by Dayton Ward
“I thought I understood them,” Gannon said. “But nothing in my training prepared me for this. Maybe you’re right to hate Gorkon, Captain. Maybe there really is no bridging the gulf between our peoples.”
Reyes met her eyes, and the sadness Fisher saw in his face gave way to a look of grim determination. “Dare to hope, Hallie.”
9
2268
It was twilight when Desai found the leviathan.
Her trek up the southern ridge had been slow and arduous. She followed some well-worn trails when she could, but caution had forced her off the beaten path whenever she felt she was in danger of being discovered. She had to assume the other colonists had quickly learned about her escape from Sgouros’s custody, and Desai wished to avoid any of the search parties that were undoubtedly now looking for her as well as Fisher. Fortunately, she had succeeded in disabling the transponder in Sgouros’s comm unit, so they had no easy way to track her movements.
From the top of the ridge she’d seen the river. Or rather, she’d seen the blanket of fog that clung to it and followed its serpentine course as far as her eyes could penetrate. From somewhere below, the signal she followed called to her.
It took her another hour to reach the muddy, fog-shrouded bank, and it was there that she saw the beached form of what looked like a gigantic aquatic serpent, the full extent of its unbelievably long body lost in the mist. The transponder signal she’d been chasing momentarily forgotten, Desai stood in the mud, marveling at the size and alienness of the life-form—at its dark blue body streaked in pale green, at its toothy mouth that was big enough to close over an elephant, at its strange multiplicity of eyes that seemed to notice her presence, but which regarded her with an unfocused quality. Desai realized then that the creature was dying.
Its body swelled suddenly, as if with a great intake of breath, and with a thunderous trumpeting that rattled Desai’s teeth and caused winged creatures all around to take flight, a great tear formed in the leviathan’s side, releasing thousands of smaller serpents that spilled into the mud and slowly slithered toward the river, following the current as the leviathan expired.
“Sad and beautiful, isn’t it?”
She turned to see Fisher emerging from the fog along the river’s edge, followed by a young woman Desai assumed was Octavia Dawes. Behind them came Doctor Ying and several other New Anglese. “The colonists named them nagai,” Fisher went on. “They travel upriver from the deep ocean to spawn, but they can’t survive the experience. Their young have to struggle their way back home, because if they stay here, they’ll die too. This is the secret the New Anglese have been guarding.”
Desai’s stare returned to the dead mother. “What’s going on here, Fish? What does any of this have to do with Aole?”
“This is why he died,” Ying said. “After he came here to convince us we needed to abandon Kadru, we decided to trust him with our knowledge of the nagai. We showed him our data, the holos we’d taken. He understood immediately, and wanted to help us. But he wanted to see the nagai for himself. We were reluctant, but he insisted New Anglesey was running out of time. So while we met to debate his request, Aole took matters into his own hands and went out alone to experience the nagai firsthand. He came across a beached mother, just as you did. But something went wrong. He must have slipped or fallen in the river, struck his head on a rock below the surface of the water. Dawes found him not long after, but it was already too late.
“We panicked. We were afraid of more outsiders finding the nagai, so we went to work eradicating any trace of where Aole had been, or any nagai DNA he’d come in contact with. We even burned his uniform. We had to make sure Starfleet wouldn’t be able to retrace his steps back here. But it was all for nothing.”
“Why?” Desai asked. “Why did it need to be kept secret?”
Fisher exchanged a look with Dawes and said, “The way it’s been explained to me—and the data I’ve been shown backs this up—the blood of the nagai has a very complex and unusual composition. It contains a unique combination of biochemical constituents that Doctor Dawes here has identified as a potential panacea to most of the known humanoid species, and probably many others. Imagine it, Rana: a wonder drug for whatever may ail us. A revolution in medicine throughout every world we know about.
“But it’s their blood. And there’s mounting evidence to suggest that the nagai are sapient, or on the cusp of it at least. When the colonists made that discovery, they began to worry about what would happen if word got out about the possibilities surrounding nagai blood. What might the Klingons do? Or the Orions?”
“Or even the Federation,” Desai said quietly. It was a fair question: How could anyone be trusted to treat the nagai with respect under those circumstances?
“In the deep ocean they’re relatively safe, and can defend themselves if necessary, but the spawning season is when they’re their most vulnerable,” Dawes said, gesturing toward the newborns. “The young feed on their mother’s blood until they’re ready to be born. Whatever’s left behind lacks any of the medicinal potential we’ve detected, so we can’t simply harvest the dead mothers. Even if we could, we still have no idea how they would feel about such a thing. We’re trying to learn as much as we can while we’re here, but we need time. The gulf between the nagai and us is unimaginably wide, and it could be lifetimes before we can bridge it.”
“That’s the real reason we’ve demanded to be left alone, Captain,” Ying said, “and why we can’t allow ourselves to be evacuated, even if Starfleet abandons this sector. Someone has to make sure the nagai aren’t exploited.”
“So that speech you gave me about our broken colonial system,” said Desai, “that was all misdirection?”
“I didn’t say anything that isn’t a matter of record, Captain,” Ying pointed out, “but we never wanted to turn our backs on Starfleet and the Federation, and especially not on Captain Gannon, who was as staunch a friend as I’ve ever had. If it wasn’t for what we’ve found here, we’d be trying to work out our grievances, not bury our heads in the sand.” Her gaze traveled back toward the moving tangle of newborn nagai. “But now that you know the truth, I need to ask: what are you going to do?”
That’s the big question, isn’t it? Desai thought. She looked at Fisher, and in his eyes she saw her own uncertainty reflected back at her. Somehow the future of much more than just this one colony had been placed on her shoulders, and whatever choice she made now, someone would have to pay a price for it.
“This isn’t the outcome I sent you to achieve, Captain,” Nogura said. “In fact, in most every way I can measure, it’s the exact opposite.”
Desai stood at parade rest, facing the admiral across his desk. He plowed on before she could formulate a response, gesturing with one hand at the slate he held in the other. “According to your report, the New Anglesey colonists have filed a formal petition to have the planet Kadru reclassified as a nature preserve and wildlife refuge, a process that will require, at minimum, months or even years while the petition awaits a proper review in the Federation Council. But just the act of filing it means Starfleet can’t discontinue its oversight of that sector until the Council has reached a decision about Kadru’s status.” He looked up at her. “Can you explain to me how a colony of isolationist scientists obtained the legal advice to draft such a well-crafted and airtight document?”
Staring straight ahead, Desai answered, “They must have found a good lawyer. Sir.”
Nogura scoffed. “I’ll bet. This will not go over well with Starfleet Command, but that’s a headache for another time. I’m pleased to note you and Doctor Fisher did manage to confirm that Aole Miller wasn’t the victim of foul play . . . which means, I suppose, that the matter is effectively closed.” He cleared the screen on the slate and set it aside. “There’ll be a memorial service honoring Commander Miller three days from now. Would you care to be a speaker?”
“Yes, sir, I would. Thank you, sir.”
Nogura nodded. “
My yeoman will be in contact with you about the details. Dismissed.”
“Admiral,” Desai said, making no move to leave, and instead offering him the slate she’d been holding behind her back. “There’s one more piece of business we need to discuss.”
The memorial service was held on Fontana Meadow. Many beautiful things were said by many people, and when Desai’s turn came, she kept her statements brief but spoke from her heart.
Afterward, many of those in attendance migrated to Stars Landing, the crescent of civilian commercial and residential structures that bordered the meadow. Manón’s Cabaret was crowded to overflowing with Vanguard personnel in dress uniforms celebrating the life of Aole Miller. Drinks flowed freely, and the lively atmosphere was full of stories and songs.
Desai found a seat at the bar, ordered a glass of ’51 Brunello Riserva for old times’ sake, and was halfway through it when Fisher eased onto the empty stool next to her. “You’re making a mistake,” he told her over the noise. He held up three stacked fingers to the bartender and silently mouthed the words, Saurian, neat.
“If I am, it wouldn’t be the first,” Desai answered.
“But a transfer off the base? To an Earthside posting?” Fisher shook his head. “I won’t even ask how you convinced the admiral to pull those strings. “
“Actually, Nogura was very supportive,” Desai said, taking a sip of wine. “My guess is, he thinks it’ll make whatever he ends up doing about Diego less complicated for him.”
The bartender returned with Fisher’s brandy. “That sounds like a good reason to stay, not to leave.”
Desai said nothing. Instead, she reached into her sleeve and drew out a data card, holding it out to Fisher between two fingers.
Fisher accepted it, a puzzled look forming on his face. “What’s this?”
“Hallie’s voice,” Desai said. “All her official logs below top secret, from her days on the Dauntless to her captaincy of the Bombay, declassified for your exclusive access.”
For a moment Fisher was speechless. Then his expression hardened. He set the card down on the bar between them and slid it toward her. “Take it back.”
“Don’t worry, there’s nothing from her personal logs; I wouldn’t violate her privacy.”
“Even so.”
“Why?” When Fisher failed to form an answer, Desai said, “Zeke, she was your friend. You miss her.”
“I’ve lived a long time, Rana. I miss a lot of people. And I carry them with me. But this . . . I spend too much time as it is talking to ghosts. If I start listening to them—”
“Fish,” Desai said, “that’s not what this is.”
“What is it, then?”
“Maybe I haven’t lived as long as you, but I do know what it’s like to lose people I love . . . and what it is to be haunted by them, to feel at times like there’s nothing I wouldn’t give to have one more day with them. I can’t give you one more day with Hallie, Zeke. But what I can give you is a slightly bigger perspective on who she was, in her own words.” Desai put her fingers on the data card and pushed it back under Fisher’s hand. “You can get to know her all over again.”
Fisher’s hand slowly closed around the card, gratitude and sadness streaming from his eyes. “Why are you leaving, Rana?”
She turned back to her wineglass, took another sip. “It’s time.”
“Is this about Diego?”
“Of course it is,” she admitted, seeing no point to evading or equivocating. “I love him, Zeke. But when he needed me most, I was powerless to help him. Every time he needed me, I was powerless. And just when I finally accepted it and began to move forward, he came back. He’s so close at this very moment that I should be able to walk the distance separating us. But I can’t. I’m still powerless . . . and I no longer have it in me to stay here just so I can be a witness to whatever happens next.”
Fisher‘s kind eyes were devoid of judgment, as always. It made things easier. But only a little.
“You know,” he said at length, “I once heard Diego offer someone advice about bridging impossible divides. You want to hear it?”
“No,” Desai said. Then she set down her unfinished drink, kissed Fisher tenderly on the cheek, and walked away without a backward glance.
Diego Reyes thought he had long ago gotten over just how big Vanguard truly was, but seeing it now, from a narrow window angled up toward the primary hull, the station seemed more immense than ever. He had to hand it to Ganz: the fat bastard had made it seem as if he’d selected this stateroom at random, but there was little doubt in Reyes’s mind that the self-styled merchant prince had intended for Reyes to always have a spectacular view of everything and everyone he had lost.
Reyes watched as the work to clear out the compromised sections of Starbase 47’s starship bay continued, but if his armchair assessment was right, Isaiah Farber and his engineers were nearing the limits of what they could achieve on their own. They would need to call in help soon, if it wasn’t already on its way.
The door chimed. Reyes tried to ignore it, but on his visitor’s third attempt, he got so sick of hearing the insipidly ethereal tones all he could think about was making them stop. “What is it?” he snapped.
One of Ganz’s women entered, carrying a tray of food and drink. Not another Orion, but even in the low lighting he could tell she was as shapely and diaphanously attired as all the others, and she moved with a similar sensuality. The pheromones are just as bad, too. Reyes didn’t spare her more than a glance. “Compliments of Mister Ganz, sir,” she purred.
Yeah, I’ll bet. “Leave it and get out.”
He heard her take her time setting down the tray, obviously in no hurry to leave. “Are you sure there’s nothing else I can offer you this evening, Mister Reyes?”
Irritated, Reyes looked at her again . . . and this time he saw what Ganz had wanted him to see. The height, the caramel complexion, the shimmering black hair, and the big brown eyes that were half closed in invitation.
You son of a bitch.
With deliberate effort he turned back to his view of Vanguard, fixing his eyes on the lighted rectangles just below the saucer. “I said get the hell out.”
This time she departed, her task accomplished.
Diego Reyes continued staring up at the station long into the ship’s night. He could almost imagine Rana standing at one of those viewports, searching the Omari-Ekon for some sign of him. The distance between them wasn’t far. It felt like light-years.
THE STARS LOOK DOWN
David mack
For Ripley,
my beloved feline companion of eighteen years:
requiescat in pace.
“. . . Me miserable! which way shall I fly Infinite wrath and infinite despair?
Which way I fly is Hell; myself am Hell; And, in the lowest deep, a lower deep Still threat’ning to devour me opens wide, To which the Hell I suffer seems a Heaven.”
—John Milton, Paradise Lost
HISTORIAN’S NOTE
The events of this story take place in early 2268, approximately two months after the end of the novel Star Trek Vanguard: Precipice and shortly before the events of the original-series episode “The Tholian Web.”
FEBRUARY 2268
1
“Dammit, Bridy,” Cervantes Quinn pleaded via the communicator, “don’t do nothin’ stupid.”
Bridget McLellan—Bridy Mac to her friends—ignored her partner’s advice. She drew her phaser, aimed at the master control panel for the Klingon research facility’s main generator, and fired. Her weapon’s scathing blue beam sliced through the array of buttons, levers, and displays. The slagged console spat sparks and belched smoke. An alarm blared over the compound’s PA system and was followed by a guttural male voice barking orders in Klingon. She lifted her communicator and smiled. “Too late.”
“Goddammit, lady, you love to make my life difficult.”
“It’s a living. Be at the gate in ninety seconds.”
�
��Already on my way, darlin’.”
Bridy sprinted past a spreading wall of fire that had been ignited by her forced entry moments earlier, winced as flames licked at her face, and bashed open the door ahead of her with her shoulder. Disruptor blasts sliced past her close enough to singe her hair. She tumbled to cover behind the low retaining wall of the landing outside the operations shack’s entrance, at the top of a short flight of stairs. She snapped off a shot without aiming, firing down the stairs and stunning a Klingon soldier who had been standing between Bridy and her escape route. She scrambled past him as he collapsed to the ground.
Energy pulses crisscrossed the Klingon research compound, but most of them weren’t aimed at Bridy—they were converging on the biomechanoid alien artifact around which the base had been constructed. The massive device, which to Bridy resembled a terrifying, four-fingered hand whose talons were plunged into a slab of obsidian, crackled with blue lightning as the shimmering energy being trapped within it struggled for freedom.
Bridy had no idea how or when the Klingons had captured one of the ancient aliens known as the Shedai, but her orders from Starfleet Command had been clear: terminate the Klingons’ research program on Zeta Aurigae IV immediately and with prejudice. At first it had seemed a tall order for two undercover agents such as herself and Quinn. Then she had realized that all she’d needed to do was disrupt the power to the artifact. The Klingons’ captive Shedai would do the rest.
The entity was more than living up to her expectations. Massive ribbons of energy lashed out from within the artifact, cutting down entire squads of Klingons with each stroke and filling the air with terrifying cracks, as if from a giant bullwhip. Blood and viscera sprayed from dismembered Klingon bodies, clouding the air around the artifact with a grotesque fuchsia mist.
