Infinity's Prism

by Christopher L. Bennett

  Tarses’s eyes widened as he at last understood what the woman was driving at. “You’re going back to the original compact. For the original Coalition of Planets.”

  Hedford gave him a small grin. “All the negotiations for Earth’s alliance with the other three powers were hammered out a hundred and ten years ago, predating the renegotiations for the I.C. That should be our starting point.”

  Tarses grinned back at her, in spite of himself. Dammit if the Girl Diplomat hasn’t put another unexpected twist on the game.

  T’Pol sat in a corner of the conference room, ignored by the human diplomats. Earlier, she had been encouraged to contribute to the ambassadors’ strategy meetings and share her opinions of their planned tactics, based on her experience. Hedford had quickly proven herself disinterested in her experience, dismissing her contributions as being “stuck in a twenty-second-century mindset.”

  “So, you gonna just sit here, let these two screw up Earth’s last chance of fulfillin’ the captain’s dream?” the argumentative, distinctively accented voice in her mind asked. T’Pol understood, of course, that it was not in fact Trip Tucker speaking inside her head. However, from the start, her relationship with Trip had been characterized by their vigorous disagreements, and since his death, she had found that, when her thoughts were conflicted, her mind would take his voice for one side of the intellectual self-debate.

  But T’Pol couldn’t find it in herself to answer. Following Paxton’s catastrophic attack on Starfleet Command, Archer was determined to make something good come from the deaths of those diplomats, and the innocent civilians who had also perished.

  Including, he’d made a special point of telling her, Elizabeth.

  For six years, the Enterprise shuttled from Vulcan to Andor to Tellar to Denobula to Coridan, often without the knowledge of his superiors in their newly reestablished Antwerp headquarters, trying to salvage as much of the Coalition of Planets as was possible. Much of it, though, was not possible, not without the official backing of the United Earth government. But Archer did not let that deter him; he refused to believe his world’s rising tide of xenophobia was anything but a temporary situation, and that it was only a matter of time before cooler heads decided to continue on the path of progress toward closer relations with their interstellar neighbors. Even after the Isolationists took control of Parliament in 2161, and threatened him with charges of treason, Archer continued to hope for the future.

  T’Pol wondered what Jonathan would make of Nancy Hedford, with her arrogance and sense of human exceptionalism. But he had been dead close to twenty years. Everyone she’d known was dead.

  And so too, she thought, silently listening to Hedford and Tarses as the stars slid past the portal, were their dreams.

  6

  Babel was not, in fact, the actual name of the small Luna-type planetoid around which the Enterprise was now entering standard orbit. Technically, it had no name; Earth astronomers had given its star a numerical NGC designation, and their Vulcan, Andorian, and Tellarite counterparts had done the equivalent. “Babel” had actually been the code name for the conference the United Earth government had proposed between Andoria and Tellar back in 2154, taken from the Biblical story in which the peoples of Earth, all speaking a common language, had worked together to reach the heavens. Even after Earth withdrew from the interstellar community, the name somehow stuck.

  Pike wondered if maybe the old universal translators the aliens used a century ago had misconstrued “Babel” as “babble,” and that was why the name had such resonance. The idea that mockery of politicians might be a universal trait somehow boosted his hopes for interspecies cooperation.

  “Captain, we’re being hailed,” Penda reported from her aft station.

  “On-screen, Lieutenant.”

  She nodded, and a moment later, the image of a diminutive copper-skinned woman Pike recognized as an Ithenite appeared on the main viewscreen. “U.E.S.S. Enterprise, this is Babel Orbital Control. On behalf of the Interstellar Coalition, welcome,” she said, flashing a brilliant platinum-white smile.

  “This is Captain Christopher Pike, and we are honored to be here,” Pike answered with a slight nod.

  “We are now transmitting orbital coordinates. Given the number of ships present, we ask for the safety and security of all that you maintain this position for the duration of the conference.”

  A low bleep sounded from the helm/navigation console. “Coordinates received, sir,” Kirk confirmed. His tone and demeanor were completely professional, as they had been while on duty since Pike’s dressing-down several days earlier. It helped, no doubt, that T’Pol and the diplomatic party had kept very much to themselves.

  “Also,” the Ithenite woman continued in her crisp, rehearsed manner, “for the sake of security, transporter activity to and from the planet is restricted.”

  “Understood,” Pike said. “We have our shuttlecraft standing by.”

  “Excellent. Please be certain to alert Orbital Control before launching any smaller vessels, or if you require any other assistance during your time here.”

  Pike nodded again. “Thank you,” he said, and pivoted in his chair, thinking that was the end of the spiel.

  “And, Captain?” Pike turned back toward the screen, where the Ithenite woman seemed to be debating whether to speak aloud whatever unscripted thought had just occurred to her. Finally, she gave him a smaller, sincere grin and said, “Welcome back,” before ending the transmission.

  “Welcome back?” Masada asked from the science station.

  “I believe that sentiment was meant for humanity as a whole,” Pike said, unable to suppress his own grin. “Lieutenant Penda, let Ambassador Hedford know we’ve reached orbit, and that she and her party should meet us at the shuttlebay at 1945 hours.”

  He took a quick glance at the chronometer in the arm of his chair and saw it was just past 1900 hours now. “Number One,” he said, as he stood up from the command chair, his knees again protesting loudly. Kirk stood up from the helmsman’s seat and turned, anticipating that he would now be taking the center chair, but Pike stepped right between the two. “Number One, you’re going to be accompanying me planetside for the opening reception.”

  Had the captain announced to the bridge that he was a mugato and started beating his chest, Kirk still could not have looked more surprised. “Sir?”

  “Full dress uniforms” was Pike’s only reply.

  “Sir, is it really wise for both the captain and first officer to leave the ship together?”

  It was all Pike could do to keep from laughing out loud; in five years, Kirk had never once protested against joining him on a landing party. “We’re holding in standard orbit at a peace conference. I trust Mister Kelso will have no trouble keeping everything running smoothly in our absence.”

  Something flashed behind Kirk’s eyes, but the young man quickly tempered whatever untoward thoughts he might have had in that moment, and simply answered, “Aye, sir.”

  Half an hour later, the captain, wearing his olive-gray jacket trimmed with brown leather at the neck and along the shoulders and decorated with a starburst of triangular ribbons above his left breast, pressed the chime outside Kirk’s cabin door.

  The door slid open to reveal Kirk bare-chested, his own dress jacket draped over the back of his desk chair. His right foot was up on the seat of the chair as he applied a fresh coating of polish to his boot. When Kirk saw who it was visiting, he nearly stumbled trying to get both feet back on the deck and straighten up to attention. “At ease, Number One,” Pike said, as the chair clattered backward onto the deck.

  “I’m just about ready, sir,” Kirk said as he righted the chair and brushed off the jacket.

  “Plenty of time,” Pike said as he noted, not for the first time, that the younger man wore almost as many ribbons on his dress uniform as he did himself, from such campaigns as the Third Battle of Axanar, the Taurus Reach Incursion, and the Alpha V Rebellion. “You’re probably wonderin
g why I decided to make you part of this,” Pike said.

  Kirk looked up at him, then turned away toward a mirror. “I didn’t want to ask…,” he said as he finished dressing.

  “You’ve made it clear these last few months that you intend to continue your career in Starfleet,” Pike said, eliciting an uncomfortable look from Kirk. “But I need to know that you’ll be able to do that, Jim. If this conference accomplishes what it’s supposed to, it could change the very nature of our roles as Starfleet officers. And even if it doesn’t…well, the reality is, space is not as wide as it used to be. We can’t realistically expect to avoid dealing more and more with the Coalition, and we’re going to have to deal with them professionally, as Starfleet officers.”

  Kirk met Pike’s look directly. “I understand, sir.” No promises, but also no show of any qualms. Pike saw that he did, indeed, understand what was potentially at stake here, and he was willing to see matters through to wherever they led. Pike nodded, gestured to the door, and the two men headed out for whatever faced them.

  The Halsey descended toward the surface of Babel and landed on a small semicircular platform, one of five that ringed a large domed shuttle hangar. The moment the Enterprise shuttlecraft cut its engines, a set of large curved bulkheads slid into place around it, enclosing it in its own small dome.

  As the area outside was repressurized, the two Starfleet security guards stood, checked to make sure their sidearms were in place, and moved to either side of the hatch at the shuttle’s port side. “Captain Pike, I must again protest.” Ambassador Hedford stood up from her seat toward the rear of the small craft and glared at the captain, who was seated at the front, beside the shuttle pilot. “This is a peace conference. If armed guards are the first thing the other representatives see of the United Earth delegation—”

  “And again, Miss Hedford,” Pike responded wearily as he stood as well, “I am responsible for the lives of the people aboard this shuttle, and I will do what I feel needs to be done to protect you and the rest of them. As for anyone taking any notice of the guards, I suspect the attention of everyone on this planetoid will be directed elsewhere,” he said, nodding to T’Pol.

  She did her best to ignore them all as she pulled herself out of her seat. She found her heart rate accelerating beyond normal, and attempted to use one of her breathing techniques to slow it down. But, being in close quarters with half a dozen humans, she found she couldn’t stand to inhale through her nose. She ended up instead holding her breath as she waited for the doors before her to open.

  At last, the hatch unsealed with a hiss of equalizing air pressure, and the upper panels parted before her, revealing a wide, open bay. At the far end of the bay, a set of doors also opened, and for the first time in close to a century, T’Pol found herself faced by members of her own species.

  There were two, male and female. The man was perhaps a hundred years of age, with thick eyebrows and dark hair just starting to show hints of gray. Accompanying him was a female wearing a simple blue gown with a jeweled IDIC pinned above her left breast. T’Pol was struck by how young she was—it was probable that she had not yet experienced her first Pon farr.

  T’Pol thought her emotional control might have failed her at this moment, but instead, she found the mere presence of other Vulcan minds gave her a degree of strength she hadn’t known for longer than she could remember. She filled her lungs with newly cycled oxygen and stepped out onto the lower hatchway door that now formed a bridge onto the shuttle’s nacelle. The two other Vulcans approached, followed close behind by a pair of Andorians and a pair of Tellarites, forming a kind of reception line once the procession leaders stopped, a few meters away from the shuttle. T’Pol raised her left hand to the lead pair, and with not inconsiderable effort, spread her fingers into the traditional Vulcan salute.

  “Peace and long life, T’Pol,” answered the female Vulcan, returning the salute. The older male, though, said nothing, and kept both of his hands at his sides. He stared directly at T’Pol, but she could get no sense of what he was thinking.

  The shuttle pilot moved up beside her, put a hand on her elbow, and helped her step down to the deck. The two ambassadors were the next to follow her out, and now the Vulcan man did raise his hand in salute. “Earth honors us with your presence,” he told them. “I am Councillor Sarek, Vulcan representative to the Grand Council of the Interstellar Coalition.” He then indicated the female. “My chief aide, Subcommander T’Pring.”

  “We are honored to be your guests,” Hedford replied, making a valiant attempt at mirroring Sarek’s hand gesture. She introduced herself and Tarses, and then Pike and Kirk. The Andorian and Tellarite contingents followed suit, but their names did not register with T’Pol. She nodded where appropriate, but her attention was focused on Sarek, who pointedly avoided looking back at her or acknowledging her presence in any way.

  Such a reaction was not unanticipated. T’Pol had been a pariah in Vulcan society, to at least some degree, since the monastery on P’Jem was exposed as a covert listening post used to spy on what was then the Andorian Empire. Her decision to stay with the humans following the murder of Ambassador Soval and his fellow diplomats had no doubt intensified the negative regard in which much of her homeworld held her, and apparently persisted even now. All the same, she had to force back the urge to confront Sarek in the same way she had the hateful young human she’d encountered weeks earlier at Berkeley.

  Once the introductions were completed, the senior Andorian representative bared his teeth at them all. “It is a great pleasure to have you join us here this day,” he said in an awkward effort to affect a tone of human geniality. “If you will all please follow, we have prepared for you a traditional Earther welcoming rite: a reception booph’ay.”

  The humans, including Pike’s visibly discomfited first officer, reacted positively to this news. From their initial encounter with Zefram Cochrane following his first warp flight, Vulcans had noted the curious and seemingly innate need humans had to include food and drink in any type of social interaction. Councillor Sarek again took the lead among the Coalition delegates, ostensibly guiding the way to the reception hall. T’Pol, due to her slowed gait, fell to the rear end of the group as they made their way through a series of curving corridors, and quickly lost sight of Sarek. By the time they reached their destination, T’Pol realized that Sarek and his aide must have taken a detour at some point, as neither were present among the throng of alien envoys.

  As members of the Interstellar Coalition’s diplomatic corps surged forward, clamoring to welcome their guests of honor, T’Pol was struck again by the long-familiar feeling of being alone.

  “How do you vote on the question of Earth’s admittance, Vleb of Denobula?”

  Ambassador Vleb gave the Tellarite a broad, elastic smile. “Vleb should suffice, seeing as there are no other Vlebs here. As to your question…” The Denobulan glanced sideways at Nancy Hedford, who stood watching the exchange in open fascination. “The vote will not be taken here, Ambassador Gav,” he said as he turned back to his colleague. “My government’s instructions will be heard in time, in chambers.”

  “No, you!” Gav pressed. “In council, your vote will carry others. I will know where you stand.”

  “You will know where I stand, Gav, just as soon as I know myself. Earth has not yet formally declared their petition to join, let alone presented their case or addressed whatever concerns the council and the individual delegates have. I will not prejudge the matter until I’ve heard from and considered all sides.”

  Gav grunted, clearly unsatisfied with this answer, as it gave him no opportunity to argue an opposing viewpoint. He looked down the top of his upraised snout at Hedford before turning on his heel (or whatever Tellarites turned on) and marching in the direction of the Zaldan delegation.

  Vleb gave a soft sigh of relief, then turned to Hedford and said, “Don’t let Gav’s manner discourage you, Ambassador,” he said.

  “Oh, it doesn’t,”
Hedford said. “I’m familiar with Tellarite argumentativeness.”

  Vleb’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Really? Are you?”

  “Yes. From my research,” she explained.

  “Ah,” the Denobulan said, turning to grab a glass of Enolian spice wine from a passing server. “Well, hopefully your research will prove to have adequately prepared you for the actual experience.”

  Hedford nodded in appreciation of this sentiment. “May I ask, Ambassador…Gav said your vote will carry others?”

  “He did say that, yes,” the Denobulan said with a soft chuckle. “Whether it’s true or not, I have my doubts.”

  “I’m just…no offense, but why would your vote carry any more weight than anyone else’s?”

  Vleb smiled in bemusement. “I see your research has failed you in at least one regard, though I suppose it’s not the kind of information that would have been easily accessible to you. You see, Ambassador, I am of the direct patriarchal line of one Doctor Phlox. His great-grandson, I believe you would say.”

  Hedford’s eyes bulged wide. “You are?”

  Vleb smiled and nodded. “Hm.”

  Hedford fell silent as she absorbed that. The Denobulan doctor, she recalled, had been a member of the Interspecies Medical Exchange before signing aboard Jonathan Archer’s Enterprise. Unlike T’Pol, he had long relished the opportunity to interact with numerous species, and had eagerly joined the crew of the first warp five starship. But, in a reversal of their positions following the rise of Terra Prime, Phlox had regretfully decided to leave his human colleagues and return to Denobula. “I suppose he had quite a few stories when he returned home,” she said, trying to keep her tone casual.