Serpents Among the Ruins

by David R. George III

  “But not in an official capacity,” Kamemor said, attempting to understand the purpose of Harriman’s visit.

  “No,” the captain said. “I wanted to tell you…I wanted to assure you…that the new drive was never intended to provide the Federation with a first-strike capability.”

  “I see,” Kamemor said, not disguising her tone, which clearly reflected the uncertainty she felt about Harriman’s claim.

  “I can tell you that I’ve been involved in the project from the outset,” he continued. “It’s been in development for years, the next logical step after the failure of Starfleet’s transwarp program.”

  Kamemor leaned to her left and set her glass down on a small table at the end of the sofa. “All these years since the transwarp program, Captain,” she said. “Two, two and a half decades? And a starship equipped with the next generation of propulsion systems appears now, at the height of tensions between the Empire and the Federation?”

  “An unfortunate coincidence,” Harriman maintained. “But after all, Starfleet’s primary purpose is exploration, and we are always moving to advance our abilities to carry out such endeavors.”

  “You’ll forgive me, Captain,” Kamemor said, “if I point out the heavy armaments carried by so many of Starfleet’s vessels.”

  “I said exploration was Starfleet’s primary purpose,” Harriman said, “not its only one. I don’t deny the defensive imperative of Starfleet. But I am telling you that hyperwarp was not developed as a weapon or a defense, but strictly as a tool of discovery.”

  “I am trying to decide, John,” Kamemor said, “whether you are attempting to convince me of this, or whether you are attempting to convince yourself.”

  “Ambassador,” Harriman said, his tone beseeching.

  “Captain,” Kamemor said. “I know that you’re not naïve. And I don’t need to dispute your personal intentions for hyperwarp drive—or even the intentions of Starfleet itself. But are there not admirals within Starfleet Command who would employ any technology, any means, to defeat my people? Are there not those admirals who likely viewed the development of hyperwarp drive as an opportunity to end this cold war we’ve been waging, and not by declaring peace?” Kamemor paused, hoping to allow her words to penetrate past Harriman’s stated opinion. “If I recall the content of my intelligence briefings, is not your father an admiral with a reputation as a so-called hawk?”

  “I cannot deny the existence of such admirals,” Harriman said, “although they are well in the minority. But neither can you deny the presence in the Romulan Imperial Fleet of such individuals.”

  “Of course not,” Kamemor said. “And in the Senate as well.”

  “But I am not my father,” Harriman said, “and you are not a warmongering diplomat.”

  “No,” Kamemor said, “but if the hyperwarp data you have provided do not corroborate Starfleet’s claims, there will be no stopping the Romulan hawks.”

  “Gell,” Harriman said, employing her given name for the first time. He leaned forward and set his drink down on the low table between them. “There will be no stopping them anyway.”

  “What do you mean?” Kamemor wanted to know.

  “I mean that I have information to give you,” Harriman said. “For one thing, believe me when I tell you that the data provided today will verify the Federation claims: hyperwarp drive is not a weapon, nor can it reasonably be utilized as one. And as far as first-strike capabilities are concerned, the Romulans and Klingons now have as much data about the new drive as Starfleet; there will be no unbalancing of power.”

  “I am gratified to hear that,” Kamemor said.

  “But none of that will matter,” Harriman went on. “Not to one man.”

  “One man?” Kamemor asked, although she already suspected the identity Harriman would reveal.

  “Aventeer Vokar,” the captain said, confirming Kamemor’s suspicions.

  “But if the data you provided prove the Federation claims,” Kamemor said, “then the admiral will be able to do nothing.”

  “Nothing sane,” Harriman said. “But he has a plan, Gell. And when data fail to provide him with the excuse he needs to attack the Federation, he will do so anyway.”

  “What?” Kamemor asked, her voice rising in surprise. She stood up, unable to remain seated. Slowly, Harriman stood as well, facing her across the sitting area.

  “Vokar is going to commit an act of terrorism,” he said. “He is going to attack a facility across the Neutral Zone in order to lure the Federation into a war. He knows that if we are attacked without provocation, we will be unable to refrain from launching an immediate counterstrike.”

  “But that is madness,” Kamemor said, appalled at the picture Harriman had painted for her. “If the Federation is attacked, the Klingons will side with them in any subsequent conflict, and such a combined force would be able to overcome the Empire.”

  “You believe that,” Harriman said, “and I believe it. But does Vokar? Or does his zealous nationalism blind him to reality? Does he trust so much in the natural ascendancy of the Romulans that he believes their defeat impossible under any circumstances?”

  Kamemor looked away from Harriman, her mind working over what she had just been told. She knew the admiral, both by reputation and through her own dealings with him, and she recognized Harriman’s characterization of Vokar as accurate. She had recently seen the beginnings of such attitudes in one of her own subconsuls, Vreenak, and she had vowed to herself to counsel the young diplomat in other directions.

  Kamemor sat back down on the sofa, then looked back up at Captain Harriman. “Why are you telling me this?” she asked him.

  Harriman returned to his seat as well, his eyes never leaving hers. “Because I need your help,” he said.

  “To do what?” she said, although the answer seemed clear.

  “To stop Vokar,” Harriman said. “To prevent a war that, no matter who ultimately wins, will see unprecedented numbers of casualties on all sides.”

  Kamemor thought again of Vreenak, and of her other subconsul, N’Mest, but she knew that she would never be able to tell anybody of this meeting with Harriman. “How can I trust you?” Kamemor asked, searching his face for an answer she knew she would not find there.

  “That’s a question only you can answer,” Harriman said. “Despite living on opposite sides of the Neutral Zone, we’ve known each other for a long time now. I’ve never lied to you, and I’m not lying now. Like you, all I want is peace.”

  Kamemor nodded her head, not in agreement, but in simple, absent movement. She found herself believing the Starfleet captain, both because of her long relationship with him, and because of the narrow-minded, xenophobic, almost fanatical mindset she had always known Vokar to manifest. And in those terms, the decision came easily to her.

  “What do you want me to do?” she asked.

  Minus Three: Shadows

  A bead of perspiration trickled from Harriman’s hairline down to his brow. The air in the Jefferies tube felt still and close, like a windless day in a humid clime. The times he’d spent on Pacifica with Amina rose in his mind, but he immediately dismissed those thoughts; this was no vacation. He wiped at his forehead with the back of his hand, smearing the sweat across his already-slick skin.

  Lying on his left side, Harriman lifted a handheld device up before his face. He examined the simple readout—one indicator for status, another for range—and verified the accurate operation of the fist-sized apparatus. After reattaching it to the belt of his uniform jacket, he reached for another piece of equipment he had carried here. He picked up the heavy rectangle of metal from the decking and studied its curved surface, about half a dozen times the size of his open hand. A control module and a small display jutted out from its other side. A normal component of impulse-drive systems, the deuterium-flow regulator controlled the introduction of hydrogen isotope fuel into the fusion reactors.

  This particular regulator, Harriman knew, was defective.

 
; Though not visible to the unaided eye, a microscopic fracture zigzagged across its face. Additionally, a dropped parity bit in its firmware would prevent self-detection of the flaw. When engaged, the regulator would fail to correctly control the stream of deuterium entering the impulse reactor. Temperatures would rise rapidly in the core, releasing radiation and threatening an explosion. Unchecked, the runaway fuel flow would result in disaster.

  Harriman adjusted the position of his body, pushing up onto his knees. He turned and reached forward with both hands, into the exposed equipment beyond the open engineering panel. Magnetic and mechanical locking mechanisms snapped closed around the regulator as he set it delicately into place. He withdrew his hands from the open panel and grabbed his tricorder, also hanging from his belt. A quick check showed the impulse system in apparently perfect working order.

  He returned the tricorder to his belt, then closed up the panel and retrieved the flow regulator he’d earlier removed. Before completing his tasks here, he once more confirmed the functioning of the other small device. The sensor veil remained in place, he saw, rendering him no more substantial to scans than a shadow. His presence here, and his modification of the impulse drive, would go completely undetected.

  As would a single phaser blast.

  The decking of the Jefferies tube clanged as Harriman put the replaced flow regulator down. He crawled backward away from it, then slipped a type-one phaser from beneath the back of his uniform jacket. He leveled the weapon at the piece of equipment and fired. The regulator vanished in a burst of high-pitched sound and red light. The burned scent of ozone filled the air.

  Harriman holstered his phaser, then utilized his tricorder to exit the Jefferies tube back into the corridor without being seen. He quickly returned to his quarters, where he divested himself of his tricorder, phaser, and sensor veil. Then he headed for the Enterprise bridge.

  “How long?” Sulu asked, peering down past Linojj’s shoulder at the helm readouts. Her clipped words reflected the disquiet she’d felt ever since Enterprise had crossed the Neutral Zone on its way to Algeron. Not long ago, though, Captain Harriman had returned to the ship and informed her that they’d be leaving the Romulan station in two hours. Vokar’s crew had evidently examined the hyperwarp specs and testing logs the captain had provided, and they’d been unable to find any discrepancies between those data and Starfleet’s claims about the new drive system. Admiral Vokar had therefore scheduled the departure of Tomed, which would first escort Enterprise back to Federation space, and then travel to Romulus, where the hyperwarp data would be studied more thoroughly. “How long before we leave?” she said, clarifying her question.

  “Twenty-seven minutes,” Linojj answered, consulting the chronometer on her console.

  Sulu absently shook her head. “Not soon enough for me,” she said quietly, more to herself than to any of the crew. She knew that some of the apprehension she felt right now would ease once Enterprise had exited Romulan territory.

  “Not soon enough for me either,” Linojj agreed, looking up from the helm and staring forward, toward the front of the bridge. Sulu followed her gaze. On the main viewscreen, the layered circles of the Algeron station rose off to port, an unfamiliar outpost in unfriendly space.

  Sulu crossed behind Linojj and walked over to the navigation console. She leaned in past Ensign Tolek and examined the course he’d computed for the journey back to the Federation, a simple reversal of the path along which Tomed had initially led them. “Ensign,” Sulu said, raising her hand to the display, “I want you to calculate a series of contingency courses for us. Beginning with the space station, from every point a half-light-year along this route—” She traced the tip of her finger along the blue line that represented their presumed course. “—I want you to prepare alternate courses back to the Federation.”

  Tolek peered up at Sulu, one of his eyebrows rising on his forehead in obvious curiosity. “Do you anticipate difficulties, Commander?” he asked.

  “Anticipate them?” Sulu said. She took a moment before answering, considering the question as she moved back to the command chair and sat down. “No,” she said at last, and that was true: she didn’t expect Enterprise to find itself in the middle of a firefight while on this side of the Neutral Zone. But she also did not trust the Romulan Imperial Fleet in general, or Admiral Vokar in particular. “While we’re still in hostile territory, though,” she continued, “there’s nothing wrong with taking additional precautions.”

  “Aye, aye, Commander,” Tolek said. As the ensign complied with her order, his controls garnishing the bridge with beeps and chirps, Sulu heard the starboard doors open. She looked over to see Captain Harriman enter the bridge from the turbolift.

  “Captain,” she said. She started up out of the command chair, but Harriman gestured to her as he approached, his hand patting down toward the deck. “We’re ready for departure,” Sulu said, sitting back down. “We expect word from the Tomed in less than half an hour.”

  “Good,” Harriman said, nodding. “I want Enterprise back in Federation space as soon as possible.” Although his sentiment echoed the one she’d voiced herself just a few minutes ago, his inflection and the way he’d phrased the statement seemed to carry an additional—and surprising—meaning.

  “Sir?” Sulu said, asking the question with only the single word.

  “I’ll be staying behind on Algeron,” Harriman said. “With the Federation envoys.”

  “For how long?” Sulu asked at once, stunned to learn of this just minutes before the ship would be leaving the Romulan station.

  “I don’t know,” Harriman told her. “But in my absence, you will captain Enterprise, and Xintal will serve as your first officer.”

  “Sir,” Sulu began, but then she stopped, unsure of what she should say. She certainly held no concerns about her own ability to command—she’d been Harriman’s exec for a decade, and she fully expected to have her own ship one day—but the abruptness, the unexpectedness with which this had happened left her puzzled. She understood that the captain had more direct experience with the Romulans than just about anybody else in Starfleet—not to mention his vast experience with the Klingons—but he was a better explorer and a better soldier than he was a diplomat. It made no sense to her for Starfleet Command, in these dangerous times, to remove an officer of Captain Harriman’s caliber from the command of the flagship.

  “I’ve already transferred all command codes to you,” Harriman said. “Inform the crew of my temporary reassignment. Once you take the ship back into Federation territory, proceed to Echo Sector. Enterprise’s orders are to patrol along the Neutral Zone in that region. You’ll find Starfleet’s latest communications in my command log.”

  “Yes, sir,” Sulu said, though she still felt uneasy by what had just occurred. But she could see that the captain had said all he was going to say right now, and so she added, “Good luck.”

  “Thank you,” Harriman said. Before he left, though, he looked as though he might say something more to her, and Sulu hoped that he might offer an explanation for why Starfleet wanted him to remain on Algeron. He leaned in close to her, and she sat forward in the command chair, until their faces were only centimeters apart. “You know,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper, “I still keep thinking about Iron Mike Paris.”

  Sulu felt her eyes narrow as she stared at the captain. Harriman had mentioned Mike Paris to her only one other time since the debriefings after the mission to Devron II, and that had been just a few days ago, on the night when he’d come to her quarters to talk about his father. And as with that first time, Sulu felt as though the captain’s words held some deeper meaning that she could not immediately decipher. Before she could respond to him, though, Harriman rounded on his heel and headed back toward the starboard turbolift. In only seconds, he was gone.

  Sulu sat back in the command chair, uncomfortable with what had just happened. In front of her, at the helm, Linojj turned and looked back over her shoulde
r. “Twenty-one minutes now until departure,” she said, and then added with a wry grin, “Captain.”

  Sulu smiled thinly, an acknowledgment that contained no good feelings in it. The true captain of Enterprise had just left the bridge, she knew, and he’d soon be leaving the ship as well. Sulu glanced back over at the turbolift doors, at where she had last seen Harriman, and suddenly, she wondered whether she would ever see him again.

  Lieutenant Vaughn sat stiffly in a chair in Commander Gravenor’s quarters. Taking advantage of the quiet and the stillness in these last few moments, he forged through a series of mental disciplines he’d picked up during the last few years. As he’d moved from behind his desk at Starfleet special operations and out into the field, he had discovered himself challenged in ways he’d never anticipated. On some missions, he had been tested physically, an eventuality for which he had prepared; the intense fitness regimens required of all field operatives had so far seen him through the most difficult of circumstances. And he had trained himself mentally as well, sharpening his powers of deduction and observation, of memory and strategic thinking, and those skills too had stood him in good stead.

  But there had also been other, unexpected trials, trials surprising for their simplicity: things such as boredom, and discomfort, and frustration. Vaughn had once shadowed a Benzite engineer for three months, a man suspected of trafficking in purloined Starfleet technology, but who’d ended up being nothing more than an honest and extremely dull person. Another operation had required Vaughn to wear prosthetic appliances—most notably on his face—for weeks in order to infiltrate a Tellarite mining facility. Still others of his missions, while justified and perfectly executed, had failed to yield the desired results.

  Through the course of his field service, Vaughn had learned numerous and varied mental exercises that allowed him both to prepare for and to endure such psychological adversities. He had been taught some techniques by other special ops officers—primarily by Commander Gravenor—while he had discovered some on his own. Right now, he employed them all in an attempt to ready himself for the coming mission.