by Kevin Ryan
No other staff met them. Everyone else was too busy. Protocol had become less and less important, even in the president’s office. There was no conversation. They were quickly ushered through the president’s office doors, and West saw President Wescott sitting at his desk, looking over a communication intently. He looked up for a moment and nodded at them.
Wescott was alone in his large semicircular office and West knew why: the staff were all busy. Things were too hectic for any of them to make an appearance at this meeting. West had stepped into this office for the first time just two weeks ago. Then, he had been impressed by the panoramic views of Paris. Now, he felt nothing but impatience to get back to the work on his desk, the work that might still make a difference.
For the moment, though, the admiral needed him here. While every moment of the meeting would be recorded, regulations required a live witness. West would do this duty.
President Wescott stood and walked around his desk to greet them. He shook Solow’s hand and then West’s. “Admiral, Lieutenant,” he said formally. The president looked older than he had in their last meeting. A few days seemed to have put years on his face.
“Admiral Solow, please make your report,” the president said.
“Given recent events, reports from Starfleet intelligence, and the more recent report from Ambassador Fox, it is the opinion of Starfleet Command that war with the Klingon Empire is inevitable. Moreover, a de facto state of war currently exists. We believe that open hostilities will begin in short order, most likely with a Klingon strike on one or more Federation systems.”
“What is our current state of readiness?” Wescott asked.
“With work on the U.S.S. Constellation finished, our starship refit program is complete. Additional ships have been recommissioned, including Icarus and J-class vessels.”
Recommissioned is one way to put it, West thought. Dragged out of mothballs would be another. The U.S.S. Yorkshire had, literally, been a museum piece. The ship that had fought the Battle of Donatu V to a draw had for years been part of a traveling display touring the Federation. A few weeks ago, it had undergone a quick refit, and the admiral had signed an order declaring it ready for active duty.
Solow continued, “Seventy-eight percent of planetary defense upgrades are in place and the work is continuing. Key command and technical personnel have been reallocated with contingency protocols in effect.”
That was a polite way of saying that Admiral Nogura and other people in key positions had been moved to secure locations throughout the Federation so that in the event of a Klingon invasion the command structure could be preserved in the event of a successful attack on Earth and Starfleet headquarters.
The president nodded. “With respect to hostilities with the Klingons, what is Starfleet’s status?”
“Full readiness, Mister President,” Solow said.
The president thanked the admiral. There was silence in the room for a moment before the president said, “Stop recording.” The readiness report was now official and complete. Now all that was needed for a formal declaration of war was a war powers vote by the Federation Council, which would take place later in the week.
“Well, you were right, Lieutenant West. War was inevitable,” Wescott said without any bitterness in his voice.
West had counseled that war was inevitable since before the incident at Starbase 42. He had railed against Ambassador Fox and had argued his position to the president himself. Now, he felt an irrational urge to apologize to President Wescott.
In the end, he said, “I was sorry to read Ambassador Fox’s report.”
“We all were,” Wescott said. Fox had made it clear that he believed the negotiations with the Klingon ambassador were a sham designed to buy the Klingons more time. West had believed he would never see the day that Fox would admit that the Klingons were not serious about seeking peace. But things had changed and Fox had lost a man in the negotiations.
“Can we win this, Herbert?” Wescott asked.
“We can, Mister President,” Solow said.
“Will we?”
Solow gave the president a thin smile. “The simulations are inconclusive. Vulcan teams are working around the clock, but there are too many variables. And no war plan ever survives the first few minutes of actual battle, sir. I do think we have a chance, at least even odds.”
“So only a fifty percent chance that everything we have built, everything we know, will be destroyed,” Wescott said.
“I’m sorry I can’t offer you better than that right now,” Solow answered, genuine regret in his voice.
“I will not fire the first shot in this war,” Wescott said, his eyes meeting West’s for a moment, as if waiting for a challenge.
“I think that’s wise, sir. My cultural research says that the Klingons will fight even harder if their government can claim that they have been attacked.”
“Well, we wouldn’t want to make them mad,” Wescott said drily.
“Sir, I have a recommendation. I strongly suggest that you pull Ambassador Fox and his team out of the negotiations. When the Klingons finally abandon the pretense of talks, they will no doubt take the diplomatic team and try to extract information from them. If the team is captured, they will be interrogated.” West felt a chill run down his spine as he said that word. He and Fox had had their differences, but he respected the man and wouldn’t wish torture at the hands of a skilled Klingon interrogator on anyone.
“I made the offer through coded transmissions, but Fox and his people have volunteered to continue the charade as long as they can. Once we pull them out, the Klingons will know that we are ready to go to war. And we also need time.”
It was a brave thing to do. Facing death was one thing, but facing a slow death at the hands of the Klingons was something else entirely. West was sorry that he had not gotten to know Fox better and that their few meetings had been so antagonistic.
“Thank you, gentlemen,” President Wescott said.
“Thank you, Mister President,” Solow said. The admiral and West turned and headed for the door.
West was anxious to get back to his work. He was finishing his report on Klingon cultural traditions and their approach to ground fighting. When he reached his office, a woman was waiting for him. She stepped forward and told him, “I’m Lieutenant Katherine Lei, reporting for duty, sir.”
“Reporting?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Reporting to me?”
“Yes, sir,” she said evenly, though the firm smile disappeared from her lips. “The admiral assigned me to you.”
“I see. The admiral, however, didn’t mention you to me,” West said.
“I can get my order confirmation,”
“Not necessary. I’ve been making a case for a staff and a full tactical xeno-studies department since I got here. It seems like you are the first step in that direction.” West realized that Lei was young, no older than himself. He had never seen her before, but her name was familiar. And, he realized, she was attractive. Olive skin. Straight black hair. Hawaiian perhaps? Certainly somewhere in the Pacific.
“I just graduated. I’ve read your declassified reports. Some of your Klingon cultural analysis is really quite good,” she said pleasantly.
“Some?” he asked with genuine surprise. He had quickly become the resident expert on Klingons and had literally written the book on Klingon culture and its relationship to tactics and strategy in warfare.
Suddenly, he remembered where he had seen Lei’s name. “You wrote a thesis on the cult of Kahless.”
“Yes. Have you read the paper?” she asked with genuine interest.
He nodded. “I found some of it quite good.”
“Thank you,” she said evenly. “Do you have any initial orders?”
“Come with me and tell me what you know about Klingon customs and norms with respect to ground fighting,” West said, ushering her into his office.
Chapter Five
U.S.S. ENTERPRISE
FEDERATION-KLINGON BORDER
“MISTER SPOCK, what have you learned?” Kirk asked.
The Vulcan hit a button on the console in front of him. Immediately, the briefing-room viewscreen showed the image of a civilian space vessel. “The Harmony is a Marquis-class private vessel that can accommodate approximately eight passengers and crew.”
Kirk knew the ship. “It’s a yacht.”
“Aye. Fast enough for a private vessel, but it doesn’t even have proper navigational deflectors, let alone defensive shielding,” Scott said, shaking his head.
Spock shook his head. “The craft is designed primarily for short trips through charted systems along known spaceways.”
“I presume, then, that it doesn’t have any weapons?” McCoy asked.
Scott shook his head. “Not this model. The main energizer would never support them.”
“And due to their ideological bent, it is unlikely that the Anti-Federation League would perform the dramatic upgrades necessary to allow for weapons of any kind,” Spock said.
“So they marched into Klingon space on a pleasure craft?” McCoy said.
“Apparently,” Spock said.
“Anyone with any experience in space would know that the Klingons would see the arrival of an unarmed ship as an insult at best,” Scotty said.
His statement hung in the air for a moment until Security Chief Giotto broke the silence. “Captain, the crew of the Harmony chose to enter Klingon space. They were aware of the risks.”
Kirk nodded; he knew how the lieutenant commander felt. “However, we are under an obligation to provide assistance in this case. Though they are members of the Anti-Federation League, they are still Federation citizens.”
“Captain, with all due respect, we also have an obligation to get to System 7348 before the Klingon battle cruiser arrives. If we don’t, the Klingons will have time to fortify their position,” Giotto said.
Kirk saw the serious concern in the chief’s face and understood it. He also knew that more than one of his department heads and the other assembled staff were thinking the same thing. “The issue we have here is do we take a significant risk to save the lives of people who should have known better, or do we attend to a larger duty to protect the Federation from a bigger and graver threat: Klingon incursion. Now, we do know that right now civilians are in custody of Klingons and no doubt have a very short time to live.” Kirk waited a moment for that to sink in. “They are in real and immediate danger, but we might be tempted to ignore the situation to concentrate on the problem posed by the Klingon warship approaching System 7348 because of what they may and likely will do when they get there. Certainly, no one would blame us for continuing to the system because of the grave threat that ship poses. However, I will not trade the lives of civilians for what might happen, or even what probably will happen. We will not compromise who we are even if it means risking our larger survival.”
There was a flash of understanding on Doctor McCoy’s face, and a raised eyebrow on Spock’s, which amounted to the same thing. Once, when Kirk was young, he had seen a man named Kodos execute four thousand colonists on Tarsus IV because of a food shortage. At the time, the decision had had a cold logic: the colony’s food supply had almost completely been wiped out, and the entire settlement could not survive until resupply ships came. Kodos had expressed regret and then done what he said was necessary to preserve as many lives as possible.
The decision was indeed logical. However, it was not only an immensely immoral decision but a fatally flawed one. Through a series of events that no one could have foreseen, the supply ships had come early, and Kodos became one of the most hated names in the galaxy.
Kodos the Executioner had traded the lives of the people under his protection to serve a larger purpose. Kirk would not do the same.
“I thank you all for your input, but my decision is final,” the captain said.
“Understood,” Giotto said. The chief’s people would carry out any rescue mission and would be in the most danger, but now that the decision was made, Kirk was sure that Giotto was already reviewing rescue scenarios in his head.
“Lieutenant Parrish,” Kirk said. “Recommendations on the rescue mission.”
Lieutenant Leslie Parrish was one of the few surviving crew members from the incidents on Systems 1324 and 7348. She was also one of only two survivors from her squad of the Klingon assault on Starbase 42, where the Klingons had taken too many good people, including Sam Fuller. She had about as much experience at fighting Klingons in close quarters as anyone alive in Starfleet today.
“I would send in one full squad, hit the Klingons hard and quick. Because of their cultural prejudices against ‘Earthers,’ they don’t expect much from us. As a result, they have a hard time adjusting to setbacks. Chances are we can get in and out before they can mount an effective response.”
Kirk shifted his gaze to Giotto. “I agree, sir,” Giotto said.
“I would like to volunteer my squad for the job, Captain,” Parrish said. “Besides my own experience with Klingons, we also have Michael Fuller on our team.”
She was right. As a survivor of the Battle of Donatu V, Fuller had even more experience with Klingons than Parrish did herself. Of course, there were complications with Fuller, and with Parrish herself for that matter. However, the place to have those discussions was not in an open meeting.
“Thank you, Lieutenant, I will take that offer under advisement. Lieutenant Uhura, continue to monitor all communications from the Klingons. Mister Spock, please let me know when long-range scanners have a lock on the merchant Klingon vessel now holding the prisoners. I want to know as much about that ship as possible. Then Kirk scanned the room, looking for any questions or concerns, but there were none, just people anxious to get back to their jobs now that the ship was getting closer to Klingon space.
“Mister Spock, Doctor McCoy, and Lieutenant Commander Giotto, stay with me. Everyone else is dismissed,” Kirk said, and the group filed out of the briefing room. Kirk was not surprised to see that Lieutenant Parrish remained behind.
“Captain, may I have a word?” she asked.
Kirk knew this was coming. “Of course.”
“Sir, have you considered my request? My squad—”
The captain raised his hand and said, “Is the best choice for the rescue mission.” Parrish nodded, but Kirk continued, “But you will not be leading them.”
“Sir?”
“Lieutenant, we have had this discussion before. You are pregnant and I will not send you into a dangerous situation. You have remained on duty only to train your squad.”
“But, sir, there is no squad leader on board with more experience in close fighting with Klingons. I understand your concerns about my condition, but these circumstances are extraordinary.”
“They are, Lieutenant, and it is true that no current squad leader has more experience than you in this area. That is why I am relieving you of command of your squad and promoting Mister Fuller to section chief. He will command the squad and the mission.”
Parrish looked sick. “Sir, my squad—”
“I’m sorry, Lieutenant. You have done an excellent job training them, but you cannot go.”
Parrish’s face was set, but Kirk could see a swirl of emotion beneath it. After a moment, she said, “If Fuller is squad leader, that will leave an opening in the squad. I recommend Ensign Jawer to replace him.”
It made sense. Jawer was also a survivor of the three encounters with the Klingons.
Kirk nodded. “I will have Lieutenant Commander Giotto make it official. Thank you, Lieutenant.” Then, before she could turn to go, he said, “I’m sorry, Leslie.”
But her face was a mask. She simply nodded and left the briefing room.
Leslie Parrish walked slowly through the halls of the Enterprise. She had been relieved of her squad and was no longer an active-duty officer in Starfleet. True, since her pregnancy her duties had been limited to running training
exercises, but since the Enterprise hadn’t been in any hostile situations since then, it had been easy to fool herself into believing that nothing had changed. Now she saw that things were really different. Hell, everything had changed.
Because of Jon and the child she now carried inside her. Their child. His child. A half-Klingon child.
Doctor McCoy had been clear. A human/Klingon pregnancy was difficult at best. There would be complications and it would be dangerous for her. And then there was the question of the kind of life the child would have in the Federation after the inevitable war with the Klingons.
And she would have to give up not just this mission, or the next one, but her career in Starfleet, the only job she had ever wanted. Her first squad leader, Sam Fuller, had called security the “highest calling in Starfleet.” She had seen what security people could do. It was important work. And she knew she had something to offer. She had proven that much to herself in the last few months where she had seen people around her die for their beliefs—people like Sam Fuller, even people like Jon. Whatever his biology, he had been as much a part of the crew as anyone else.
Those people had stood for something, and they had all died for something. Nevertheless, in a short time, the Klingons would try to smash it all: Starfleet, the Federation, and everything they represented. If she stayed on the Enterprise, she could make a difference in that fight, but she couldn’t stay if she had the baby. The best she could do would be to watch from the sidelines and wait—two things she had never been good at.
It made sense; it was perfectly logical. The fact was, she could do more good in Starfleet security than out of it. And yet …
That would be the end of Jon. If she didn’t have this baby, there would be no physical proof that he had ever existed. He would be a name on a Starfleet report, and a memory in the minds of the few people that served with him.
Did he even have a family? Did anyone who really knew him even know what he was doing? He had given up his face and his identity to infiltrate Starfleet. He had done it to serve the Klingon Empire, but in the end he had given up that allegiance to fight against Klingons with Starfleet—with her.
