by Diane Duane
Veilt was silent for a while. “He has kept faith,” he said at last, “so far.”
“He is no dayside fighter,” Ael said, “to slip away when the dark makes it easy. You will see, when you meet him. And then you will ask yourself how you could have thought I would deal with such a one for more than a single engagement.”
Veilt held up his hands in a gesture of mock alarm. “Cousin thrai,” he said, very mild, “keep your teeth for better use. I am willing to be convinced, if you’re right. For the moment, though, I need to make things ready for our guests to come.”
“The doctor,” Ael said, with a slight smile, “is fond of ale, and well he’s earned it today, it seems. Gurrhim tr’Siedhri lives.”
At that, Veilt’s half-lidded look went just briefly wide-eyed. “We had heard he was like to die.”
“So he was,” Ael said, “had he been left in Gorget’s infirmary. But he was snatched out of it and delivered straight into Kirk’s hands, and McCoy did the rest.”
Veilt nodded, and the bland look on his face, Ael knew, was suddenly just a mask over calculation, reassessment, some whole new nest of obscurities which, if she were lucky, she would be able to puzzle out eventually. “He shall have ale enough to swim in, if he wants it,” Veilt said at last. “A good turn past believing, he’s done us today. This makes many things much simpler.”
Ael smiled. “So see how saving us has done you good after all,” she said, much more lightly in tone than she might have. “Veilt, I am all of a muck sweat with fighting, and must go make myself ready to be in company with beings that have noses. Your pardon.”
“Of course. But Ael—”
She paused.
“Perhaps the apology should have been mine.”
“Wait until you meet Kirk,” she said, “and then tell me so again. Out.”
“It’s a monster,” McCoy said.
“It’s a monster that saved our lives, Bones,” Jim said.
They stood on the bridge, looking at the viewscreen. Spock was over at his scanner, taking readings; McCoy and Jim and Scotty all stood gazing at Tyrava.
Scotty shook his head. “What have they done with that thing’s nacelles?” he said.
“I was hoping you could give me an answer to that, Scotty,” Kirk said.
Scotty examined the tripartite hull of the ship with a practiced eye. “If you were dead to caution, and had a population made up of suicidal maniacs, then maybe…maybe you could run the warp conduits down the centers of those hulls.” He looked skeptically at Tyrava. “But you’d have to be absolutely certain that you had a warp technology that wasn’t going to fail you. And if you had something like that…” He shook his head.
“Could ‘something like that’ be derived from the little device that Arrhae sent over to us from Gorget?” Kirk said.
“Captain,” Scotty said, “it’s too soon to tell. I haven’t had time to find out the half of what that wee thing does yet. There’s not just one, but at least three new technologies contained in it. The first one has similarities to the transtator, but entirely differently conceived. The other two—” He shook his head again. “K’s’t’lk is taking some time off the Sunseed business to look at it now. She may see something she recognizes; the Hamalki have a whole different view of their sciences.”
“I’ve noticed,” McCoy said. “Let’s just hope that whatever she sees in that little gadget doesn’t give her any strange ideas. The last thing we need right now is to wind up in some other reality, getting all transcendent.”
“I’ve already warned her about that,” Jim said. “I think we can assume we’re safe from that eventuality. But we may have worse ones to deal with.” He glanced at the chrono. “Come on, we’d better get over there.”
They made their way to the transporter room and climbed up onto the pads. McCoy rolled his eyes expressively at the ceiling as the transporter tech worked the sliders. The world dissolved in dazzle.
When the brief storm of light faded, they found themselves standing in the center of what appeared to be a huge, round, empty space several hundred meters across—a black glass floor, gray walls, and a domed gray ceiling apparently about forty meters up. Jim looked around him with astonishment and appreciation, and a bit of unease at all this empty space inside a vessel. But is this perhaps the wave of the future? he thought. Really big ships? Are starships on the present scale just a temporary aberration? Or, at least, starships the way we have them now.
His unease, as he stood there looking around him and waiting to see what would happen, wouldn’t quite go away. I wonder, Jim thought, if this is the way Ael felt the first time she came aboard Enterprise. A little outraged at the sheer size of things, compared to what she was used to. He gazed up and around again, trying to judge the size of this vessel by using the size of this waste space that seemed to have simply been thrown away. Yet perhaps…Jim looked around again, looked at the floor. “Spock,” he said, gesturing at the floor.
Spock nodded. “Yes, Captain.” He had his tricorder out, and was scanning the floor. “All of this,” Spock said turning slowly in the circle, “is one large transporter pad.”
“With a multiple array underneath?” Kirk said. “Or—”
“No, Captain,” Spock said. “This is all a single pad. Extremely flexible, extremely programmable, able to transport one person, or an entire shuttlecraft.” He looked around him. “Or something much larger.”
“I can believe this ship would have power to burn,” Jim said softly. “But that much? That they could transport whole vessels, instead of just using normal propulsion?”
“I have no doubt of it, Captain,” Spock said. “There are certain economies of scale to be achieved by using such strategies—if one can afford them.”
That was the whole point, of course: if you could afford them in terms of volume and power. The thought that had first occurred to Jim after seeing Tyrava—well, all right, the second one, after the intense relief of seeing it start slicing up the pursuing Klingon vessels as if they were so much baloney—was, How much did it cost to build that thing? No one went around building generation ships without a massive capital outlay. And this was much more than just a generation ship, a tin can full of people. Here, in front of him, he saw a secret as strange in its own way as the little Gorget gadget that Scotty was trying to understand. Normally, Jim thought, we tend to think of the Romulan colony worlds as poor places, struggling for survival. Yet here this is. And what are we supposed to make of it? Either these people have access to wealth, or sources of wealth, that we don’t know about or understand—
—or what we’re seeing here is the result of every single person on several planets, everyone who can work, privately or publicly donating—how much? He shook his head. A significant amount. For the promise, or even the mere chance, of leaving their homeworld and finding a new one, somewhere else, very far away—and if not for themselves, then for their children.
Off to one side came another sparkle, this time the telltale golden-red of a Romulan transporter. Ael shimmered into shape on the shining floor, and as transport completed, she looked around her with an expression of nearly the same borderline unease as Jim had felt.
She walked over to them. “I hope you gentlemen have not been bored.”
McCoy raised his eyebrows at her. “Bored? Us?” he said. “Not a chance. We’ve just been wandering around, picking up the vases and looking underneath ’em for the price tags.”
Ael smiled at him, though the smile was not entirely without an edge. “How one so occupied with the weighty business of life and death can find time for such drollery,” Ael said to McCoy, “not to mention such acuity in the economic mode, I hope someday to understand. McCoy, how does your patient?”
“Better than can be expected,” McCoy said. “I detect certain reassuring diagnostic signs in Gurrhim—specifically, that he’s a mean old coot who’s too stubborn to die while he still has things to do.”
Ael smiled. “I am none too s
ure of what a ‘coot’ is, but otherwise I think your diagnosis is correct. But he’s full of wiles and guiles, is Farmer Gurri, and has his own acuities. Beware that, while you are gone, he does not strip sickbay to the walls and sell the parts off secondhand.”
“Farmer Gurri?” Kirk said, bemused.
“I cannot tell you the half of it now, Captain,” Ael said, “but he makes much of what he would call his ‘rough country ways.’ They are at least partly a disguise. On ch’Havran, they have a saying that the Siedhrinnsu did not become as wealthy a clan as they are by giving anything away. With his own hand, almost, that man built up a moderately well-off set of family businesses into a mighty trading empire—at least, as we reckon such things. Some people will tell you that he owns half of ch’Havran. It would not be too far from the truth. Gurrhim is a force to be reckoned with: not only rich, but honest, and with a strong ethical streak, though sometimes, without warning, those ethics skew in favor of family or business priorities. Beware of getting yourself entangled with him—he will twist you ’round to his ways of thinking before you know what’s happened.”
“He’s not going to be twisting anyone into much of anything for a few days at least,” McCoy said. “But he said again that he wants to see you, Jim, and Ael as well, when she has time.”
Jim nodded. Ael glanced to one side; he followed her glance, and saw coming toward them, across the broad, shining floor, Veilt tr’Tyrava.
As soon as he was close enough to speak without shouting, he said, “Gentlemen, Ael, I hope I have not kept you waiting long.”
“It’s a long day’s walk to anywhere in here, from the looks of it,” Jim said, not bothering to take the slight edge of envy off his tone. “I don’t think we mind that it took you a few extra moments to get here.”
“Normally, we use transporters,” Veilt said. “While I dislike keeping any guest waiting, the master of a ship like this has many responsibilities, which routinely interfere with one another. I pray you hold me excused.” He turned. “Ael—”
She bowed to him slightly, her left fist against her heart. “Elder and cousin.”
That brought Jim’s head around. “If I may ask—you’re related?”
Veilt smiled a thin, slight smile. “The Commander General has some Ship-Clan blood, Captain. We are kin from afar. There would be those in Grand Fleet who would explain all her past disaffections in terms of that circumstance—as if being of Ship descent automatically made one a potential traitor. I wonder sometimes if those Hearthworlders ever consider, these days, that without our ancestry, there would have been no Hearthworlds. But these days, the division runs deep.” He glanced around. “You will hear enough of it in the days to come that there would be no point in keeping you standing here while I educate you. Will you follow me to where we may sit and talk?”
“Gladly.”
Within a very short time, Jim realized there was no point in trying to keep track of where they were being led. It was like being in a new city. Ael walked along with him, a little ahead of them, as they made their way down long high-ceilinged corridors and through wide hallways, up lifts, down long escalators through vast public spaces. The place was bigger than Starfleet Command, far bigger than any enclosed space Jim had ever been in. Yet, people went about their business; small children ran and played; and all around them was the quiet, comfortable buzz of people at home in an environment that had been their home for—
“Sir,” Jim said, “how long has this ship been inhabited?”
“Its population has been in training for this inhabitation for about three years,” Veilt said. “We have enough memories of the last time our people were in generation ships that we have no desire to throw them into such an environment without some practice. Especially since, if things don’t go smoothly as we hope, they may be spending a matter of some years in such an environment. Not that we have to spend so long in transit any more, now we have warp drive. But all the same, it can be a long time between worlds, finding the one that’s right for those who travel with you.”
Down a hall ahead of them was a pair of black glass doors. Veilt led them toward those doors, which slid aside as the group approached. Inside was a roomy, handsome, modern conference room with a black glass table in the center, and abstract art hung on the warm, gray walls. “Very humane,” McCoy said. “And a lot more cozy.”
Veilt smiled. “Like most other people, we desire some intimacy in our personal areas, Doctor. We don’t throw away space merely in order to impress. There would be no logic in that.” He gestured at the table. “Cousin, gentlemen, please be seated and tell me if there’s anything I can get for you to make you comfortable while we talk.”
They all sat down. Water in pitchers appeared on the table, along with glasses; and also pitchers of something blue. McCoy smiled.
“On the job, Bones?” Jim said.
“This is strictly social, Jim,” McCoy said, reaching for the pitcher and pouring himself out a tot of ale. He lifted the glass to Veilt, and said, “Ei e’hraaintuh na’hwiufvteh, emeihet’!” Then he knocked the ale back in a gulp.
Both of Veilt’s eyebrows went up. Ael smiled slightly as McCoy pushed the pitcher over to her, glancing at him with humor but apparently declining to take any other notice of the way his eyes were watering. She poured herself a small glass of the cloudy blue stuff and eyed it with appreciation.
Jim gave McCoy a look, then turned to Veilt. “First of all, I want to thank you for a very timely rescue. We are in your debt.”
Veilt looked at him speculatively. “Not many commanders I know would be so quick to put themselves under obligation to another. Among our people, it tends to be a sign either of uncertainty or unusual confidence.”
“I would hope to avoid either,” Jim said. “The situation in which we are soon to find ourselves will not be improved by either state.”
“And that situation would be?”
“Well,” Jim said, “we are in the early stages of a war. While with your help we’ve just successfully completed its first engagement, successive battles are likely to be less straightforward. Uncertainty can be healthy enough in its place, but too much of it in the days to come is likely to be as dangerous to us as too much confidence.” He leaned back in his chair and gave Veilt a look as speculative as the one he had been given. “Not that this ship isn’t one to inspire confidence.”
Veilt laughed so softly as to hardly make any sound at all. “Believe it or not, there are others that may yet inspire you even more. But more of them shortly. Captain, we were glad to be of help to you, but our major role is not offensive. Tyrava is a habitat first and a battle station second. In fact, we always hoped to avoid battle. None of the people you see living here would have chosen the shipboard life had on-planet life not become intolerable for them. This ship holds some three hundred and eighty thousand souls from far-flung colonies of the Empire, planets like Gahvenn and Thalawir. Some of their worlds were sparsely populated, and nearly abandoned by the Empire; some were closer in, but more harshly treated. But in every case, the people who now populate Tyrava were willing to take the chance every day of dying, rather than live under the Empire any longer. With such a crew and population, one can do much. Or rather—” Veilt looked amused. “—they can do much with me. Their will with me, often expressed, is to do anything that would make the Empire a place where we could live again. Until recently, ‘anything’ meant ‘anything but war.’ But no longer. All over the Empire, the uprisings are beginning. This is the time for which many of us have waited. And this is the gamble on which we must now stake everything we have. If after the conflict to come the Empire still has not fallen, then we must seek our lives elsewhere. But in the meantime—” He looked at Ael. “—we must take our best chance.”
Ael bowed her head. “We did well enough here. But we must do better yet. In particular—” She glanced at Jim. “The too-timely arrival of the Klingons suggests that they had spies at Artaleirh—as we long suspected. Desirable
as it would have been to keep any Klingon ships from escaping the battle, in terms of intelligence, I think that has become a nonissue. The High Council will hear soon enough what actually transpired in these spaces. We must move forward, and quickly; so we must determine in what directions to move, in what force and strength—and to what purpose.”
Jim folded his hands on the table in front of him. “I’ve been considering some initial planning, if you would be willing to hear it.”
“More than willing,” Veilt said. “We also need to give some thought to what disinformation we can spread in this system before we move on. As for the rest—” He looked thoughtfully at Jim. “Your skills as a tactician have gained you the esteem and curses of our people often enough before. Few of us will have looked for the chance we see now, where you employ those skills on our behalf.”
“Not just yours,” Jim said. He glanced up from his hands. “No sane man willingly goes to war. But it seems that once every generation or so comes the war from which it would be cowardice to turn away. At the moment, this looks like that war.” Jim sighed. “And there are other issues. The proliferation of the Sunseed technology…”
Ael looked over at Veilt, frowning. “They were ready to seed that star. They would willingly have destroyed all life on a Rihanssu Imperial world, and used that fact to put the fear of such destruction on other worlds, where warships can no longer do so.”
“Or in cases where the Empire’s resources are spread too thinly to allow the dispatch of a task force,” Spock said.
Ael nodded. “I fear also that Artaleirh would have been a testbed in other ways. My concern is that they have been attempting to refine the technique to make it more predictable, or more deadly—or both. It is almost horrible to hope that they are blind to the dangers of using such a thing repeatedly. Far worse is the concept that they are not blind to them.”
