Star Trek: Vanguard: What Judgments Come

by Dayton Ward

  “Shields up,” he snapped, allowing his anger at what had been inflicted upon his ship and crew to seep into his voice. “Target all weapons on that thing and prepare to fire.” Before his order was acknowledged, he saw the black mass on the screen lunge out of the debris field it had created. At the same time, another alarm wailed across the bridge.

  “Proximity alert,” reported his weapons officer, Lieutenant Jessica Diamond. “It’s coming straight at us!”

  The next instant, the Lovell trembled and the image on the main viewscreen scrambled and flashed blue as something impacted against the ship’s deflector shields. This prompted yet another alarm, which Okagawa ordered silenced. “Fire!” he shouted.

  “I can’t get a lock,” Diamond called out. “It’s too close!” Then her voice seemed to raise an octave as she added, “Shields are failing!”

  Feeling powerless as he watched the black form spread and expand to fill the viewscreen, Okagawa felt the ship quake around him as the Shedai broke through the deflector shields and slammed itself into the Lovell’s hull. The deck lurched beneath his feet, and he stumbled backward and fell against the side of his chair. Multiple alarms erupted around the bridge and Okagawa saw status indicators at different stations begin to flash bright red. Somewhere beyond the ship’s multiple layers of hull plating, he heard the unmistakable groans and shrieks of metal being torn asunder.

  “Multiple breaches across the front of the hull!” Diamond shouted from where she was holding on to the edge of her console in order to remain on her feet.

  “Evacuate those sections!” Okagawa ordered. As he tried to figure out how many seconds remained before the Shedai punctured the hull, the captain realized he had one last card to play: the self-destruct protocol. Would it be enough to take the Shedai with them? There was only one way to find out, but only if the alien granted him the time needed to carry out the last-ditch act.

  One way to find that out, too.

  Another indicator tone sounded from Diamond’s station, and the weapons officer said, “Captain! It’s the Sagittarius!”

  Before Okagawa could respond to that, the image on the viewscreen shifted yet again, and this time the Shedai seemed to be reacting to something. It jerked violently, pulling itself away so that stars along with the wreckage of the Lovell’s engineering hull once again were visible. Then bright blue beams cut across the screen, striking the Shedai and sending it tumbling away from view.

  “Track it!” Okagawa snapped, and the image shifted to maintain the Shedai at its center as it continued to writhe from the assault on it. The phaser beams were hitting it in rapid succession now, strike after strike, with each blow inflicting noticeable distress on the entity. “Fire all weapons!” he ordered. At the helm, Sasha Rodriguez stabbed at her weapons controls and the Lovell’s phasers joined the fray. Like those of the Sagittarius, the Lovell’s phasers had been retuned in accordance with specifications provided by the small scout vessel’s chief engineer. According to Captain Nassir, the refinements had been developed after the Sagittarius’s encounter with a Shedai on Jinoteur IV. Whatever the engineer had devised, it seemed to be working.

  “It’s weakening!” Diamond shouted, but then added, “Some, that is, but the phasers are having an effect.”

  “Maintain firing,” Okagawa ordered, taking a small bit of un-wonted satisfaction each time a phaser strike impacted against the Shedai’s body.

  Then, the Shedai disappeared. There was no flash or explosion; it simply was gone.

  “What the hell just happened?” Okagawa asked, not turning from the screen as he searched for some signs of the entity.

  “I don’t know, sir,” Diamond replied, and the captain heard the confusion in her voice. “It’s just gone.” She tapped several controls on her console before looking up from her station. “I think it fled, sir.”

  Frowning, he turned to regard his science officer. “Fled?”

  Diamond nodded. “Yes, sir. Sensors did detect its departure from the system, but it was moving so fast there was no way to track it.” She glanced toward the viewscreen before returning her gaze to Okagawa. “I’m sorry, sir.”

  Waving away her apology, Okagawa returned his attention to the viewscreen. “Nothing you could have done, Lieutenant.” After a moment, he glanced over his shoulder toward the communications station. “Ensign Pzial, hail the Sagittarius and offer Captain Nassir my thanks, and tell him to let his chief engineer know that he is one talented bastard. I’d love to have him if he wants to jump ship.”

  For whatever’s left of this one.

  The thought was enough to redirect his gaze to the screen, where the expanding cloud of debris that had been the Lovell’s secondary hull drifted. His mind turned to questions of the being that had caused such destruction. Where had the Shedai gone? More important, when would it be back? Okagawa did not know, and answers likely would not be forthcoming today. For now, there were more important things to do, such as pausing to reflect and appreciate Araev zh’Rhun and Kurt Davis, who had given their lives in order to save their shipmates.

  “Thank you,” Okagawa whispered.

  37

  Free!

  The Shedai Wanderer drove herself deeper into the void, away from the Telinaruul and her cursed prison. She felt nothing but the boundless energies of the cosmos itself. The weakness and pain inflicted by the Telinaruul weapons was already beginning to fade, further displaced with every passing moment by the power she had longed to regain. Temptation surged within her, willing her to reverse her course and continue the retribution she had only just begun to inflict now that she was regaining her strength.

  No, she decided. Despite their limitations, the Telinaruul were never again to be underestimated. They had succeeded in seizing some imperfect yet adequate control over technologies that they would never possess the capability to fully understand, and they still held the Progenitor captive, though the Wanderer was certain the parasites were ignorant of the prize in their midst. For that alone, they deserved annihilation. Even with their meager comprehension, the upstarts still posed a threat. Given sufficient time, they might well improve their awareness of the power in their grasp. What then? Would they come after her, and those Shedai that still remained? What had once seemed implausible whimsy now carried a seed of possibility. That alone was sufficient not to risk further misjudgment of their intellect and ability. After all, it was such arrogance and self-assurance that generations ago had forced the Shedai to seek their self-imposed exile. Such mistakes could not be repeated, not if her people were to return to their former glory. It was the destiny of the Shedai to rule, to force the galaxy to bend to their will.

  In order to succeed, the Wanderer knew from this point forward that she must cease thinking of these Telinaruul as minions, and embrace them for what they truly were: the enemy. The danger they posed was significant. They were adversaries to be respected, if not feared. They must be viewed as skilled, if not superior. Her options were few, but not exhausted, and victory would be difficult, but not impossible.

  However, that victory would not come without aid. For this, she would have to trust others of her kind. She would have to find some way of convincing those whom she once opposed to set aside their own selfish interests, and instead align with her against their common enemy. Would they be willing to do that? The Wanderer did not know, but there was no choice but to try. Her only alternative was to stand by and do nothing, and perhaps wait for the Apostate to finish what he had started. Indeed, the bold action she now contemplated was sure to rouse her foremost adversary, and he would stop at nothing to see to her failure. The lingering question for which she at present had no answer was whether the Apostate had acquired any followers from among her people. He was formidable even while acting alone. With a group to support him, he might well be unstoppable.

  Marshaling her increasing strength, she reached with her mind toward the distant stars, seeking any of her people who might come forward to act during this most g
rievous challenge without question. To anyone who might be listening, she put forth her plea.

  There was no answer.

  Not yet. For now, the Wanderer would be patient, continuing to broadcast her entreaties while fueled by comforting thoughts of final, merciless retribution.

  38

  When the door to Cervantes Quinn’s apartment opened, it required physical effort on T’Prynn’s part to maintain her expression and composure as a vile aroma assailed her nostrils. Thanks to her keen olfactory senses—a trait shared by most Vulcans which was even more pronounced in females of the species—she had detected Quinn’s approach to the door even before it had opened, but now the combined stench of alcohol, old food, and his own unwashed body was almost too much to bear. Despite her best efforts to maintain her bearing, T’Prynn could not help blinking several times as her nose twitched in response to the malodorous assault.

  “What the hell do you want?” Quinn barked. His voice, which was louder than necessary, echoed off the duranium plating of the nearby bulkheads and almost made T’Prynn wince. As it was, his words were slurred, and Quinn’s features and general demeanor suggested that he was still under the influence of the intoxicating beverage with which he had seen fit to embalm himself.

  “Mister Quinn,” T’Prynn said, clasping her hands behind her back and maintaining a formal posture. “Is this a bad time?”

  Quinn reached up to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. “I don’t know. What time is it?”

  “Current station time is 0954 hours,” T’Prynn replied. “I do not consider myself an expert on many human customs, particularly those involving the consumption of mood-altering substances such as alcohol. However, it is my understanding that imbibing such products at this time of day is considered unhealthy, and perhaps even indicative of addictive tendencies.”

  Blinking several times, Quinn frowned before shaking his head. “You lost me at ‘current time,’ lady. Think you can condense all of that down to something us non-Vulcan types can understand?”

  T’Prynn arched one eyebrow. “You are drunk, Mister Quinn.”

  “No,” Quinn said, holding up his hand and pointing one shaky finger at her for emphasis. “I was drunk last night. I’ll probably be drunk again after lunch.”

  “And now?”

  Shrugging, Quinn belched, his expression twisting as though even he was repulsed by his own breath. “I’m in a cooling-off period.” He paused, his brow furrowing as though he was struggling to push past the fog enveloping his mind. Then his eyes widened and he regarded T’Prynn as though she had just appeared before him. “What?”

  “I did not say anything,” T’Prynn replied, now beginning to consider the wisdom of her decision to call on the trader. “Before you decide to embark on your latest bout of inebriation, I have come to … make a request of you.”

  That seemed to register with Quinn, as his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I thought we were all even on the favors and debts I owed you.”

  T’Prynn nodded. “Indeed we are. I have not come to collect on any outstanding obligations, nor is this a formal request from Starfleet. This would be … a favor, one which I would expect to repay at some point.”

  “Really?” Quinn said, his tone one of surprise, though T’Prynn still sensed his wariness. “And what might this favor entail?”

  Glancing in both directions to ensure they were alone in the corridor, she said, “We believe we have located a possible source for the Mirdonyae Artifacts. At the very least, it is possible it is a repository for such artifacts, and may contain other Tkon technology or clues which may prove useful as defenses against the Shedai. You are one of a very small group of people with any exposure to these objects, and one of even fewer people who have interacted directly with a representative of the Shedai. Your knowledge and expertise might prove valuable on the forthcoming reconnaissance mission to be conducted by the crew of the Sagittarius.”

  In truth, she had doubts about Quinn’s usefulness on this mission, and not simply because of his current impaired state. While it was true that his firsthand experience with the Shedai made him an all but irreplaceable commodity, his state of depression over the loss of Commander McLellan would almost certainly affect his judgment. He might engage in some form of reckless behavior that could prove dangerous to the Sagittarius crew. Had McLellan’s death so completely affected him that he would forsake all of the progress he had made regaining control over his life during the past year?

  Judging by his reaction, T’Prynn decided this might well be the case. His demeanor turned even more belligerent, and he scowled at her. “You know who else had knowledge and expertise? Bridy Mac, and she died the last time we went out on one of your little missions. So, I’m done playing spy, sweetheart.”

  “I was sorry to hear about Commander McLellan, Mister Quinn,” T’Prynn said. “Her death is regrettable, though she gave it in service to Starfleet, and to you.” The mission reports submitted by Captain Khatami after the Endeavour’s rescue of Quinn from the mysterious, unnamed planet where he and McLellan had encountered the Shedai Apostate were quite thorough. By all accounts, Bridget McLellan had given her own life during a mission to find a possible origin point or other storehouse of Shedai technology and keep it from falling into the hands of the Klingons. The pair also had learned about the Tkon and how they had created the artifacts, and the other technology they had developed as defenses against the Shedai. “If not for her efforts, we would not have the information and opportunities we now possess, but our mission is not yet over. Do you wish her sacrifice to be in vain?”

  The look of anger on Quinn’s face deepened, and when he spoke this time, his voice was low and contained what T’Prynn recognized as a hint of menace. “Don’t play that guilt game with me, lady,” he said, and when he pointed a finger at her this time, T’Prynn noted that his hand did not shake. “I said I’m done. Whatever you’re planning, I don’t want any part of it. Now, would all of you damned do-gooder types kindly just leave me the hell alone?” He stepped back into his apartment without another word, and T’Prynn stood in silence as the door slid shut.

  It was a waste, she decided—an illogical squandering of a useful resource, which was precisely what Cervantes Quinn had become. However, if he wished to throw aside everything he had accomplished toward reclaiming the sense of self-worth and respect that humans seemed to require, then that was his choice. Despite this conclusion, T’Prynn considered pressing the issue, confronting Quinn yet again and continuing to do so until he saw reason.

  She discarded the notion. In his present state, there would be no persuading Quinn, at least not in the short term. There was insufficient time for him to dispel the effects of prolonged alcohol abuse and grief—not in the time she had available to her.

  “So be it, Mister Quinn,” T’Prynn said to the apartment door. With a final, protracted look at the unyielding barrier, she turned and walked away, leaving Quinn to his drink and his despair.

  “You look tired, Admiral.”

  Standing before the viewscreen in his office, his arms folded across his chest, Nogura released a sigh that he figured would serve only to confirm the observations of his visitor. Turning from the screen, upon which were displayed several status reports—none containing anything he might consider positive or heartening updates—Nogura directed his attention to Daniel Okagawa, presently a captain without a ship to command.

  “I’m better off than some,” he said, moving away from the viewscreen. “I’m sorry about your people who were lost. I understand there will be a memorial service this evening?”

  Okagawa nodded. “Yes, Admiral. I hope you can attend, and perhaps offer a few words.”

  “Absolutely,” Nogura replied. “I think it’s the least I can do.”

  “As tragic as their loss is,” Okagawa said, “their sacrifice saved everyone else aboard the Lovell.” His gaze shifted to the floor for a moment, and Nogura knew what the other man had to be thinking.


  “I’m sorry about the Lovell, too,” Nogura added. “She was a tough little ship.” The sight of the vessel’s secondary hull, torn literally to pieces by the Shedai entity, had been unnerving to say the least. He was, in all honesty, stunned that the ship had suffered so few casualties. Two crew members, Ensigns Frances Porter and Bernd Perplies, were lost when the alien attacked the Lovell’s primary hull. It was a credit to Areav zh’Rhun and Kurt Davis, their unwavering leadership and poise under tremendous pressure and chaos, that the remainder of the Lovell’s complement had survived. As for the vessel itself, it was far beyond any reasonable hope of repair. Though its primary hull remained largely intact despite the Shedai’s best efforts, Starfleet had decided that restoration, which would have to include replacing the lost hull section and upgrading the vessel’s systems, was not worth the effort.

  “You have no idea,” Okagawa replied. “She may not have been the slickest or best-looking, but she had heart.” He paused, and a small chuckle escaped his lips. “I’ll never forget the first time I saw her after my orders came through. She was six months off the scrap heap at Qualor II along with the other two Daedalus-class dinosaurs the Corps of Engineers had salvaged, and I was sure Command had to be yanking my chain.” A small smile teased the corners of his mouth. “And the crew. Every one of them is really something special.” Holding up a hand, he added, “I know, rare is the captain who says any member of his crew isn’t less than a stellar performer, but I’m particularly proud of my people.