The Higher Frontier

by Christopher L. Bennett

  As the commander led the group inside, Kollos (through Jones) regaled him with questions about the city and its architecture. Thelin seemed initially puzzled about which of the two he should address, but he quickly adjusted. Kirk took the opportunity to fall back next to Spock, while Chekov remained alongside the two emissaries—most likely a redundancy in the midst of Homeworld Security headquarters, but entirely in keeping with Chekov’s relentless dedication to his duties.

  “Thelin, Spock,” Kirk said, pitching his voice for Vulcan ears alone. “I knew he must have had a counterpart in our timeline, but somehow I never expected to meet him. It’s a big galaxy, after all.”

  “Yet one that contains numerous causal influences that lead certain individuals’ life paths to converge,” Spock replied. “In the divergent timeline we accidentally visited through the Guardian, I had died as a child and Thelin had become your first officer in my place, yet most other members of the Enterprise’s crew and even its specific mission at the time remained the same, despite thirty years of independent evolution of the two timelines. Which suggests that our paths through life are guided by numerous causal and probabilistic influences both direct and indirect, leading the same individuals to converge upon one another in many histories.”

  Kirk’s eyes widened. “Why, Spock—I never thought I’d hear you say you believed in fate.”

  Spock raised a scathing brow. “I do not, Jim. I believe in causality. And I take it as a lesson in humility that my absence had comparatively little effect on the course of the Enterprise’s missions.”

  The captain studied him for a moment, then smiled. “I consider your presence over these past years to have been nothing less than invaluable, Spock. But it follows that Thelin was able to be just as invaluable to that other version of myself and my crew. That suggests he’ll be a good man to have at our side.” Spock nodded.

  Once they rejoined Thelin and Chekov, Spock could see that, despite their restraint, Thelin had registered their curiosity toward him. However, he had formed his own conclusions about the cause of it. “If you’re wondering, gentlemen, yes, I am one-quarter Aenar, on my zhavey’s side. It’s why I requested this assignment. I have worked closely with the Aenar over the past decade, and I had friends and kin among the casualties.”

  “My sympathies for your loss, Commander,” Kirk said. “Your zhavey?”

  Thelin shook his head. “No, she died several years ago of natural causes. Yet two of her cousins were among the murdered.”

  “I’m very sorry, Commander. I know how it feels to lose family to violence.”

  “Appreciated, Captain. We are a warrior people who allow ourselves few sympathies, but we make an exception for family. In this time of despair, I am deeply grateful for my bondmates and our child.” Kirk and Spock traded another meaningful look, acknowledging that this Thelin was very reminiscent of his double. Chekov glanced between them, appearing confused.

  Thelin led the Enterprise officers and the two emissaries into a meeting room with large picture windows overlooking the plaza outside. Two Andorians rose to greet them—a lean, compact female with stern, dark eyes and a confident bearing, and a mature male with rounded features and a more uneasy manner. Thelin introduced them as Captain Thamizhan sh’Zava of Andorian Homeworld Security, heading the task force investigating the attack, and Keshemai ch’Hatharu, the minister for Aenar Affairs. Thelin recited the title with a hint of disapproval, which Spock surmised was due to the fact that the chan showed no visible sign of Aenar ancestry. Captain sh’Zava greeted the officers and emissaries with cool professionalism, while ch’Hatharu’s body language and antenna movement evinced unease toward Kollos and Jones.

  Sh’Zava invited the newcomers to help themselves to cups of katheka, the local coffee equivalent, which Spock declined but Kirk and Chekov accepted, grimacing a bit at the unfamiliar pungency but seeming to appreciate the stimulant effect. Jones/Kollos also accepted a cup and both winced and smiled, visibly intrigued by the novelty of the flavor.

  The Homeworld Security captain took the emissaries from Medusa in stride, but did not appear to warm to them. “While we appreciate your concern in this matter, Ambassador, Doctor,” sh’Zava said, “I recommend that you leave the investigation in the hands of experienced professionals. The involvement of civilians often creates more difficulties than it solves.”

  “As we understand Andorian law,” Jones/Kollos replied, showing no offense, “a planetside investigation normally would be the purview of the civilian authorities, would it not?”

  The shen’s jaw clenched. “Given the severity of the terrorist attack, and the possibility of offworld involvement, the presider authorized Homeworld Security’s involvement in this matter.”

  “Then you should not be averse to offworld assistance. We have skills you could use. The skills of an expert psychologist could aid you in profiling suspects, and our combined telepathy could reveal—”

  “Do you think we have no telepaths already involved? The Aenar are formidable telepaths, and several of the braver survivors have already been to the scene to search for any impressions.” Sh’Zava lowered her eyes, the first time her stern façade had softened. “They had to walk among the ruins of their homes, the blood of their families, and yet all it did was make them suffer. We learned nothing of value from it.”

  “Perhaps,” Kirk interposed, “you could tell us what you have learned so far, and we can work from there.”

  The security captain’s antennae curled back in displeasure as she answered. “We’ve learned very little. There’s no trace of blood or genetic evidence from the attackers. Footprints and glove prints tell us they were andorianoid—or humanoid, if you prefer—but most likely encased in sealed environment suits or body armor.”

  Spock steepled his fingers. “Interesting. Perhaps, then, they belong to a species whose atmospheric needs are different from ours.”

  “Or one unable to bear the cold of the Northern Wastes,” Chekov suggested. “So we can assume they were not Russian.”

  Sh’Zava frowned at the security chief’s non sequitur. “Or maybe they were Andorian extremists who wished to leave no identifiable traces,” she said.

  “You believe this was domestic terrorism?” Kirk asked.

  “We did find trace charges and molecular disruptions in the ground suggesting the use of a transporter beam of unknown type … but our planetary and orbital sensors registered no unidentified spacecraft at the time.”

  “Starfleet has encountered several transporter technologies with interstellar range,” Spock replied. “The Providers of Triskelion have that capability, as did the ancient Kalandans.” He declined to mention the mysterious organization that had beamed the operative Gary Seven to twentieth-century Earth from a thousand light-years away, as the Enterprise crew’s involvement with Mister Seven was another classified matter of temporal security.

  The response came from Thelin rather than sh’Zava. “Based on the Enterprise’s own reports, such transporters require massive amounts of energy and leave clearly discernible ionization trails in the interstellar, or in this case interplanetary, medium. No such trails or energy bursts have been detected.”

  Minister ch’Hatharu finally spoke up, his hands and antennae gesturing nervously. “That’s true, that’s true. Ah—but those energy signatures at the massacre site, the prints and such—they’re not like anything here on Andor,” he said, using the world’s local name. “So it must be aliens, mustn’t it? They just have some kind of transporter beam we can’t detect.” He smiled at Jones/Kollos. “That’s why I, for one, am grateful that you’re here, Ambassador—Doctor—b-both of you. And you as well, Captain Kirk, and your crew. You are the experts at dealing with interstellar crises.”

  “Oh, stop it,” sh’Zava barked. “You just want it to be offworlders so you can wriggle out of responsibility. There are multiple active hate movements directed toward the Aenar right here on Andor. Movements that have been allowed to thrive because yo
ur ‘Aenar Affairs’ bureau has done nothing to protect the Aenar. You and the rest of the Visionists have sided more with the business interests chipping away at their territorial rights, emboldening the hate groups to believe the government is on their side!”

  The minister was taken aback. “Now, that’s uncalled for,” he said, his voice quavering. “Do you think I benefit in any way from the extermination of nearly all the Aenar? Without Aenar, there is no Ministry for Aenar Affairs! Why, what would I do without my career?”

  “The Ministry is a dead-end office for incompetents and political cronies. I’m sure your sponsors could find you another sinecure, one with more prestige. You probably welcome this.”

  “Now, that’s just hurtful!”

  Kirk began to speak up, but Thelin beat him to it, addressing sh’Zava. “Thamizhan, if you don’t mind, I think our guests would like to hear more about these hate groups you mentioned.”

  Sh’Zava’s dark eyes remained locked on the pouting minister a moment longer, then turned back to the others. “Yes, of course. There have been a number of vocal anti-Aenar extremist factions for decades now, ever since the Aenar began campaigning against the planetary warming program. Many Andorians felt that the desire of a tiny indigenous group to remain in its ancestral glacial lands should not outweigh the economic benefits of warming the entire planet, freeing more land and ocean for development and population growth, as well as tourism from warmer Federation worlds.

  “When the Aenar’s pleas for compassion, backed by the diplomatic efforts of the Federation Council, succeeded in bringing about a slowdown and reassessment of the terraforming effort, it was detrimental to a number of industries and business interests that had a heavy investment in the warming of the planet. Some of them began backing the small fringe of Aenar-haters, clandestinely funding them, helping them amplify their message and coordinate with like minds elsewhere on Andor, and encouraging them to become more radical in their beliefs. They even backed political efforts to weaken our legal prohibitions on the manufacture and import of heavy weapons, so that the ability of Homeworld Security to prevent these groups from arming themselves was undermined.” Sh’Zava’s antennae flattened in controlled anger.

  “Then you think one of these groups may have bought some unknown, advanced transporter technology from an offworld source?” Chekov asked.

  “Or some form of personal cloaking to allow them to infiltrate undetected?” Spock added.

  It was Thelin who replied. “That is possible, Commanders. Some of the businesses suspected of backing the extremist groups have offworld ties, even beyond the Federation. Some of them have their own programs to explore the frontier, searching not for new life and civilizations but for exploitable resources or advanced technologies. Surely you are aware that many extinct civilizations have left behind artifacts of great advancement.”

  Spock traded a knowing glance with Kirk. “Indeed.”

  “That’s why we mustn’t blind ourselves to the possibility of a domestic threat,” sh’Zava went on. “Some of these groups have hatreds extending beyond the Aenar—to other telepaths such as Vulcans and Deltans, or to offworlders in general. Some are so mad as to wish harm to other Andorians who wish to slow the terraforming efforts. For all we know, the Aenar massacre was just a trial run for something bigger.”

  Doctor Jones spoke angrily. “ ‘Just’? So the Aenar matter less to you than your own people? Is that the only reason you’re so diligent about this, because you think it affects your kind as well?” The familiar indignant tone left no doubt in Spock’s mind that Jones was in control.

  To her credit, sh’Zava looked humbled. “I apologize, Doctor, Ambassador. That wasn’t what I meant to suggest. I merely mean that it is my responsibility to be alert to any threat to the people of Andor, regardless of their species. We failed in that responsibility toward the Aenar victims, so I am determined not to fail again in my responsibility to the rest of our people, including the remaining Aenar. We must explore every possibility.”

  “Then let’s do just that,” Kirk said. “The benefit of having more eyes on the problem is that we can divide and conquer. Captain sh’Zava, I’d like to assign Commander Chekov and a security detail to assist you in your domestic investigation. Meanwhile, I’d like Mister Spock, Doctor Jones, and Kollos to investigate the Aenar compound. Not that I doubt the thoroughness of your investigation, Captain, but a second look never hurts. And if the attackers are of offworld origin, a Starfleet team or a Medusan might be able to spot some evidence to that effect.”

  Sh’Zava nodded. “That sounds reasonable, Captain Kirk. I recommend that Mister Spock take Commander Thelin with him. In the years I’ve known him, I’ve found him to be a keen scientific mind.” She gave a slight self-deprecating smile. “And a capable diplomat as well.”

  Spock studied the thaan who could have been the Enterprise’s first officer in his place. He had always been curious to know more about the alternate Thelin, whom he had known for a scant few hours. As Spock’s own absence from the timeline had been the only readily discernible difference between that reality and this, it was logical to surmise that both Thelins’ formative years had been the same up until the alternate had been assigned to the Enterprise. Thus, working with this Thelin might be illuminating.

  “I would welcome the commander’s presence,” Spock said sincerely.

  U.S.S. Enterprise

  Chief Petty Officer Reiko Onami watched with interest as Specialist T’Nalae fidgeted in the comfortable chair across from her. In four years as the resident xenopsychologist of one of the most diverse multispecies crews in Starfleet history—not to mention a childhood spent as one of the few humans on Nelgha, a crossroad of interspecies trade and cultural exchange—Onami had witnessed an enormous range of different species’ behaviors and responses. But even she had rarely encountered an openly emotional Vulcan. She’d met a few Romulans during her time on the Enterprise, but they were different. In their own way, they controlled their emotions almost as much as their Vulcan siblings did, channeling them through martial discipline and collective service to the state rather than through logic and individual meditation. By contrast, T’Nalae was an open book—yet at the same time, she was defensive in her emotionalism, expressing it defiantly while expecting to be judged for it.

  “I’ve been trying to get you in here for a week now,” Onami told her bluntly. It had never been her way to mince words. “Ever since—”

  “Ever since I gave my honest opinion about the New Humans’ so-called vigil?” T’Nalae sighed. “I admit I spoke out of turn. I may not have liked how the New Humans were exploiting the situation, but saying so at that moment was inconsiderate to the rest of the crew. I’ve kept my opinions to myself since then.”

  “But you still have them.”

  “I have a right to my beliefs.”

  Onami leaned forward. “Here’s the thing about rights: If you’re going to get defensive about your own rights, then it follows that you should defend everyone else’s rights just as forcefully. Otherwise you’re just being a hypocrite and abusing the concept for your own advantage.

  “We’re all members of a community here, T’Nalae. Considering each other’s rights and feelings goes both ways. What you said was hurtful to your crewmates, and you haven’t made any attempt to talk to them and hear their side. As long as you resist coming to an understanding, that tension’s going to remain, and that’s going to make it harder for people like Dinh and Logan to work with you.”

  T’Nalae’s defensive expression did not soften. “It may not be an issue much longer. I’m thinking of applying for a transfer.”

  Onami’s eyes widened. “That seems drastic. Do you always run away from your problems?”

  The young Vulcan glared at her. “It’s not as simple as that. I …” She let out a sharp breath. “I sought this posting because I wanted to learn from Commander Spock. I’d heard he was a V’tosh ka’tur like me. But I was wrong.”

&nbs
p; “Hmm.” Onami stroked her chin. “Seems to me that you can’t learn that much from someone who’s already like you. That might just be why we’re out here exploring strange new worlds instead of ordinary old ones.”

  “I’ve had my fill of lessons in logic.” T’Nalae shot to her feet and started pacing around the office, towering over the dainty Onami. “Vulcans claim to celebrate diversity, but it’s a lie. When I failed my maturity test, I decided that Surak’s way was not for me. I sought instead to explore our true, repressed heritage, to embrace the emotion I was born with. But my parents refused to listen or support me. As soon as I was old enough, my father shipped me off to Gol so the Kolinahr adepts could ‘correct’ my thinking. I was forced to live like an ascetic, cut off from my friends and family. The more they pressured me, the more I realized that I was ka’tur. Eventually I left the monastery, left Vulcan, and never looked back.”

  Onami couldn’t help but be moved by her confession, by her honest pain and anger. Her impulse was to share in it. But she still had a responsibility to the ship and its crew. “I’m sorry that happened to you. Your father shouldn’t have been so intolerant. But you know what it feels like to be judged that way. So surely you can understand how it feels to other people when you judge them.”

  “I don’t like cults,” T’Nalae countered. “Surak’s cult took over Vulcan and it’s kept our spirits imprisoned for two thousand years. Now this New Human cult is spreading and it’s more of the same. A minority trying to warp its people away from their true nature, turn them into something they’re not.”

  “But you don’t seem too fond of the Aenar either. They’ve always kept to themselves. And it’s not like either they or human espers can convert anyone who isn’t already born with psi potential.” Onami shook her head. “So I don’t get it, T’Nalae. What have you got against telepaths?”