He glanced over at Hoshi, who was working intently at her station. Yes, maybe it is time for something positive to happen aboard this ship. Especially considering all the doom and gloom we’ve been facing lately.
Almost as if on cue, Hoshi did a double take, then turned to look at Archer, her eyes wide.
“Captain, I have an emergency hail… from Shran.”
Archer stood up and moved toward her. “Coming from where?”
At the helm, Mayweather tapped some controls and responded. “The signal is coming from a small vessel at extreme range, headed this way from Andorian space.”
“Put him on the screen,” Archer said.
As Hoshi tapped her console, the blue-hued face of the Andorian ex-Imperial Guardsman filled the bridge’s forward viewscreen almost instantly.
“This is quite a surprise,” Archer said, addressing the screen. “I thought it would be years before we saw you again, not months.” The fact that Shran’s left antenna evidently had yet to grow back completely reminded Archer of how recently the two men had last encountered one another.
“I’m sorry, pinkskin,” Shran said in gravel-strewn tones. “But it was essential that I leave Andoria and ask for your help.”
“You need my help?” Archer said, pacing toward Travis.
“It hasn’t been that long. And as I recall, you still owe me a favor.”
Archer sighed. Shran was reminding him that he had saved Enterprise from destruction after the Vulcans had fired on the ship on the orders of V’Las. The captain hadn’t been aboard at the time, but he owed the debt nonetheless.
“I remember. But this isn’t a good time, Shran. It looks like Starfleet Command is planning to keep us pretty busy nursemaiding interstellar envoys over the next three weeks or so. I assume you know why.”
Shran seemed almost irritated. “I may no longer be a member of the Imperial Guard, but I’m aware of the proposed Coalition.”
“It’s more than a proposal,” Archer said. “We’ll be on Earth three weeks from now to witness the official signing of the Coalition Compact.”
Shran stared forward intently. “As you say, the signing ceremony isn’t for three weeks. If it even happens. If you give me the help I need, you’ll be home in plenty of time.”
Archer laughed under his breath and turned his back to the screen, walking around Mayweather’s station and back toward his command chair. “I’m afraid a detour is out of the question right now.”
“Jhamel has been abducted… taken.” Shran’s voice was angry, his mien hard, his uneven antennae deployed like twin rapiers. “You owe me.”
Archer turned back toward the screen, recalling the courage and ethereal beauty of the Aenar woman. Without her telepathic assistance, Romulan Admiral Valdore might have succeeded in destroying Enterprise with his remote-controlled drone ships last year.
“Who took her?”
Shran leaned forward slightly. “Old ‘mutual friends’ of ours. Orion slavers. It’s a long story. I’ll explain when I meet up with you in person. You need to alter course.”
Archer looked over at T’Pol. Neither of the dealings they’d had with the Orion Syndicate lately had turned out particularly well; T’Pol had even been sold as one of their slaves not so long ago.
He sighed, then spoke to Mayweather, who regarded him expectantly. “Set a rendezvous course.”
“Thank you, pinkskin,” Shran said just before the screen replaced his image with that of the starfield ahead.
Archer wondered exactly what trouble the Andorian had really gotten himself into, and exactly how much danger Enterprise’s crew was going to be in if they helped him out of it. And yet, despite the occasional scuffles, diplomatic errors, and Ushaan battles-to-the-death, Shran had always seemed to come out on Archer’s side.
Archer could only hope that this time would prove no different.
“And I thought things must have gotten complicated for the Vissians, who had three genders,” Trip said, putting his elbows on the table in the captain’s mess, which had just been pressed into service as an impromptu conference room. “I’m sorry, I’m still stuck on the four sexes thing. Why is it we didn’t already know about that?”
Shran, accompanied by an Aenar male whom Shran had introduced as Theras, had docked their small, battered civilian vessel with Enterprise approximately fifteen minutes earlier. During the last ten minutes or so, they had attempted to explain to Archer, Trip, T’Pol, and Malcolm the general mechanics of the Andorian marriage bond, in addition to the more urgent issue of the mass kidnapping of Aenar from their subterranean city on Andoria.
Four sexes to mate. Thaan, chan, zhen, and shen. Bondmates. Shelthreth ceremonies. Archer’s thoughts were spinning as Theras spoke awkwardly, as though unused to using his voice, but nevertheless refraining from making telepathic contact out of deference to his nontelepathic hosts. All the while, Shran looked on with ill-concealed impatience.
“Wait,” Archer said, putting up his hand. “You said that Jhamel was your bondmate, Theras, and that the other two were your third and fourth.”
The albino Aenar turned toward Archer, his sightless eyes staring in the direction of the captain’s voice. “Yes. Shenar and Vishri.”
Archer turned toward Shran, puzzled. “Forgive me, Shran, but the last time I saw you and Jhamel, I got the distinct impression that the two of you…” He paused, embarrassed as he realized that he had strayed onto a subject likely to offend both his guests.
Theras surprised him by smiling. “Do not fear offending us, Captain,” he said. “All of Jhamel’s bondmates are well aware of the feelings she and Shran have for one another. Since we’re all telepathic, such emotions would be rather difficult to conceal. Therefore we do not begrudge them.”
Shran, however, appeared to have far less equanimity about his relationship with Jhamel than did Theras. The Andorian looked guilty for a moment, his antennae drooping to either side. When he finally spoke, his voice was low. “I fell in love with Jhamel, Captain. But the biology and culture of our people- Andorian and Aenar alike- dictate certain realities. Jhamel had long ago been promised to a shelthreth group, and for the continuation of their family line, she needed to be there. But that didn’t make our feelings for one other any easier to deny.”
He looked over at T’Pol. “Vulcans have arranged marriages as well. Even certain human societies have had them. But sometimes, love between two beings can transcend what society or biology dictates, whether it’s taboo or not.”
Archer saw T’Pol stiffen slightly in reaction, but his first officer registered no other visible sign that Shran’s words had had any effect on her.
Trip was less controlled in his response, sitting back in his chair, crossing his arms, and looking away with his jaw clenched. Even blind Theras can see that Shran just hit Trip where he lives, Archer thought. And that’s without the telepathy.
Archer leaned forward and attempted to redirect the subject before it made the mood in the room even more tense than it had already become. “I think we understand what you’re saying, Shran. Now tell us more about this Orion attack.”
As the Andorian told the story of the interrupted shelthreth ceremony at the Aenar city, Archer watched his officers. Trip still seemed distant, and T’Pol stoic, but Malcolm seemed- not surprisingly- to be listening eagerly and expectantly.
After a few minutes of explanation, Shran finally settled back into his chair. “Due to my… loss of the Kumari, the Imperial Guard has been less than helpful on this matter. They wouldn’t even grant me the use of a garbage scow and its crew, much less another military ship.”
Theras spoke up. “We also suspect that those to whom we had to appeal may also have resented the time that Shran spent among the Aenar.”
“’Vacation among the pacifists’ is not high on most Guard officers’ ‘to-do’ lists,” Shran said wryly. “So we used the craft I have now. Not very fast, and no weapons to speak of, but it can still follow a trail. We’ve been tra
cking the slavers for six days now. Their vessel has a unique warp signature.”
“What I don’t understand is why the Orions acted so boldly,” Malcolm said, gesturing with his hands as if they were claws descending on prey. “Andoria’s military isn’t exactly known for its lack of readiness. Why would they directly attack a city there and risk capture… or worse?”
Theras turned in Reed’s direction. “The relationship between the Aenar people and the Andorian majority is largely one of mutual suspicion. When you add to that the inherent conflict between our pacifistic beliefs and the frequent belligerence of the Imperial Guard, it’s not hard to understand why the military isn’t highly motivated to help us. During the conflicts against the Vulcans and the Tellarites over the past few years, Imperial Guard protection for the Aenar has waned to almost nothing. Given their predilections, it’s highly likely that the Orions have kept abreast of these facts, and therefore saw us as easy prey.”
“The Orions also appear to be taking advantage of local peculiarities in Andoria’s magnetic field lines,” Shran added. “The effect is most extreme at the poles, where the field is weakest and lets some of our star’s solar wind actually reach the surface in places. The infall of charged particles obscures Andoria’s planetary security sensors, and probably allowed the slavers to bring a small ship into the northern wastes completely undetected by the Imperial Guard.”
“So now we know how they did it,” Archer said. “But we still don’t know why the Orions are kidnapping Aenar.” He had already formulated an answer to that question, but he wanted to hear what the others thought before he articulated it.
T’Pol tilted her head, momentarily regarding him as a parent might an obtuse child. “It is logical to assume that the Aenar are not being used for physical labor, given their lack of a visual sense. However—”
“However, their telepathic abilities certainly give them a fair number of other uses for the slavers and their clients,” Reed said, interrupting her in his evident enthusiasm to get to the bottom of the mystery.
Trip cleared his throat, then spoke for the first time in minutes. “What worries me is who the Orions’ customers might be. The last time we ran into something like this it was the Romulans. What if these wholesale abductions mean that the Romulans are planning to send their drone ships against us again? With dozens of Aenar telepaths at their disposal instead of the one they had last time, they could do one hell of a lot of damage.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Shran said in somber tones.
T’Pol looked down at a padd in her hand. “The trajectory the Orion warp signature is following does point toward Romulan space.”
“And about three dozen other star systems along the way,” Reed said grumpily.
Archer sighed heavily and considered the points of their discussion so far. The conjecture certainly seemed plausible, and if there was some kind of massed drone-ship attack being planned, it was certainly going to spell trouble for someone. But for whom?
Which planet would the Romulans attack first, if that’s really their plan? Will it be one of the core Coalition worlds? Or will it be a target in one of the nonaligned systems scattered between here and the Romulan Empire?
And therein lay the rub. They had no real proof of anything, other than the scanty evidence that Shran and Theras had provided them.
“Given the circumstances, and the lack of concrete information,” Archer said finally, “I’m not sure I can justify devoting Enterprise’s resources to helping you, Shran.”
Malcolm nodded. “Unless some more definitive evidence pointing to the Romulans emerges, I’m forced to agree.”
Trip scowled, shaking his head in silent dissent, while T’Pol sat impassively, keeping her own counsel in typically Vulcan fashion. Archer had no doubt that at least one of them would insist on having words with him about this matter in private, and soon.
Shran stood up, his fists pounding the tabletop, his antennae rigid. “Captain, you must help us! If you don’t, you will not only have dishonored your debt to me, but you also could be leaving your world and your allies exposed to a potentially lethal series of Romulan attacks.”
Archer refused to allow himself to take the emotional bait, though he found it difficult not to respond in kind to Shran’s increasingly bellicose tone. “Shran, it’s that ‘could be’ that sticks for me. I will inform Starfleet Command, and report everything you’ve told me. But unless my superiors order me to pursue the Orions, I simply can’t afford to go off on what could turn into a weekslong interstellar chase. At least, not until after the Coalition Compact business is concluded back on Earth.”
Shran’s skin blushed a darker blue, and he closed his lips tightly, glaring at Archer. Finally, he said, “I am asking you, as an ally, as someone who has fought beside you, and against you, to help me find Jhamel.”
Archer glanced briefly at Theras, who seemed to stare at him expressionlessly with those milky, unseeing eyes. He wondered if the Aenar really was as flaccid and lacking in will as he appeared. Though he might well still have been in shock over the abduction of his bondmates, Theras seemed as unmoved by their plight as he’d been by Shran’s earlier declaration of affection for Jhamel.
“We have to be back to Earth in three weeks for the signing ceremony,” Archer said. “Unless Starfleet issues new orders, that’s nonnegotiable. In the meantime, I don’t think we can risk doing anything- including provoking the Orions- that might cause a major disruption to the Coalition. But I will consider all the facts- as you have presented them- and discuss with my superiors and my officers what can be done about your request. In the meantime, you and Theras should take some time for a shower and get some food in the mess. Trip can also assign you an engineer if your ship needs any repairs or supplies.”
Shran continued to glare at Archer as Theras moved his chair back and stood. As soon as he moved aside, Shran stepped forward and put his hands on the table’s edge, then leaned in toward Archer.
“I’d advise you not to waste too much time ‘considering,’ pinkskin. The slavers already have a six-day head start now. They’re on the move, heading toward the Romulans, with fresh munitions for their war machine. And one of those munitions- whether I can have her or not- is the woman I love.”
Shran strode angrily toward the door, then turned back around to regard the room from the open doorway. “You worry about what you risk by pursuing the Orions.” His voice sounded as cold as Andoria’s northern wastes. “But be certain that you also concern yourself with the danger to the Coalition of Planets should you choose to ignore what I’ve told you.”
Shran stormed out of the captain’s mess, with Theras following meekly behind him.
Archer felt himself shudder involuntarily. Shran’s final comment could be interpreted either as a warning about the Romulans or as a threat from Shran himself.
He had no doubt that the passionate Andorian, even though stripped of both his rank and his ship, could indeed be quite a formidable foe….
Seven
The Early Twenty-Fifth Century
Terrebonne Parish, Louisiana
JAKE SISKO REACHED FORWARD with his right hand, tapping a symbol on one of the pair of padds sitting next to each other on the desk. They had already paused the other moments ago. Nog had brought both of the devices with him, since they had sizable holo-imagers built into them. The effect was like having simultaneous mini-holodecks running side by side, like bizarre living doll-houses. Except this time, though the story began the same for both, the divergences were notable.
He turned toward Nog. “Okay, this is weird. Not alternate universe weird, but it’s not adding up right.”
Nog nodded, his mouth full after taking a hefty gulp of his wine. Swallowing, he said, “I knew you’d be intrigued.”
Jake shook his head. “I don’t know if I’m intrigued, or just plain troubled.”
“Well, it’s not the first time hew-mon history has gotten distorted,” Nog said. “Look at Zefr
am Cochrane. He’s still hailed as a great hero at the Academy, even though Troi’s memoir describes him as more of a scared, drunken genius than the larger-than-life figure everybody thinks they know.”
“Yeah, but this is more than that,” Jake said, reaching for his glass. “Cochrane’s personality was one thing; we’re seeing whole sequences of history that are different from the version that just about everybody accepts.”
Jake’s stomach gurgled suddenly, and he realized that he hadn’t eaten yet. Rena often joked that if she wasn’t around, he’d starve to death and be eaten by the cat before anyone found him. “Excuse my rumbling,” he said. “I’m going to fix myself a sandwich. Do you want anything to eat?”
“What local delicacy would be good with a pinot noir?” Nog thought for a moment, then grinned. “Do you have any fresh nutria?”
Jake blanched. “Ugh! Not unless you want to go out in the bayou and try to catch them. I can replicate you some, if you really have your heart set on it.”
“Won’t taste quite the same as the wild version, but I suppose it’ll have to do,” Nog said, his shoulders drooping in mock resignation.
Jake stood up and began walking toward the kitchen, rolling his shoulder to try to work a kink out of it. “You know, Nietzsche said, ‘History is nothing more than the belief in the senses, the belief in falsehood.’ I wouldn’t be surprised if a significant amount of what we think we know to be true in our own histories could be represented completely differently two hundred years from now.”
He unwrapped a loaf of bread and sliced two pieces from it with a serrated knife from a wooden rack on the kitchen’s tidy counter. “I remember Dad once telling me about the American presidents, pre-World War III. He said that history always told people that George Washington was the father of the United States, and that he had been the first president of this country. But there were actually over a dozen men that preceded him, although their powers were different and they were called ‘President of the United States in Congress Assembled.”’
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