation.
By the time the transport’s computer reawakened, the drones and their mothership were already inside optimum firing range for their weapons. Any avenues of escape the bigger, slower craft might have taken were closed off as the drones followed the same approach they had taken with the Shenzhou. They surrounded it, mimicking a tactic that the Peliar Cohort had learned from the spinners of the Tholian Assembly.
The transport ship possessed defensive screens and a network of short-range plasma turrets on its dorsal and ventral hull, but they were not military-grade weapons and the machine intelligences controlling the drones assessed them as being of middling lethality.
On the warship, heavy-gauge particle emitters designed to punch through the hulls of enemy craft readied firing solutions, targeting warp engines, power trains, and the dense clumps of interlocked cargo modules.
If battle were joined, it would be a massacre.
• • •
“What did you do?” Madoh’s words were a gasp, a strangled cry. Some of his previous fire rekindled as he glared at Saru. “I was right! All your talk of equity, and it meant nothing! You gave us up to the Peliars!”
“No. . . . No!” Saru shook his head. “I warned you, I told you they were coming. We did not bring them here!”
“Those drones,” said Weeton, half to himself. “Robotic combat units, same as the one we saw escorting this ship, back before all this kicked off. They’re from Peliar Zel, all right.”
A console to Saru’s right let out a warning tone. An outside force was overriding the transport’s shield controls, shutting them down. Then a humming whine rose from nothing, and rods of sparkling viridian light formed out of thin air in the middle of the command deck, drawing everyone’s attention. The beaming effect dissipated to reveal the forms of several armored Peliar soldiers and two imperious-looking Peliar males in the high headdresses of ranking officers. The older of the two scanned the room with a glower, and Saru saw Commander Nathal physically react at the sight of him.
Star Trek: Discovery: Fear Itself Page 20
