Titan, Book Three

by Christopher L. Bennett

  Tylith and the others were lowering their heads abashedly, but that wasn’t enough for Vale. She started moving toward the raucous crowd, gesturing to the others to follow. “I said come on. Let’s not be rude to our guests.” The steel in her voice got them moving.

  As they approached the table, Vale registered that the Pa’haquel huntsmaster Chi’tharu was regaling the others with the tale of how his fleet had battled a Hoylean Black Cloud. “How do you kill a nebula?” Kuu’iut was asking.

  “Ahh, it is not easy. You must destroy or scatter enough of the planetesimals that comprise its brain so that it cannot continue to function. But getting to them is the hard part. A Cloud contains immense voltages and can send vast lightning discharges against a fleet, as powerful as any technological weapon you have ever encountered. Even the gases that make up its body can hit you with devastating force when accelerated and concentrated by the Cloud’s internal fields. The key is to infect its circulatory streams with radioisotopes. Injected in the right parts of its structure, they can interfere with its neural processes, leave it weakened, confused. But only if you can keep it from isolating the flow. It can cut off a damaged section from its neural network and keep functioning on the rest.

  “For us, the slaying of this Cloud was a delicate, lengthy operation. We would dart in to make a strike, to inject isotopes or fire on key neural nodes, to pierce through magnetic barriers and allow cross-contamination. But then we would have to race back out again before it could retaliate. It took us months of harrying the beast, wearing it away by slow attrition. But it wore away at us as well, sometimes getting in a fatal blow with its lightning, and it became a race to see who would run out first. It was a testament to our skill,” he finished proudly, “that we only lost five mounts before the Cloud became too crippled to fight back anymore.”

  “Is that really something to celebrate?” Tylith asked in a challenging tone. “All that death and destruction?”

  “We celebrate that there was not more,” Chi’tharu explained.

  “Still,” Lonam-Arja said in his slow, deep voice, “all those people dying—isn’t it hard to think about?”

  The Pa’haquel hunter looked evenly at the Grazerite. “Those people were my siblings, my cousins, my friends. I lost a wife and my firstborn child. Of course their deaths came hard. But how can I honor their lives if I do not think about what they gave them for?”

  Lonam-Arja lowered his bovine head. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t you ever wish there was a better way, though?” Vale asked. “A way that didn’t result in so much death?”

  “In the long term, the quantity of death is always the same. All that matters is the quality of it, and the purpose.”

  “The quality of death,” Tylith echoed. “As though it were a wine to be appraised and enjoyed. Necessary or not, bringing death, to yourselves or to others, is nothing to tell boastful stories about.”

  “Oh, really?” Counselor Huilan said with a small, mischievous smile showing around his tusks. “Tell us again, Tylith, about what you did during the Dominion War?”

  His request was not hostile; he knew as well as Vale that the Kasheeta had been awarded the Medal of Valor for devising the means to destroy a Jem’Hadar fighter that had left her own vessel defenseless. But Tylith glowered at him anyway. “That was different. I only acted in defense, not aggression. And I take no pride in it.”

  “Oh, but it was such a clever solution to the problem! How did it work again…?”

  At Huilan’s prompting, Tylith sat down at the table and began to spin her tale of how she had rigged her ship’s tractor emitter to send false information to the enemy fighter’s inertial damper relays, throwing it out of synch and causing it to amplify the fighter’s accelerations rather than cancelling them. The result had been a messy but intact prize for the Starfleet Corps of Engineers to study. Chi’tharu reacted with interest, asking about the Jem’Hadar’s skills as fighters, about which Tylith had little to say. But the Pa’haquel female with him asked some cogent engineering questions, and soon she and Tylith were deep in shop talk, while the others at the table became engrossed in their own tangents to the discussion. After a few more moments, Vale slipped quietly away from the table, smiling. And the lion and the lamb shall lay down together. And no help needed from Deanna.

  Soon Titan neared its destination, a star-jelly breeding world on the outskirts of the Vela Association. To repay Will for letting her name the first one Kestra, Deanna had suggested calling this system’s star Kyle, in honor of his recently deceased father. At her recommendation, the ship was now taking up station just outside the system while she and Tuvok prepared to meld and make contact with the jellies. Qui’hibra had wanted to monitor the meld in order to guard against any tricks, but Deanna had insisted on privacy. She had reminded him that if they did engage in any telepathic collusion, he would have no way of detecting it. However, Dr. Ree had insisted just as forcefully that he at least needed to monitor them during the meld. She and Tuvok had both consented to this, and the doctor’s presence had somewhat mollified the other predators.

  Deanna found the doctor’s presence somewhat comforting herself. She was unnerved at the prospect of surrendering herself so completely to telepathic influence, with no way to turn it off. But she did her best to manage her unease, for the mission’s sake as well as for Tuvok’s. She believed this meld would help him master his insecurities. She didn’t want to burden him with hers.

  Tuvok had spent hours meditating in preparation for the meld. Although he had the ability to meld without prior preparation, as he had done with Melora Pazlar, as a rule he preferred to get into the optimal mindset first. Indeed, given the harm his last meld had caused, reaching the state of equanimity took some doing.

  However, she knew from his record that he had a good deal of experience with melding. That experience, combined with the natural psionic receptiveness of her own mind, meant that the meld came easily. At first it was just a level of communication which was second nature to her, a sharing of awareness and thought, but it quickly gave way to something deeper, a blurring of the boundaries between self and other. Part of her recoiled at the intrusion, but at the same time it did not feel like an intrusion, because the new thoughts and memories were hers.

  But some of the memories, the perceptions—and yes, the emotions, for no Vulcan could hide them here—were distressing to experience at first hand. The distinctive flavor of a Reman mind, impinging on hers—Vkruk! No, she (Tuvok?) reminded herself—Mekrikuk. The Reman prisoner who had saved Tuvok’s life, befriended him, shared minds with him to aid his recovery and escape. It was a memory of a friend—nothing to fear.

  Still, there was agony, rage and violence associated with the memory—the agony of weeks of torture, the rage at his captors, the violence of his escape. And now came another memory of violent anger—Melora Pazlar falling beneath him, her flimsy bones snapping, her grating voice silenced by pain until he bent it to his will. Deanna recoiled at the memory of the terror and helplessness in Pazlar’s eyes, of Tuvok’s satisfaction in it. But then she knew the shame and regret which Tuvok felt at the incident, at giving in to such impulses. The ordeal of the prison must have been horrendous indeed to leave him with such urges, such scars. As much as the ordeals that had shaped Shinzon, she reminded herself, or Vkruk—both of them raised as slaves, brutalized for decades, twisted by hate into monsters. It didn’t excuse what they had done. So how could she forgive Tuvok, whatever the excuse?

  Yet how could she not? He was as much a victim as she had been. This was how it was: cruelty was a virus, perpetuating itself, making its victims into carriers. Forgiveness was the only inoculation. The only way to break the cycle was to refuse to react to violence with more violence, hate with more hate. Someone had to let go.

  She focused on that thought. That was the goal here: to end a cycle of killing, to make peace between mortal foes. That was their purpose, and they needed to concentrate on that. The thought
, she realized, came as much from Tuvok as herself. She felt his rigid sense of discipline and purpose anchoring them. It gave her the courage to let go, to set her own mental discipline loose, let it be drawn in to merge with his. She felt naked, stripped of her psychological armor. But she felt him don it, felt that sense of discipline and purpose intensified by its strength, and that made her feel safe.

  We are ready, he thought to her. As the one laid open, it was her place to reach out and make contact, to be the conduit. A renewed thrill of fear went through her, but there he was with her, anchoring her. And somewhere in the background was Will’s presence too, grounding her further. Thus braced, she made the leap. We are here, she sent. We wish to commune with you. There are urgent matters to discuss.

  Curiosity poured over her, then recognition, happiness. Too much, too fast, but she could not stop it. Friends! Friends who [helped/rescued/freed] us! Great [joy/gratitude] once again! A torrent of sensation and emotion inundated her as the jellies updated her on recent events. Many dead had been liberated from desecration, and finally returned to their breeding grounds. Many new lives had been conceived with the energies they left behind. They shared every one with her, an orgy of orgies. It was too much, it was unbearable, it was miraculous.

  They sensed her distress at her lack of control, her inability to stem the flood of feeling. They pulled back, but it was with puzzlement and regret. To them, this kind of total openness, this absence of boundaries, was natural. This sharing was an act of giving, not domination. The thought of being without it was a desolate one, a thing to be feared, not craved. Deanna seized on that perspective, let it give her reassurance. She could not resist the influx, but she could trust it, embrace it. And she knew they would not harm her. Sensing that assurance, they resumed the sharing of their joy, but more gently, with care for her fragility.

  Yes, came Tuvok’s calming voice. Your liberation is gratifying. Yet it comes at a cost. We need your help to remedy it. Curiosity and puzzlement came in response. Tuvok efficiently, methodically spelled out the situation.

  Deanna was immersed in anxiety, terror and grief as the jellies witnessed the devastation wrought by the other cosmozoans, and shared their own experience of encounters with such beasts. They offered their commiseration at the loss of life, the grief of the survivors.

  Your sympathy is appreciated. But there is more you can offer. You can help us combat the threat.

  How [confusion/alarm]? We are not hunters. Fighting, they projected, was something you did when left with no choice; otherwise, you fled.

  Tuvok explained the rest of the proposal. It met with alarm, distaste and no small degree of amusement. Join with those who prey on us? Anathema/suicide!

  You need not fear. They can no longer hurt you. We gave you that. So it will cost you nothing to meet with them and hear their side. Their survival is at stake too. As is that of many other species.

  Sad. But not our [concern/purview/capability] to stop.

  Is it not? These creatures endanger your breeding worlds too.

  We will defend them [determination/pride]. We always have.

  If their populations are not kept in check, there may eventually be too many for you to defend against.

  Then we will take our young and flee. There are other galaxies.

  None within reach are as lush as this one, Tuvok countered. Deanna sensed him making an educated guess that Andromeda and Triangulum, the only other large spiral galaxies in the Local Group, were too far for them to reach. And the small elliptical galaxies making up most of the Local Group had few or none of the star-formation zones where cosmozoans could thrive. The jellies’ options would be limited to the two Magellanic Clouds, which would be smaller, sparser environments for cosmozoans to inhabit.

  But Deanna recognized that the jellies remained unconvinced. He was trying to reason with them, and they were creatures of passion. She knew that passion as her own; surely if anyone could know what would convince them, she could. She had felt their sorrow at the Shalra’s plight, so she fed it to them anew—all her sensations, her experiences, all the empathic impressions of grief and desolation she’d gotten from the refugees. It was hard enough having no control over the emotions that came into her from without. Yet now she had to do something harder, to relinquish her control over the grief and pain within her, the full emotional impact of a tragedy too enormous to bear. She wrenched open the floodgates, let it all pour out of her, made herself confront it and not look away. The torrent could flow both ways. She poured her grief into them, made them feel it as their own.

  Then she fed them her empathic sensations of the Pa’haquel’s grief and horror at seeing so many of their fellows beamed into vacuum by the jellies. They had to learn to see the Pa’haquel as more than a threat. Making them feel some sense of obligation toward the hunters could help.

  On top of it all, she fed them her own guilt, her complicity in bringing about this destruction. She reached for Tuvok’s as well, but he resisted. We must, she told him. It’s the only way. Face your guilt. Use it. Make it a strength. He acquiesced, let her feed it all to them.

  This is what we have wrought, she told them. Do you want your salvation to come at such cost? Is this the legacy you wish to leave your children?

  Silence echoed back. If they were deliberating among themselves, they were not sharing their feelings with her.

  Finally: We will meet with them [wariness/unease]. After that, we shall see.

  Thank you, she told them—and Tuvok was saying it too.

  Riker rushed toward sickbay, so swiftly that even Qui’hibra’s determined stride was hard-pressed to keep up. After Dr. Ree’s message, nothing could have stopped him. “Captain,” he had reported, “the star-jellies…are here. In the person of your wife. They are asking to speak with you and Qui’hibra.”

  Imzadi? he called to her as he strode through the corridors. Yes! came her reply, but there was something more there, something he could barely sense. Come to us!

  That sense of joyous anticipation intensified as he neared the doors to sickbay, and as soon as they slid open, there she was, hurling herself into her arms. “Imzadi!” She kissed him passionately. “We have missed you.”

  “Uhh…‘we’?”

  Tuvok rose to face him. “Apologies, Captain. This is an unanticipated side effect of the mind-meld. Counselor Troi’s unshielded mind is serving as a conduit for their communication.” His manner was distracted, distant, and Riker realized he was still joined in the meld, himself a conduit for…whatever was happening here.

  He grasped his wife’s shoulders, looked in her eyes. “Deanna, are you still there?”

  She laughed. “Deanna is with us, Imzadi. She feels with us that it’s a useful way to communicate. And exciting, too! All these strange senses.” She looked around her with awe, breathed in the air, stroked his arms and chest as though it were all new.

  Blushing on behalf of them both, he took her wrists and stepped back a bit. “Deanna, you did agree to this, then? It’s consensual?”

  “How else could it be?” She shook her head in puzzlement, still smiling. “You poor little ones, so apart from each other, so reserved.” She threw a look at Tuvok. “All of you, you hide so much away from each other, from yourselves.” Then to Ree. “You fight your urges for fear of not being accepted.” Back to Riker. “It keeps you from truly knowing one another, leaves you lonely and unsure of one another.” She moved close to him again. “You and Deanna, we have a hint of true communication, but still so much is held back, so much deferred. Why did we wait so long to share such joy?” She stroked his cheek. “Why haven’t we made a child?”

  He just stared at her for a while, then became aware that everyone was staring at him. “Um, right now I think there are other things we need to discuss.” He stepped aside. “Uh, this is Qui’hibra, elder of the Clan Qui’Tir’Ieq of the Pa’haquel. I’m sure you two—or however many—have quite a bit to discuss.”

  Qui’hibra had been stan
ding in the doorway, unexpectedly quiet. Now he strode slowly toward Deanna, who watched him warily. Hostility and suspicion showed on her face. “You are one of those who prey on us, and infest the bodies of our dead.”

  “I am a Hunter, yes.” The elder spoke with a humility Riker had never heard from him. “My people do what we must to survive. Now that you know of us, you have done no less to us.”

  “True,” Deanna said, lifting her head proudly and taking a confrontational step toward him. “And we will do it again if we must.”

  “To die at your will would be an honor, revered ones. But perhaps it will not be necessary. We are no longer in a position to threaten you, so you have no cause to prey on us.”

  “Perhaps. You would be wise not to test that.”

  “We have never sought to test your wrath, mighty ones. We owe you our very existence. We owe you our ability to defend the balance.” The elder had not fully lost his clipped, businesslike delivery, yet it came now with a quiet poignancy Riker had not anticipated. He had believed Qui’hibra to be hardened, cynical, relentlessly practical—an old warhorse who had outgrown the idealism of youth and no longer believed in anything but the job. Riker had seen too many Starfleet officers become like that during the Dominion War and after, and he strove not to become the same way himself. But now he saw there was a sincere core of faith to the elder, and it brought him reassurance. “Please know,” Qui’hibra went on, “that we have always conducted our hunts for you with the greatest of reverence. We believed that success in the Hunt was a sign of your favor and forgiveness.”

  “It was not. We didn’t even know it was a hunt. We couldn’t understand what had happened to our dead, that they would turn on us and break the cycle. You were a disease to us, a terror, unnatural.”

  Qui’hibra was chastened. “I truly regret that. It was our own folly—you could not forgive what you did not understand.” He pulled himself to attention and spoke formally. “On behalf of the Pa’haquel Clans, I hereby ask your forgiveness for the taking of your lives and your bodies. Know that we pledge each of our kills to the holy balance. That we have taken your lives, not for malice or for greed, but for the preservation of life, within our clans and among all those whom we protect. Accept our thanks for your lives, and for the boon of your bodies. We have sought to let your deaths serve life, and thus maintain the balance as the Spirit wills.