STAR TREK: The Lost Era - 2298 - The Sundered

by Michael A. Martin

  It had been the quartermaster and his staff who had probably endured the biggest hardships because of Burgess’s presence; she had browbeaten them into fashioning a ceremonial gown for her upcoming meeting with Tholian ambassador Kasrene. Not only were Burgess’s specifications exacting, but she had also insisted upon using a peculiar metallic fabric for the job. It was evidently something that she had only very recently acquired, at considerable cost, and it appeared to be resistant to any tool short of a mining drill.

  But since Starfleet had explicitly ordered him to indulge the ambassador’s eccentricities, Sulu was determined to be as obliging as possible in the interests of the mission. Diplomacy, he knew from long experience, was a very mixed [10] bag—as were diplomats. Maybe Burgess didn’t possess quite the same quiet dignity as a Sarek or a Spock. Who did? Sulu knew he could at least be thankful—so far, at least—that she wasn’t a martinet like Robert Fox, or a loose cannon like Curzon Dax. Things could always be a whole lot worse, he thought.

  “I’ll assume you’re taking a rain check on the rest of our workout, Captain,” Hopman said as she retrieved her foil from where she’d left it leaning. Sulu dismissed her, and she raised her blade in a fencer’s salute before departing.

  Sulu turned to Chekov. “You’d better advise the quartermaster about the schedule change right away. If Ambassador Burgess’s tailoring job isn’t ready before 0900 tomorrow, I don’t want her jumping down my throat about it.”

  Chekov began moving toward the door, a wry smile on his face. “I’ll make sure he either finishes on time, or else perishes in the attempt.”

  After Chekov exited the gym, Sulu grabbed his épée and made his way toward his quarters. He looked forward to a hot shower, a change of clothes, a steaming cup of Darjeeling—and discovering the contents of Starfleet Command’s mysterious “eyes-only” message.

  Sulu stripped down for the sonic shower as the computer terminal in his quarters displayed the Federation emblem. Slowly stretching the muscles in his back, he spoke his security access code to the computer and instructed it to display the newly arrived message.

  “Working,” the computer said, speaking in a soothing, feminine alto. One of the first things Sulu had done after assuming command of the Excelsior was to get rid of the booming male computer voices that his immediate predecessor, Captain Styles, had favored.

  Sulu felt a twinge in his left shoulder as he removed his fencing jacket and tossed it into the clothing ’cycler. Must [11] have pulled something during the workout. Or maybe I’m just beginning to feel my age.

  In the mirror, he could see the irregular, vaguely star-shaped traceries of scar tissue that covered his left shoulder like a worn piece of braid. Over the past three decades, several doctors had offered to repair this superficial blemish. Sulu had always politely declined.

  He had received those scars on a long-abandoned Kalandan outpost, at the hands of a lethal re-creation of Losira, a beautiful woman who had died some ten millennia earlier. The mere touch of the mournful-eyed siren had already killed one member of an Enterprise landing party, blasting each of his cells from within. In an effort to protect her small domain from a perceived invasion, she also tried to kill Sulu in the same fashion. The scar where her fingers had brushed him was now all that remained not only of Losira, but of her entire civilization.

  The thought of removing those jagged white markings struck Sulu as somehow disrespectful.

  “Message decrypted, Captain” said the computer, interrupting Sulu’s reverie. The scowling visage of Admiral Heihachiro Nogura replaced the U.F.P. seal. Sulu took a seat at the foot of his bed, listening attentively.

  “Captain Sulu, you and your crew are about to become involved in a matter of the utmost delicacy. I’m sure it’s not news to you that ever since humans first came into contact with them nearly a hundred and fifty years ago, the Tholians have always been xenophobic, territorial, and almost completely uninterested in either trade or cultural exchange with other species. That, of course, makes their recent détente overtures extremely surprising. But that’s only part of the story.

  “Starfleet Intelligence has recently learned that the Tholians have stepped up their energy-weapons development programs over the past few years. While they have yet to attack any of our outposts along our shared border, Command is [12] concerned about their unexplained defense buildup. It is entirely possible that the Tholians’ current peace initiative is really an effort to lull us into letting our guard down as a prelude to an aggressive blitz into Federation territory.”

  While Sulu found this news disquieting, he was also strangely relieved to hear that his superiors weren’t afraid to look askance at the Tholians’ olive branch. He and Pavel Chekov had both been on the bridge of the Enterprise when the Tholians had attacked with one of their devious energy webs. Sulu suspected that only a very few other currently active Starfleet officers—perhaps as few as Chekov, Captain Uhura, and himself—truly understood just how dangerous the Tholians could be when they felt threatened or cornered.

  Nogura continued: “Our choice of Excelsior to ferry Ambassador Burgess and her party to the meeting requested by the Tholians was no coincidence. We expect your previous experience with the Tholians to be invaluable. We are also hoping that your vessel’s unique sensor capabilities will help us learn in detail the nature and extent of the new Tholian defense buildup.”

  Nogura’s reasoning made perfect sense to Sulu; he recalled vividly how Excelsior’s sensitive instruments had assisted in protecting the first Federation-Klingon peace efforts at Khitomer by helping to detect and destroy the renegade Klingon general Chang’s vessel, a prototype bird-of-prey capable of firing its weapons while cloaked.

  “You are hereby ordered,” the admiral continued, leaning forward as if to emphasize his words, “to use whatever resources are necessary to conduct a discreet investigation, even as the diplomatic meeting proceeds. And I do mean discreet. Ambassador Burgess is not to be made privy to your orders. I cannot emphasize enough how disastrous it could be for the Federation should the Tholians discover your covert surveillance activities. They might well try to use it as a justification for war. For that reason, Starfleet Command will disavow any [13] knowledge of your actions should the Tholians learn what you’re up to.

  “I’m sorry you have to shoulder this responsibility alone. But you’ve never given me reason to be anything less than confident that you’ll pull off a flawless mission.

  “Good luck, Captain,” Nogura said just before his image vanished from the screen.

  Alone in his silent cabin, Sulu swallowed hard. He was an explorer at heart, and always had been. It had been several years since he’d done any work specifically for the purpose of gathering military intelligence. He hadn’t missed the shadowy world of galactic espionage one bit.

  Damned if I’m going to face this without some expert help, he thought. After all, he wasn’t the only officer aboard whose prior experience with the Tholians—and with espionage—might prove beneficial to the mission.

  A long, relaxing shower was now out of the question. Rising from the edge of his bed, Sulu crossed to the companel mounted on the wall outside the bathroom.

  “Sulu to Commander Chekov.”

  “Chekov here, Captain.” Sulu could hear various bridge instruments beeping and chirping in the background.

  The captain was grateful that he could leave the bridge in Chekov’s steady hands. And though he deeply regretted having to place his closest friend onto the hot seat with him, he also knew it couldn’t be helped.

  “Hikaru?” Chekov prompted, concern audible in his voice.

  “Pavel, I need to see you in the situation room. I’ll be up there in ten minutes.”

  Chapter 2

  The next morning, Sulu stood at attention in Transporter Room One, where the lights were already dimmed to half their normal level, in deference to the soon-to-arrive Tholian diplomatic party. Chekov stood ramrod straight at Sulu’s side, at the head of
the senior officer delegation.

  The captain’s long, crisply pressed maroon dress jacket constricted his chest. The seldom-worn formal garment made him feel as though he were preparing for another fencing match. But it’s not my match, he reminded himself, glancing across the room at the special Federation envoy and her retinue. I’m just Burgess’s driver.

  Flanked by a quartet of aides in gray civilian attire, Federation Ambassador Aidan Burgess cut an imposing figure in the simple, ankle-length, metallic-looking gown the weary quartermaster’s ceaseless efforts had finally yielded. The ambassador was tall, towering perhaps half a head over Sulu. Her shoulder-length auburn hair presented a startling contrast to her silvery raiment, which somehow deemphasized the freckles that spangled her fair, slightly weather-beaten skin. Sulu estimated her to be about a decade his junior. He couldn’t help but admire the air of calm authority she presented while awaiting the arrival of the Tholians.

  Standing at attention behind the diplomatic party, and [15] flanking Sulu and Chekov, was the remainder of Excelsior’s senior staff, all turned out in their maroon dress uniforms: Dr. Christine Chapel and Commander Janice Rand, both fellow alumni of the late Jim Kirk’s crew; Lieutenant P’mu’la Hopman, now once again in her more demure female form; Chief Engineer Terim Azleya, a garrulous female Denobulan who clearly would have been more comfortable in a jumpsuit fit for the cleaning of plasma conduits; Lieutenant Tuvok, the dark and dour Vulcan senior science officer, a portrait of cool dignity; Lieutenant Commander Lojur, the black-goateed Halkan navigator; Lieutenant Shandra Docksey, Excelsior’s petite helm officer; Scott Russell, the fastidious young petty officer who ran the galley, and who was charged with keeping the Tholians fed for the duration of their stay; and the towering Lieutenant Leonard James Akaar, the ship’s chief of security, who looked as though he felt naked without a visible sidearm. Akaar’s straight blonde hair was pulled back in a simple warrior’s braid that hung halfway down his back.

  Sulu glanced down at his wrist chronometer. Less than one minute remained until the time designated for the beam-over from Admiral Yilskene’s flagship, the Jeb’v Tholis, which was keeping station a few dozen klicks off Excelsior’s starboard side. Whatever unforeseeable turns this mission might take, Sulu was confident at least that he wouldn’t offend the Tholians by being tardy.

  After exchanging quick glances with her aides, Burgess met Sulu’s gaze.

  “It’s time,” she said, her mien serious. “Whatever happens next, please follow my lead.”

  Showtime, Sulu thought, noticing the questioning look on the face of his giant Capellan security chief. Sulu answered with a subtle, prearranged hand signal. Though the young lieutenant looked skeptical, he nodded his acquiescence. Keep the phaser hidden until and unless I say [16] differently, Sulu had told him. Both of the young man’s large, callused hands remained in sight and empty, but Sulu was well aware of how quickly that could change.

  The Tholians have finally reached out to us, he thought. Yet we still have to prepare for the worst, and do it in secret. How sad.

  Sulu found it hard to believe that five years had passed since the signing of the Khitomer Accords. In addition to establishing the framework of the first real, long-term peace between the Klingon Empire and the Federation, that historic document had also yielded an important unintended consequence: a quiet yet very real “cold war” had recently begun to rage within the Federation’s innermost circles of power.

  Ever since Khitomer, the tension between the civilian and military spheres of Federation government on matters of foreign policy had been slowly but steadily ratcheting up. It often struck Sulu as ironic that the price of peace with the Klingon Empire was political unpleasantness within the Federation. In fact, it appeared to Sulu that all the major Alpha Quadrant powers had become increasingly uneasy of late. The Tholians were merely the latest additions to the list. It was as though the Federation’s internal disagreements about how best to deal with the opportunities and dangers created by the wrenching changes of the last few years had sent a sympathetic vibration across the entire quadrant.

  Akaar’s evident readiness to reach for his weapon seemed illustrative of this new pervasive sense of wariness. It made Sulu wistful. Back when the Klingons had been predictable, dependable villains, Starfleet had largely concerned itself with pursuing mankind’s noblest dreams, chasing knowledge for its own sake. The Federation’s ideals had been sharply limned by the contrast it drew between itself and its most dogged adversaries.

  [17] But after Khitomer, the Federation’s self-definitions had been forced to adapt to changing circumstances. Change can be frightening. And if change can frighten key Starfleet, Klingon, and Romulan officers into betraying their governments, then it can frighten just about anyone into doing just about anything.

  Sulu glanced quickly at the poker-faced Chekov, who appeared to have watched his entire exchange with the security chief. Looking to Burgess, he saw that she and most everyone else present seemed to have focused all their attention on the empty transporter stage.

  Sulu turned to nod at the transporter chief, who immediately busied herself touching the console’s control surfaces. The chamber began resonating with a whining hum that rose to a swift crescendo.

  Five figures began shimmering into existence on the pads, bathed in golden columns of light as their molecules coalesced and solidified within the harsh radiance of the confinement beam. A moment later, a handful of enviro-suited Tholians stood aboard Excelsior.

  Sulu’s hackles rose involuntarily as he regarded his guests, who looked for all the world like giant space-suited scorpions with large, polyhedral heads. The Tholians’ amber-colored suits seemed to be made from a material similar to that of Burgess’s gown, and ballooned up from the internal pressure of the dense, superhot atmosphere necessary to sustain their lives. The movements of their multidirectional, arthropodlike joints evoked an instinctual revulsion within Sulu, who presumed he wasn’t the only one present who felt it. He forced the emotion down, immediately ashamed of it.

  This is only a little taste of the diversity and mystery that the Universe still has in store, Sulu reminded himself, and a sense of wonder gradually began to eclipse his initial reaction to the physical presence of the Tholians. This is why [18] I worked so hard to become a part of Starfleet in the first place.

  Thanks to Ambassador Burgess’s input, Sulu had taken the precaution of dispensing with the traditional electronic boatswain’s whistle that was used to “pipe aboard” new arrivals. Tholians, Sulu had learned during the ambassador’s briefings, were notably sensitive to loud, high-frequency sounds. Sulu was never one to object to the shucking of ceremony and protocol whenever an opportunity to do so presented itself. Especially if said protocol might have been regarded as an insult, or perhaps even an act of agression.

  Despite his efforts to overcome his first impression of his alien guests, Sulu felt his entire body tense involuntarily as Burgess approached the foremost Tholian. The creature stood nearly two meters tall on its hindmost legs, its great, lethal-looking tail switching to and fro behind it.

  Though Sulu found the five Tholians virtually indistinguishable one from another, he assumed the individual in front had to be Kasrene, the Tholian ambassador. Like Commander Loskene, the first Tholian Sulu had ever laid eyes on, Kasrene and her retinue seemed to exude menace, despite the fact that their protective garments almost entirely obscured their bodies.

  Burgess stopped less than a meter from the great insectile creature and bowed her head.

  Kasrene’s tail flashed like a whip, attaching itself to the Federation ambassador’s back. Akaar tensed, his hands moving toward his concealed phaser. Sulu locked eyes momentarily with the huge Capellan, shaking his head.

  I’m trusting you, Ambassador, Sulu thought, noting that Burgess seemed unsurprised by Kasrene’s movements. I just hope my trust doesn’t get you killed.

  A pair of Kasrene’s multijointed forelimbs reached out, unfolding like t
win construction cranes. The Tholian gathered two clawfuls of Burgess’s gown. Akaar’s left hand [19] twitched. Sulu was glad he’d forbidden him to wear his kligat—a traditional triple-bladed Capellan throwing knife—as one of his dress-uniform adornments.

  Still following your lead, Ambassador.

  Burgess remained apparently unfazed. With the utmost calm, she straightened from her bow and looked directly into the creature’s inscrutable, faceplate-obscured eyespots. With a rock-steady hand, Burgess touched the silver brooch she wore at her neck. When she spoke, a chorus of distorted, alien sounds that no human throat could have produced rolled from her pale lips.

  Vocoder, Sulu realized, wishing he had taken the time to stage a complete dress rehearsal of this meeting beforehand. She probably knows the Tholian language well enough, but she wouldn’t be able to make their speech-sounds without some technological help.

  Kasrene froze, though her claws remained entangled in the front of Burgess’s gown. Akaar and Chekov both appeared ready to ride to the rescue. Sulu placed a finger against his lips, and both men relaxed somewhat.

  “Twice you have honored us already this day,” Kasrene said at length, withdrawing her claws and returning a quadruple-jointed approximation of the human ambassador’s bow. Although the Tholian’s speech made a cacophony similar to that of Burgess, the universal translator rendered it into intelligible Federation Standard. “You greet us with our own voice—and have fashioned garb from our own secretions.”

  The gown is made of Tholian silk, Sulu thought, finally understanding the real urgency behind Burgess’s sartorial demands. Why couldn’t she have just explained herself? He fumed in silence as Burgess and Kasrene commenced an exchange of highly ritualized Tholian greetings, almost as though they were performing a sort of interspecies opera-cum-ballet.