Starfleet Sector Headquarters, Andoria
Thelin th’Valrass slammed his hands down atop Admiral zh’Menlich’s desk. “But we have to join in the defense of the human telepaths!” he told her. “We owe these Naazh a blood debt. They struck on our very soil. We must be part of the fight against them now.”
“Is it really our fight, though?” Majurisa zh’Menlich countered. “Their quarrel was with the Aenar, and now with humans. A breed of humans who set themselves apart, as the Aenar did.”
“That does not negate the ties of kinship,” Thelin insisted. “Not only the kinship of blood and species, but of our chosen family, the Federation. The Naazh are invaders attacking Federation citizens.”
The heavyset, middle-aged zhen leaned back in her seat, antennae curling skeptically. “Some of them are Federation citizens.”
“Subverted by some alien force that hides its true face. Committing acts of terrorism and genocide against other Federation citizens. How is this not Starfleet’s purview?”
“Starfleet has multiple ships assigned to the effort already.”
“And it needs more. The targeted humans are spread across multiple worlds.”
The admiral peered up at him. “Are you so certain, Thelin, that they aren’t the ones we should be worried about? Growing so quickly in power in just a few years, gathering together in organized groups?”
Thelin glared back, controlling his anger at her insinuation. “They have harmed no one. The Naazh have been slaughtering them, as they did the Aenar. Know their motives through their methods, Admiral.”
Zh’Menlich sighed. “I don’t mean to be insensitive, Thelin. I know you lost family. But I have to be objective, and consider the larger interests of Andor.”
Thelin chose his words carefully. “I know that the trend of the past century has been to draw inward—to focus on our own problems and allow the humans and Vulcans to deal with the rest.”
“Those problems are considerable. Even existential.”
“Granted,” Thelin said, though he suspected zh’Menlich was overstating the case; the terraforming was more a matter of economic convenience and comfort than survival, and surely Federation science would find a solution to the Andorians’ current reproductive decline before it became critical. “But Starfleet has always stood ready to come to our aid. Have we become so passive that we cannot repay them in kind?” He leaned forward. “Remember how it was a century ago, when the Andorian Guard was the linchpin of Starfleet’s defense force. Our ancestors fought fearlessly in defense of those not our own, whether Federation citizens or not. They stood against the Ware, against the Klingons at Ardan IV, against Maltuvis at—”
“All right, all right,” zh’Menlich said. “You had me at Ardan IV.” Thelin smiled inwardly. He had known the admiral’s ancestor had commanded the Docana in that conflict. “The Charas is nearly done with repairs; you can take it out as soon as you assemble a crew.”
Thelin absorbed the admiral’s words. The Charas was a fairly small vessel, but fast and well armed. With a skeleton crew, it could hold a fair-sized contingent of New Human refugees, and contribute meaningfully to their defense if—
Then the rest of her words struck him. “As soon as I assemble a crew?”
She smirked. “It’s your mission, Commander, so you might as well command it. I’ll put you in for a field promotion to captain. Isn’t that what you always wanted, Thelin?”
He stood there mildly stunned as the promotion sank in. Of course, it was a promotion in little more than name; a ship the Charas’s size could easily be helmed by an officer of commander’s rank. But Starfleet tended to treat ranks as something more like job titles, so officers assigned to ship commands tended to be formally given captain’s rank regardless of strict matters of officer grades and promotion schedules.
Still, technicalities aside, Thelin now had his own starship to command. It had been his ambition for so long, but he had given up on it almost as long ago, contenting himself with a more domestic path. Now his old wish had been abruptly granted due to an awful situation. He honestly did not know how to feel about that.
But of course, his feelings were not the important consideration. He straightened to attention. “Thank you, Admiral. I’ll assemble a crew immediately.”
“And I’ll notify Starfleet Command that we’re joining the party,” zh’Menlich said. “Congratulations—Captain Thelin. I hope you get your vengeance.”
“My first priority is to protect Federation lives,” he said. “But if I can avenge the Aenar in the process … so much the better.”
Kardia, Regulus III
Arsène Xiang lowered his hands from Reiko Onami’s head and opened his eyes. “I’m sorry, Reiko. I fear there’s nothing within you I can help you to unlock.” The gray-haired, strong-featured New Human took on a tone of gentle apology. “To be frank … the esper testing protocols that were used until recently were highly prone to … false positives.”
“So I’m not a telepath after all?” Onami asked.
Xiang smiled at her. “What I sense from you, Reiko, is that you possess deep empathy for others and a truly open mind. Maybe those are what the tests registered.”
Onami barked a laugh. She rose from her chair and moved to lean on the railing of the balcony where they sat, looking out over the clean-lined towers of Kardia, one of the largest cities on Regulus III. In the street below, an eclectic mix of humans, Vulcans, Arodi, Caitians, and others bustled among the multiple vendor booths and food carts of the monthly street fair. It reminded her of her childhood home on Nelgha, except there were far more humans here, including the New Humans who ran most of the booths and carts, inviting the fair patrons to take advantage of their psionic gifts for advice, tailored cuisine, or just entertainment. The New Humans here had congregated in their own neighborhood of Kardia, mingling freely with their neighbors, rather than setting themselves apart in more isolated enclaves as on other worlds. But then, Regulans had always—with some exceptions—been a welcoming people. According to Xiang, this was the busiest the fair had ever been, as it was the last one before the local community boarded the U.S.S. Palmares and joined the New Human exodus.
“Deep empathy, huh?” she repeated after a moment. “I’m not sure about that. I can hardly stand most humans. Always got along great with nonhumans, but my own species?” She made a rude noise. “They drive me crazy.”
The older New Human chuckled. “Of course. They’re your family. No one frustrates us so much as the people we love the most.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Just embrace what you already have. That should be enough.”
She blushed a bit. The kindly old guy was threatening to make her change her mind about humans. “You’re really sweet, Arsène, but don’t worry. I didn’t really have some deep driving need to be a New Human. I’m just curious about, ah, New Humanity as a phenomenon. The emergence of a whole new culture—it’s really caught my interest.”
“Of course. To a student of different species and their interactions, it’s quite the opportunity.”
She leaned back on the railing and studied him. “You aren’t offended? Don’t mind that I’m here to put you under the microscope?”
Xiang chuckled. “I was in Starfleet once myself. Enlisted, like you, with a specialty in history and xenosociology. So I understand that compulsion to learn and explore.”
He spread his arms. “Besides, we have nothing to hide. Indeed, we want others to learn more about us. To understand what New Humans really are, and that we pose no threat to them.”
Onami heard the solemn undercurrent. “After this past week, I can understand why you think that.” She frowned. “But does it matter? If you’re all fleeing to Medusan space, doesn’t that eliminate the problem?”
Xiang shifted in his seat, steepling his fingers in a gesture that reminded her of Spock. “If you had to run and hide from a threat, would you be content to hide forever? To make that your permanent way of life, always in retreat from
those who would never accept your existence? Or would you hold on to hope that you could change that status quo, by changing enough minds that there would no longer be any reason to fear?”
“I see what you mean.” She studied him. “You seem like you’ve given this a lot of thought, considering that it’s only been a week since we learned your people were targeted.”
He cleared his throat. “Well … the fact is, we’ve faced suspicion and intolerance from other humans since we started to grow in ability after V’Ger. Many people still focus on the danger V’Ger posed rather than the transcendence it allowed us to glimpse, so our association with V’Ger—or at least the perception of same, whether it’s real or not—makes many people wary of us. The enduring fear of Augments plays into that as well, as Terebellum showed.”
“But you couldn’t have expected a response this violent.”
He sighed. “I’m a historian, my dear. One thing I’ve learned is that people rarely recognize how bad such threats are until the killing has already begun.”
* * *
Haru Yamasaki seethed at the sight of all the New Humans in the booths and carts around him, blithely showing off their psionic powers as if they were harmless entertainments for the Kardian public. The Regulans were too trusting, letting such threats into their backyard all too readily.
He turned to Mahar Anaza, amazed that his recruiter into the cause was able to watch all this so calmly. Of course, the Romulan was pretending to be one of Regulus’s many Vulcan citizens, but nonetheless, he was a hunter to the core, his passion for justice and retribution as fierce as that which had burned in Yamasaki’s heart since he had accepted the dimension stone Anaza had offered him back on Terebellum.
It had been a surprise to learn that his recruiter had been a member of a Federation enemy, but Anaza had made it clear that he recognized the Aenar and New Humans as a threat transcending politics, one his own superiors in the Romulans’ Tal Shiar intelligence agency had dismissed. Like Yamasaki, he had been stymied by his own nation, unable to take any action against the threat until the opportunity to join the hunters had been given to him. He had been one of the Lords’ first recruits, the effective leader of their small but efficiently deadly corps of hunters, and thus it was strange to Yamasaki that he could be so stoic in the midst of their prey.
“Why are we not armoring up?” he demanded silently, sending his thoughts through the mental connection the dimension stones provided. He could feel the stone calling to him through the entanglement link from the dimensional pocket where it was stored, ready to be summoned with a thought. “All these psionic freaks together in one place, off guard and in the open. This is the most target-rich environment I’ve ever seen!”
Anaza put a cautioning hand on his arm. “I share your fire, hunter, but contain yourself. We both saw their strength in numbers on Terebellum.” The Romulan winced; his back was still strained from being carried off by that giant corvid ten days before. His scarlet armor had saved him from being gored or crushed by its talons, but the sheer force of being yanked skyward by his arms and upper torso had been damaging enough. “And here they will have the Regulan police and defense forces on their side, as well as Starfleet. The time is not right.”
“When, then? We need to wipe them out before those Starfleet traitors help them escape to Medusa!”
Anaza chuckled. Yamasaki looked around, but no one in the crowd seemed to notice the un-Vulcan reaction.
“Don’t worry,” Anaza sent to him. “As effective, and cathartic, as our usual methods are, there are other ways to hunt. Goading them into flight has always been the plan.”
The Romulan smiled. “And our golden young firebrand is in position, gathering the knowledge we need to make our next strike the most devastating yet.”
Thirteen
U.S.S. Asimov NCC-1652
“Come quickly! They’re killing us! They’re trying to blow the warp reac— Aaahh!!”
Nyota Uhura winced as the terrified voice screamed and fell silent. More screams could be heard in the background of the open channel as the Asimov’s captain, Erin Blake, leaned forward urgently. “Yggdrasil, do you copy? Yggdrasil, come in!” The dark-haired young captain turned to her chief engineer. “Mister Scott, can you get any more speed out of the engines?”
“I’m giving her all she’s got, Captain,” the grizzled, mustached engineer replied, a refrain all too familiar to Uhura’s ears. “But she’s not as young as she used to be. It’s a struggle to keep her warp polarity in alignment. Any faster and the frame-dragging will pull us off course.”
Blake sighed. “Just … do what you can, Mister Scott.” Uhura could hear in the captain’s warm but professional voice that she was familiar enough with Scott’s reputation to know what that meant. Uhura sympathized; ever since she’d boarded the Asimov as its science officer, she’d felt safer knowing that Scotty was along with her.
Unfortunately, this was not the kind of mission they had signed on for. By the luck of the draw, the midsized research vessel’s pursuit of subspace density anomalies had made it the nearest ship available to rendezvous with the Yggdrasil, the civilian transport that the New Human community on Deneb Kaitos IV had launched to join the convoy to Medusan space. Admiral Kirk, coordinating the task force from the Enterprise, had asked the group to stay at Deneb for their own protection until the Asimov could reach them, but they had believed they would be safer in transit—a belief that had now proven to be a mistake. According to their panicked reports, some Naazh agent on Deneb must have sabotaged their shield grid and subspace damping beacon before they launched, the failure timed to leave them helpless in open space, too far from rescue. The Asimov was just minutes away now, but it would be minutes too late.
An energy spike from the Yggdrasil caught Uhura’s eye. “Captain—their warp core is starting to destabilize!”
“Yggdrasil, do you read?” Blake shouted. “You need to jettison your warp reactor now! Please copy—”
She broke off, for a piercing pinpoint of light flared briefly on the main viewer, alongside the undeniable energy readings on Uhura’s science console. “The ship is gone, sir,” she confirmed, dutifully but redundantly.
“Ahh, damn the Naazh,” Scott muttered. “You don’t suppose the explosion took them with it, do you?”
“We thought the explosion on the Enterprise did them in, but they apparently survived it,” Uhura said. “And I have no doubt they set this one off on purpose. So it’s a safe bet—” She broke off, relieved to spot scattered life readings as the radiation cleared. “Captain! I’m reading thirteen escape pods. Estimate one to two life signs in each.”
Blake sighed in relief. “Thank the Great Bird. That’s close to half the contingent. How soon can we rendezvous?”
Uhura gasped as the life signs in two of the pods fluctuated. First they increased in number, simultaneous with a subspace energy spike in each … then the numbers rapidly diminished to one per pod, then to zero after a second spike. “Oh, no. Two Naazh are teleporting from pod to pod, killing the occupants one by one.”
Blake turned to Scott. “Same question, more urgent.”
“Still a minute away, sir,” Scott said heavily.
“Uhura, do they have a minute?”
“No, sir. Four pods are now lifeless.” The readings changed. “Make that five.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “We’ll never make it in time.”
Scott brightened. “Maybe we can, lass—if we don’t slow down first. In fact, we should go faster, and the hell with the warp polarity.”
Blake stared. “But we’ll go right past them.”
“If this works, Captain, we can go back for them. But I’ll have to time it just right.”
The young captain wasted no time, trusting in Scott’s experience. “All right. Mister Schnell, maximum warp on Mister Scott’s command.”
“Aye, Captain,” Daryl Schnell replied from the helm.
By now, two more escape pods were under Naazh attack, the
ir biosigns dwindling. In mere moments, the Naazh would teleport out of them and into the next two pods. Uhura wished she knew what Scotty was planning. She had enormous faith in him, but under the circumstances—
“Punch it!” Scott commanded. Schnell pushed the manual override throttle to the limit.
The energy spikes of Naazh teleportation appeared and faded in the now-lifeless escape pods. The Asimov flew right through the pack of pods, seemingly with no effect. Then the energy spikes appeared on Uhura’s sensors again, and the Naazh reappeared—
—in empty space, hundreds of meters behind the escape pods.
“Sir!” Uhura cried, setting the main viewscreen to focus on the Naazh flailing in space.
Blake shot to her feet. “I see them! Schnell, drop to impulse, come around, and fire on those Naazh. Transporter room, lock on to escape pods and prepare to retrieve survivors.”
Uhura began to have an inkling of what had happened, but she just hoped it would throw off the Naazh’s targeting long enough. Fortunately, their convulsions of surprise had put them into slow spins around their centers of mass, which must have made it hard to reorient themselves as they drifted farther away from the escape pods at an angle to their course. Soon enough, the Asimov had swung around and opened fire with its phasers. Astonishingly, the armor suits withstood even direct hits from starship phasers, but the readings showed they had sustained damage. It wasn’t enough to prevent them from teleporting away—but this time, they did not return.
Once Uhura had reported this, Blake ordered her crew to retrieve the survivors from the remaining six pods. Then she turned to her engineer and said, “Mister Scott, now that we have a free moment, maybe you could tell me how the hell we just saved those people, so I can sound like I know what I’m talking about in my log.”
Scott grinned. “Like I said, Captain, going faster caused the warp polarity to go out of alignment—and I gave it a little extra boost in the wrong direction right as we went past. We needed to increase the frame-dragging as much as possible.”
The Higher Frontier Page 19
