Star Trek: Enterprise: The Romulan War

by Michael A. Martin

  “It’s incredible,” she said, still looking out at the debris-dappled horizon in undisguised wonder.

  “Incredible that the Romulans finally managed to sneak a squadron of their sublight fighter ships right into our backyard? Or that we survived it?”

  “Both, I guess.” She turned and faced him. “But I think the main reason we survived it was because you got the warning out in time.”

  His expression grew serious, tense. “That was mostly luck.”

  “You’re way too modest, Travis. You weren’t content to sit and wait for official instructions from Alexandre’s bosses. So you took charge. How’d you figure out that the Romulans would try to use comet fragments as cover to sneak a couple of sublight attack squadrons all the way down into the inner system?”

  He grinned. “I sneaked an assault team to Mars once by using an inbound comet for cover. It seemed natural enough to assume that the Romulans might try the same tactic.”

  “Maybe they’ll think twice next time, considering how badly it turned out for them today.” She returned his grin, with interest.

  A look of sadness suddenly occluded his smile. “Or else they’ll learn to be more careful the next time they try it. One of those two comet fragments made it all the way to Earth, where the Romulans focused the brunt of their attack. And Earth wasn’t quite as lucky as Mars.”

  Brooks responded with an unhappy nod. Judging from the earliest news reports, Madrid and Tunis had learned the hard way that each of the Romulan fighters had carried at least one medium-yield nuclear warhead, in addition to its complement of disruptors and other armaments.

  “Still,” she said, “if you’d been doing what most people assume sailors do during a shore leave, Earth and Mars both would have been devastated.”

  His eyes narrowed in undisguised suspicion. “I hope you’re not thinking about writing another one of those ‘war hero’ pieces about me.”

  She counterfeited a wounded expression. “It never crossed my mind,” she lied.

  “Good. Because that kind of press is the stuff reputations are made of. A buildup like that can be damned hard to live up to. Besides, Captain Archer and about a dozen other starship captains had a hell of a lot more to do with stopping the Romulans than I did.”

  It occurred to her that Captain Archer would know a thing or two about how the media can make or break reputations. The Kobayashi Maru incident was half a decade old, yet more than a few could neither forgive nor forget it.

  Travis, she knew, had long numbered himself among them.

  “I thought you were no longer a member of the Jonathan Archer fan club,” she said quietly.

  He shrugged, and his broad shoulders took on an uncharacteristic slope. “Maybe I haven’t been fair to Captain Archer. Maybe I needed to blame somebody for the Horizon’s disappearance so badly that I turned him into a convenient target. Maybe all he’s really guilty of is not being superhuman.”

  “Or just somebody who’s subject to the same random luck that everybody else is,” she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Even Travis Mayweather.”

  His posture straightened. “I guess I owe the captain a long-overdue apology.”

  “And when do you plan to do that?”

  “When Enterprise makes its stopover at Utopia Planitia tomorrow morning. Right before I give him an answer to the offer he made me a couple of hours ago. This is off the record, by the way.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “Of course. What offer?”

  Travis’s familiar carefree smile returned at full wattage. “He wants me to take the helm again aboard Enterprise.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Wednesday, May 5, 2160

  Vulcan Diplomatic Compound, Sausalito, Earth

  IN THE QUIET QUARTERS Foreign Minister Soval had procured for her during her post-battle shore-leave interval, T’Pol sat alone in a field of infinite white brilliance, meditating with her eyes closed.

  Until she sensed that she was alone no longer.

  She opened her eyes and saw that Trip stood before her. As during similar encounters over the past several days, his face bore the appearance of a Vulcan, from his upswept eyebrows to his aristocratically pointed ears.

  “The Romulans are massing for a final assault,” he said, skipping the usual banter and pleasantries. His directness surprised her, and the urgency of his tone provoked a frisson of worry.

  “A final assault,” she repeated. “Against Earth?”

  He nodded. “That’s right. But first, Admiral Valdore is going to gather just about everything he’s got at Cheron. That’ll be his staging post for hitting Earth. Vulcan, Andoria, and Tellar will probably come next, one by one.”

  She frowned. “Charon? That makes no sense from a tactical standpoint. Starfleet would almost certainly detect a massing of forces that close to Earth.”

  He scowled and made a waving-off gesture with both hands. “No, not Charon. That’s the co-orbital companion of the dwarf planet Pluto. I’m talking about Cheron—the fifth planet of 83 Leonis B.”

  Cheron, she thought, trying to place the nomenclature. She knew she’d have to look the planet up in the Vulcan database to be certain, but if she recalled correctly, Cheron was located near the galactic southern hemisphere’s farthest reaches, within the bounds of what the Terrans called the galaxy’s Beta Quadrant.

  That world was certainly remote enough from the farthest-flung Coalition world to prevent its being easily discovered as the rallying point for a large-scale Romulan assault against Earth. But it was also arguably too far away to make an effective beachhead.

  “Trip, where did you get this information?” she asked.

  He blinked and regarded her in silence for several moments. She wasn’t certain, but she thought she saw a look of confusion cross his face.

  “From a source I’ve learned to trust, T’Pol,” he said at length. He approached closely and sat down beside her. Looking into her eyes, he said, “I know we can feel each other’s thoughts and emotions. That’s what this mind-link of ours is made of, when you get right down to it.”

  “Indeed,” she said. Somehow, discussing the link felt more awkward than simply experiencing it.

  “So feel my thoughts now, T’Pol. Feel how certain I am.”

  She reached toward him, touching his temple with her splayed fingers. A link within a link developed, deepening the bond they already shared.

  In an instant that might have been an eternity, she understood. Then the whiteness abruptly vanished, along with Trip. Her spartan quarters sprang back into existence just as quickly, complete with the mat beneath her and the meditation candle that burned silently before her.

  She rose in a single smooth motion and retrieved her communicator from the corner table. She flipped open the antenna grid.

  “Commander T’Pol to Enterprise,” she said.

  “Enterprise,” replied a familiar voice. “Lieutenant Sato here.”

  T’Pol spoke with an adamantine certainty that mirrored that of Trip. “Please get me the captain, Lieutenant. I need to speak with him immediately.”

  Starfleet Headquarters, San Francisco, Earth

  Jonathan Archer was perched on a low, leather-upholstered sofa, watching in anxious silence as Admiral Samuel William Gardner sat quietly behind his massive desk, stroking his short, iron-gray beard. Despite the admiral’s furrowed brow, he appeared to be doing his best to look patient as he considered Archer’s recommendation.

  “Cheron,” Gardner said at length. “Planet Five in the Eighty-three Leonis B system. That seems pretty far afield to make an effective staging post for a mass invasion of Earth.”

  “I realize that,” Archer said. “And I’m sure that’s a big part of the reason why the Romulans chose it. You know better than to take appearances at face value when it comes to the Romulans.”

  Gardner answered with a curt nod. “You’re right about that, Jon. I saw what the bastards did to Tunis and Madrid.”

  Archer suppressed a wince; he
, too, had seen the mushroom clouds over Europe and North Africa, when Enterprise had come streaking through the troposphere in hot pursuit of that final Romulan attack craft, after Earth’s defenses had finished dispatching its brethren.

  Enterprise had arrived moments too late.

  “Admiral, it still seems to me that Starfleet Command’s intel squares with what my own sources out in the field are telling me,” Archer said.

  Gardner scowled. “If by that you mean that your field sources tell you that the Romulans are planning a large assault against Earth sometime in the next few weeks, then I have to agree with you. But there’s no getting around the fact that your interpretation of some of the specifics strikes Starfleet Command, the MACO, and Prime Minister Samuels as somewhat reckless.”

  “Starfleet Command, the MACO, and the prime minister aren’t in possession of all the facts,” Archer said.

  “No one ever is, Captain,” said Gardner, his gray eyebrows gathering in the middle of his forehead like distant thunderheads. “Especially during wartime. But what information, specifically, do you think we haven’t been properly read into?”

  “The composition of the Romulan fleet, Admiral. You’re aware that they’ve been trying to create a workable warp-seven-capable engine for years now.”

  “As have we. We’ve been racing against them for the past five years. Unfortunately, it appears that the Romulans have just won that race. Starfleet Intelligence has a high degree of confidence that the Romulans are ready to deploy at least half a dozen warp-seven-capable warships.”

  “Do the intel people have proof?” Archer asked. “My sources tell me that the Romulan military’s warp-seven program has never gotten any farther than ours. They’re deploying propaganda, not high-warp technology.”

  “Strange that Starfleet Intelligence disagrees with you,” Gardner said, his eyes narrowing.

  Archer met his suspicious gaze without flinching. “It wouldn’t be the first time an intel bureau let itself get fooled.”

  “No, it wouldn’t,” said Gardner. “Where did you find this particular nugget of information?”

  Archer wasn’t certain how best to answer that question. He knew that the sudden revelation that his late chief engineer, Charles Tucker, was actually still alive and working as a deep-cover spy behind enemy lines would very likely be bad for his credibility. A confession that he had been one of those responsible for keeping that fact obscured for the past half decade might get an even worse reception.

  Not to mention the fact that Trip had delivered this crucial bit of intel to him across parsecs of interstellar space via Commander T’Pol, who had received it by means of a peculiar and poorly understood outgrowth of Vulcan mysticism known as a telepathic mating bond.

  “You know my orders, sir. Enterprise has done a lot of good deeds all along the Romulan front,” Archer said at length. “We’ve quietly assembled a deep-space intel network that has a longer reach than Starfleet Intelligence. What that network tells me about the current state of the Romulan warp-seven program is that it’s still confined to the lab. But that won’t stop them from launching a massive invasion force soon—a force that comprises the bulk of the regular Romulan fleet and is gathering right now at Cheron.

  “Starfleet Command has decided to divide Earth’s forward forces among Yadalla, Sirius, Iota Horologii, Barradas, Gamma Equulei, and Eighty-two Eridani.”

  Gardner nodded. “It’s a prudent arrangement.”

  No longer able to contain his nervous energy, Archer rose from the sofa. “Only if you’re expecting to encounter Romulan warbirds that clock at warp seven, Admiral. Our fastest ships are still limited to warp five. Without help from the Vulcans or the Andorians, our current deployment plan will leave us far too spread out to cope with the fleet that’s already massing at Cheron. What happened at Madrid and Tunis was just a taste of what’s coming unless we deploy our forces properly, starting right now.”

  The admiral shook his head. “Madrid and Tunis happened because the Romulans caught us with our pants down. That’s not going to happen again.”

  The captain leaned forward across the admiral’s desk, his hands gripping its oaken sides. “With respect, Admiral, the Romulans did what they did without the benefit of their alleged warp-seven fleet. There’ll be no stopping the Romulans unless we make up our minds right now to hit ’em hard with everything we can at Cheron.”

  Archer let his words hang in the air and gave Gardner time to consider them. He had genuine respect for the admiral, who had once captained a starship. About a decade ago, when they had both held the rank of captain, Gardner had been on the short list of candidates for the job of CO of Enterprise, Earth’s first warp-five starship. Fortunately, Ambassador Soval’s recommendation that Gardner be awarded that job failed to get traction, and the posting had gone to Archer at the insistence of Admiral Forrest.

  Archer wondered if he would be sitting on the other side of the desk now had that decision gone the other way. Would Captain Gardner sound any less crazy to me if he had just given me the very same speech?

  Gardner was always hard to read, but Archer thought he saw doubt creasing the older man’s forehead. “If Starfleet Command is correct about the Romulans incorporating warp-seven-capable ships into their invasion fleet, then our forces are already optimally placed,” he said.

  “And if my intel is right,” Archer said, straightening as he backed away from the desk, “then when the big Romulan attack comes, Starfleet will be out of position.”

  And you and the rest of the brass hats will have left Earth wide open for conquest.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Early in the Month of Z’at, YS 8771

  Saturday, May 8, 2160

  Central ShiKahr, Vulcan

  T’PAU LOOKED OUT over her homeworld’s capital city from the administration building’s highest observation tower. Aside from the constant low whine of aerial and street-level vehicular traffic, the stone streets and spires of ShiKahr’s government district comprised a study in order, efficiency, and peace. The surrounding commercial and residential districts, all appearing similarly placid from this lofty, sha’vokh’s-eye perch, spread away toward the ruddy desert horizon beneath the watchful eyes of distant, fiery Nevasa and cold, nearby T’Rukh.

  Would, she thought as the observation chamber’s door slid open behind her unbidden, that the world remained this way forever.

  She turned toward the sound. Her deputy, Minister Kuvak, and Foreign Minister Soval stood on the threshold. A glance at the dour countenences of both gray eminences told her immediately that her wish was not to be.

  “My apologies, Administrator,” said Koval. “I told the foreign minister that you had asked to be left in solitude here.”

  T’Pau nodded expressionlessly. “That was the reason I left my telecommunications devices in my office.”

  “I understand,” Kuvak said. “However, he was insistent about speaking with you at once.”

  When T’Pau failed to respond right away, Kuvak appeared to be preparing to move Soval bodily away from the door.

  “Kroykah,” T’Pau said, raising her right hand for emphasis. “Please allow the foreign minister to remain here with me.”

  Kuvak appeared surprised but quickly recovered his composure. “As you wish, Excellency,” he said. “If you will excuse me, I have duties to perform.”

  T’Pau dismissed him with a nod, and Kuvak wasted no time disappearing.

  “Thank you for agreeing to speak with me, Administrator,” Soval said, stepping into the room. The door slid shut behind him, ensuring their privacy.

  “It appeared to be a matter of some urgency,” T’Pau said.

  He nodded. “It is, though it is a matter we have already spoken about on a number of previous occasions.”

  “You speak of the Terrans,” T’Pau said, steepling her fingers before her as she turned and looked out again across the expanse of ShiKahr and the Forge that lay beyond. “And the war our Romulan cousins continue
to wage against them.”

  “Yes, Administrator. That war is about to enter a crucial phase. Perhaps the final phase.”

  “My opinion remains unchanged. As Captain Archer has said himself, ‘Earth must stand on its own.’”

  Soval shook his head. Taking a sidewise glance away from the cityscape, she saw how tired and haggard he appeared as he stepped into the natural light of red Nevasa.

  “Left to stand on their own,” he said, “the humans will fall. The forces arrayed against them are simply too great.”

  She turned in his direction and raised an eyebrow, putting her suspicions plainly on display. “You are certain of this?”

  He nodded. “I have sources that operate inside Romulan space. Some of these have inside access to the Tal Shiar, the Romulan Star Empire’s intelligence service. Some may be unknown even to Minister Silok and our own V’Shar bureau.”

  “Very well. I accept that whatever information you wish to impart might carry a compelling pedigree. So speak plainly.”

  “The Romulans are at present massing at Cheron for a large-scale assault on Earth,” he said, dispensing with any further preamble. “Soon, perhaps a matter of one or two tendays, it will be too late to aid the Terrans should you decide to do so. If I am to change your mind about Vulcan’s nonparticipation in the conflict, I must do so now—while some chance of victory remains.”

  T’Pau turned back to face the city, and the peace and order that it represented. It looked like a great model that stretched out to infinity, or some beautifully realized Kal-toh game structure.

  “Soval, I know that you, like the rest of Vulcan, still grieve the loss of Surak,” she said. “You mourn that you will never know him through his katra the way that I and a handful of others have been privileged to do.”

  “I cannot dispute that, Administrator,” Soval said. “Although grief is a particularly intense emotion, no living Vulcan who is aware of Surak’s destruction can claim an immunity to it.”