The Higher Frontier

by Christopher L. Bennett

  Unfortunately, the extremists knew this town’s twists and turns intimately, and though Chekov had a whole Enterprise security team and a squad of Captain sh’Zava’s HS officers with him, he’d managed to get separated from the rest as their quarry had split up to lead them in various directions. Chekov followed his three targets—who appeared to be two thaans, roughly male, and a zhen, roughly female but big and strong—right down a short alley, then left into one of the narrow major streets running the length of the terrace. This street had less skimmer and pedestrian traffic than some, and in the straightaway, they were able to pick up speed. The zhen paused to topple over a food vendor’s stand behind her, spilling dozens of some kind of small, tentacled crustaceans across the road in Chekov’s path. The vendor’s efforts to keep his stock from skittering away impeded Chekov’s movement, giving the Blue Sky trio an even bigger head start by the time he got past the mess.

  Raising his wrist communicator, Chekov opened the channel. “Chekov to Alpha Team. I need backup at these coordinates. My quarry is getting away!”

  “Can’t help you,” sh’Zava’s curt voice replied. “They’ve started shooting. My teams are either pinned down or holding back to avoid risk to civilians.”

  “Not to worry, Commander!” came a familiar, chirping bark on a different channel, and Chekov almost groaned that it had to be him.

  A moment later, the three extremists pulled up short as an Enterprise security team stepped out in front of them. There were three of them as well: Crewmen Worene and Vidmar, and at their head, the distinctive dark blue, avian/feline hybrid features of Hrii’ush Uuvu’it. The Betelgeusian struck a cocky pose and spoke with the same chirping confidence Chekov had just heard over his communicator: “I … have arrived!”

  The three Andorians looked around in panic, and Chekov allowed himself a grin. Both Uuvu’it and the Aulacri female Worene had somewhat fearsome, predatory appearances (as long as you didn’t know them well), and these were racists conditioned to fear aliens. Just the sight of them was an effective psychological warfare tactic, and for once, Uuvu’it’s bombastic need to show off may have been an asset.

  Or maybe not—for the zhen now drew a phaser and aimed it toward Chekov. The bystanders cried out or ducked for cover, but near Chekov, a young shen who couldn’t have been more than twelve stood paralyzed. As the radical fired, Chekov tackled the girl and shielded her with his armored back.

  The Blue Sky group took advantage of the opening, dashing past Chekov as he shielded the girl. “Human weakling!” the shooter cried. “Cower from us! Weep at true Andorian strength!”

  Chekov wondered if the extremist had even noticed the girl she had endangered—or if, despite her group’s pretense of esteeming Andorians above all others, she simply didn’t care if she endangered her own people.

  But someone cared. After the radicals ducked left down another alley, the girl ran to the embrace of a big, bearish Andorian male who’d come out of the adjacent katheka shop. “Airina!” he cried, cradling her against the wide expanse of his apron. His eyes met Chekov’s gratefully.

  Unfortunately, Chekov had no time to accept any thanks, just offering the katheka vendor a quick smile and nod before resuming the chase. The three Enterprise guards were soon loping alongside him, and Uuvu’it quickly outpaced him, going down briefly on all fours and cornering like a cat to enter the alley. “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” he cried. Worene followed a moment later, her prehensile tail whipping behind her, and Chekov and Vidmar were racing close behind.

  Their speed almost cost them, for it was a trap. The zhen fired her phaser forward, and then the Blue Sky trio veered sideways with Uuvu’it and Worene close behind, moving too fast to swerve. Chekov had barely begun to register the partially disintegrated railing and the vast open space beyond when Worene attempted to skid to a stop and failed, going over the edge of the terrace—

  —and stopping with a squeal of pain. Uuvu’it had caught a surviving piece of the railing in one hand and Worene’s tail in the other, stopping her from going over the edge. Pulling her back to safety by her tail, he spun her around balletically and set her down on the narrow path along the terrace edge. “Mind if I reel you in?” he asked.

  “Mind if I thrash you?” Worene hissed, more annoyed at her close call than grateful. The two of them had been a couple on a casual basis for a while now, but they were both from species that pursued romance very competitively, so it was hard to tell their flirting from their fighting.

  Worene pushed herself away and resumed the chase after the extremists. “Now I’m getting angry!”

  “Only now?” Uuvu’it countered, joining her in the chase. “I’ve been at peak intensity from the start!”

  “Can’t hear you!” teased Worene, who’d already outpaced him.

  The zhen resumed firing as Chekov’s people closed on them, and one of the thaans now opened fire with what sounded like an antique plasma pistol. Worene ducked agilely, but a plasma bolt barely missed Vidmar. “Take cover,” Chekov ordered his team, “and return fire, heavy stun.” He gave the order reluctantly. Even this narrow street was not entirely free of bystanders, and phaser stuns were not always harmless. But the Blue Sky members were shooting to kill, making them the greater threat to the civilians.

  His team took the nearest available cover and drew their phasers, taking careful aim. Before they could fire, though, something new entered the equation. A horde of townsfolk surged out of an alley into the extremists’ path, confronting them angrily. The three radicals pulled up short, surprised. “No,” Chekov heard one of them cry. “We’re fighting for you!”

  At the head of the group was the burly katheka vendor from before. “Tell that to my girl you almost killed!” He lunged forward, grabbing the thaan’s plasma pistol and wrenching it aside.

  “Now!” Chekov cried, waving his team forward. They lunged ahead and took out the armed zhen and the other thaan with precision phaser fire before the extremists could recover from their surprise.

  But Chekov was content to let the bearish vendor deal with the third extremist. Once the security team closed in, the vendor had knocked the thaan to the ground, where he lay dazed and gasping in pain.

  The vendor traded an appreciative look with Chekov, then looked down at the extremist. “How about that?” he taunted. “My Andorian strength has made you weep.” He pulled a katheka-stained cloth from his apron pocket and tossed it into the extremist’s face. “Wipe your tears with this.”

  Homeworld Security Headquarters

  Laikan, Andoria

  “I refuse to bring them in,” Kinoch zh’Lenthar insisted. The young, intense Aenar activist crossed her arms and continued, “Bringing us all together will just let them finish us off once and for all. Solve a lot of problems for the government.”

  Nyota Uhura took a calming breath as she faced the pale-skinned firebrand. She knew that the Aenar’s antennae and ears could discern much about her emotional state even without eyesight, and the last thing she wanted was to provoke further mistrust from zh’Lenthar. The activist leader’s angry rhetoric was already creating anxiety in the other Aenar survivors gathered here, in a makeshift dormitory in the Homeworld Security building’s gymnasium. While many of the Aenar who had been away from their compound at the time of the massacre had been political activists like zh’Lenthar’s group, the others were mostly individuals who had chosen to leave their insular community and assimilate into Andorian society. A number of those had married into four-person Andorian bondgroups, and a few were here with their part-Aenar children.

  “Please, try to consider the best interests of your people,” Uhura said, hoping her choice of words would encourage zh’Lenthar to consider her effect on the others, especially the children. “We can protect you better if we know where you all are.”

  “As if this government has ever cared about our best interests. That so-called minister for Aenar Affairs can’t even be bothered to show up. He’s never cared about helpi
ng us, only keeping us quiet and docile while the Andorians crowded us toward nonexistence.”

  “Separation won’t protect us,” countered Rukash th’Miraph, an elder among the assimilated Aenar, who seemed to have naturally gravitated toward him as a spokesperson for their group. Like most of them, he dressed in Andorian fashion and wore a sensor web similar to the one Miranda Jones employed. “In the past week, one Aenar living alone was killed in a suspicious skimmer crash, and another traveling in the Vezhdar Plain has disappeared. We fear they, too, may be victims of the unknown killers.”

  Uhura turned to th’Miraph. “Have any of you received any telepathic impressions to suggest that?” She had known telepaths to experience the terror and death of others of their species over great distances, as when Spock had sensed the destruction of the Vulcan-crewed Intrepid some years before.

  He shook his head. “Such things have been known between immediate family members, but those of us who have chosen to integrate into Andorian society generally do so because we have few or no surviving kin among the Aenar.” His antennae sagged. “That is … even more the case now.”

  She touched his hand. “I’m sorry. You all should know that we’ve still received no word from the Aenar group that was searching for a new homeworld, or the ship of petitioners to the Federation Council. Starfleet is searching for them both, but nothing’s been found.”

  The Aenar elder absorbed the news with more resignation than shock. A moment later, he turned to zh’Lenthar. “You see, Kinoch? Something is picking us off, and it evidently prefers to strike unseen. If there is any safety left for us, it is in a group.”

  Zh’Lenthar sneered at him. “If you thought unity would protect us, you would never have left our community. You and the others have already resigned yourselves to Aenar extinction and have fled the sinking ship.”

  “Expecting us to be able to survive as we were is a lost cause, now more than ever. If we wish any part of our genes and culture to survive, we must share it with our fellow Andorians and merge it with theirs.”

  “By abandoning everything we are? Hybrid children are never telepathic, rarely blind. If we interbreed, we cease to exist.”

  “Those are not the only things that make us Aenar. The important thing is to preserve what we can of ourselves, to leave a legacy.”

  “Our way of peace is what makes us Aenar. Do you think the warrior Andorians would allow it to survive?”

  “The ‘warrior’ Andorians ended their wars a century ago and joined the Federation in peace.”

  “And helped to found Starfleet, which still wages war.”

  “Starfleet’s job is to protect life,” Uhura told her. “We fight when we have no other way to protect the innocent, but only as a last resort.”

  “Then you lack the courage of your convictions. I would die for mine.”

  Uhura sharpened her tone. “It’s one thing to say that when it’s only your own life you’re putting on the line. Do you have the right to make that decision for others as well? How will you feel if your friends die because you refused to let us protect them?”

  The young activist’s expression wavered, but only briefly. “You still presume we would trust Starfleet or its friends in Andor’s government to care about our survival.”

  “Then what about the Medusans? What about Ambassador Kollos, who personally requested that the Enterprise bring him across hundreds of light-years so he could help you in your time of need? Who’s personally surveying the ruins of your compound this very moment, searching for any clue? Do you doubt that he truly cares?”

  Zh’Lenthar’s eyes widened and her antennae reared back in surprise. “Kollos? I … I remember him. He came to our compound when I was young. I sensed … such beauty and warmth from him.”

  “He tried to help your people, didn’t he? Even after his attempt to recruit you for his navigation project fell through.”

  “Yes. He still tried to advocate for us. He was one of the only offworlders who really seemed to care.”

  Uhura placed a hand lightly on the young zhen’s shoulder. “I assure you, he’s not the only one. Perhaps we have cared less in the past than we should have, but that’s not a mistake we want to repeat.” She paused. “If you doubt it, search my mind—search my feelings. I give you my consent.”

  Zh’Lenthar’s fork-tipped antennae swiveled to bear on Uhura, and she felt a form of scrutiny she knew no Earthly words for. She summoned her memory of the recent shipboard vigil on the rec deck, focusing on the New Humans and their sense of oneness with their fellow telepaths. She didn’t shy away from her own sense of guilt at paying the Aenar so little attention in the past. She had to be honest to earn the young Aenar’s trust. Thus, she also openly shared the memory of T’Nalae’s hostility toward the New Humans—as well as the rest of the crew’s firm rejection of such negativity.

  At last, the scrutiny faded, and zh’Lenthar tilted her head, contemplating Uhura. “I had not expected such … gentleness … from a military officer.”

  “Militaries can support and protect as well as fight. Sometimes nothing else is powerful and organized enough to make a difference when it’s needed.” She touched zh’Lenthar’s shoulder again. “Please … let us try to make a difference for you. Your people’s story doesn’t have to end here.”

  After a moment’s thought, the activist leader nodded. “Very well. I shall advise my group to assemble here—provided that you remain to supervise.”

  Uhura smiled. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Aenar Compound

  Northern Wastes

  After several hours spent examining the wrecked compound, Thelin, Spock, and the others gathered to review their findings. “As we have detected only five distinct footprint and stride patterns, it appears probable that all of this was done by five individuals,” Spock concluded.

  “Five.” Nizhoni shook her head. “To kill nearly a thousand people. I mean, since they were pacifists, I suppose it’s feasible. But still … what kind of person could kill that many people, one by one, up close and personal?” She grimaced. “Oh, I’m getting sick just thinking about it.”

  “Even by Andorian standards, this was savage,” Thelin replied. “Note also that we have found traces of thirteen distinct bladed, projectile, or energy weapons. Meaning that each of these ‘phantom’ killers possessed two to three different weapons. It feels … like this was sport to them.”

  “There’s no sport in killing pacifists,” Nizhoni countered. “Especially blind ones.” She flushed. “Oh, I’m sorry, Doctor Jones! I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s nothing I haven’t heard before, Lieutenant,” Jones told her patiently. “But keep in mind that the Aenar were far from helpless in their own homes. They knew every centimeter of this place, and their living environment was adapted to their sensory abilities. Recall that Andorians, Aenar included, do sense electric fields with their antennae.”

  Nizhoni frowned. “Since we’re on the subject, I’ve been wondering … but it seemed crass to ask such a banal question …”

  “Go ahead, Lieutenant,” Thelin told her. “Any distraction should be welcome at this point.”

  “Well, why is it that the Aenar’s buildings … the partly intact ones I’ve seen, anyway … why do they have windows? And indoor lighting?”

  Thelin chuckled. “Simple enough. Most of these structures were built to Andorian designs. When the Aenar were rediscovered, near the start of the twenty-second century, there was an initial attempt at cultural assimilation, under the guise of modernization. The Aenar welcomed the improved technologies and conveniences at first, but the Andorian contractors brought in to build the new structures unthinkingly built them to Andorian standards, designed for sighted individuals, with only cursory attempts to adapt them to the blind. To the Aenar, that was one of a number of warning signs that the Andorians intended to colonize their territory, even supplant them. In reaction, they reverted to their traditional isolation, a policy that they have main
tained to this day.” His antennae sagged in sorrow. “Perhaps it was an overreaction. I believe the contractors’ error was more one of thoughtless habit than deliberate intent. But if they had simply been more attentive to the needs of the Aenar, then, maybe …” He trailed off into a sigh. There was no point dwelling on hypotheticals; this reality was the only one Thelin or the Andorian people had.

  “In any case,” Spock said after a moment, “the Aenar’s isolation was itself a defense mechanism. Part of their reason for locating their primary compound this far north was to take advantage of the hostility of the surrounding environment, and of the natural interference fields near the pole, to deter easy access.”

  “Which they supplemented with their illusion powers to confuse intruders,” Thelin added. “And with the aforementioned transporter damping fields.”

  “We may have a theory for how the attackers got through those,” Miranda Jones said, tilting her head toward the Medusan’s hovering habitat beside her. “Kollos has been reviewing the sensor data of the molecular disruption patterns you detected earlier. We thought a Medusan’s sensorium could perceive something humanoids couldn’t.”

  “Intriguing,” Thelin said. “You believe you—he—has found something?”

  If Jones, Kollos, or both were bothered by his confusion at their compound identity, no sign of it showed on the woman’s face. “To the Medusan eye, so to speak, the molecular disruptions in the floor surface look less like thermal damage or quantum-interference spillover than like a geometric translation—as though the particle lattices had been partially rotated through a higher dimension.”

  Thelin had pulled out his tricorder before Jones had finished speaking, and Spock had done the same. Thelin assumed that Spock was programming in the same type of simulation parameters that he was, for rotating the lattice patterns through various multidimensional shifts. Before long, Thelin’s tricorder produced a pattern match. It had been easy to miss. Some subtle rearrangement of surface particles was common with transporter beams; normally, the interference patterns created between the coherent carrier beam and the modulated signal beam created the quantum assembly matrix that guided the transported particles to revert to their original pattern, but fringe effects on the edges of the beam could create pattern echoes that altered the quantum states and positions of particles in the arrival surface. This was on top of the simple thermal and electromagnetic disruptions resulting from the sheer concentration of energy in a transporter beam. Thus, it was common to look for molecular disruption as evidence of transporter use, but Thelin would never have thought of examining the specific geometry of the molecular rearrangement. He began to understand why Starfleet had been so eager to ally with the Medusans.