Rise of the Federation

by Christopher L. Bennett

  The agent sighed. “Kill him. I mean kill him. Okay?”

  “Oh, man. Are you sure? I mean, you were saying he wasn’t such a bad guy, that you understood his reasons for doing what he does.”

  “It’s not a punishment, Tony. It’s a tactical necessity. Like it or not, it’s the only sure way to neut—to prevent him from launching the attack. There are tens of thousands of other lives at stake, millions in the long term. Like the Vulcans say, the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.”

  Ruiz shook his head. “Never thought I’d hear Vulcan philosophy used to justify an assassination.”

  “You’d be surprised.” Tucker looked him over. “So are you with me or not?”

  The younger man took a deep breath and released it slowly. “We still need to get out of here and back to where we can do something. I’m with you on that. And if neither of us can think of a better way by then . . . well, I knew this was a war. I knew some people would have to die for the greater good. I just didn’t think it’d be so calculated.”

  “I don’t like it either, Tony. This is the sort of thing I was hoping this mission would let me walk away from.” He lowered his eyes, absorbing that thought. “But at least this time I know it’s for the right reasons. It’s the only way to save all those lives.”

  Starfleet Headquarters

  As more days passed without word from Tucker, Jonathan Archer grew increasingly concerned. The deliberations over the noninterference policy had been advancing slowly, but they were finally nearing a critical stage—and Essex’s reports from Sauria indicated that the resistance there was days away from a major strike against Maltuvis’s facilities. If the Orions planned to sabotage the latter in order to influence the former, they would have to do so very soon. If Tucker failed to expose their scheme, then not only would something disastrous happen on Sauria, but Section 31 would still be in play, unhindered if its leaders wished to arrange even more mass deaths on other worlds in the name of Federation security.

  Archer had only been able to discuss the matter with Captain Reed in vague and elliptical terms in the midst of conversations on other topics, out of what may or may not have been an excess of caution. But it had been clear enough that Malcolm was as deeply concerned as the admiral. Reed’s very helplessness had made it clear that he had been unable to dig up any additional data on Harris and his associates, any smoking gun that could do the job of exposing their cabal if Tucker’s fabricated evidence failed to materialize.

  The admiral was thus on the verge of a fateful decision. If nothing broke soon, he would have no choice but to go public with what he knew about the Orions’ plan. Doing so would surely mean exposing Tucker’s betrayal to Harris, for he was the only one who could have revealed the specifics to Archer. And the admiral doubted very much that Harris would deal gently with a traitor. In order to save the Saurians, Archer might have to condemn one of his dearest friends to death.

  He knew that was a sacrifice Charles Tucker would readily make. But that didn’t make the decision any easier. If he could so easily throw one life away to save others, he would be no better than Harris and his cronies. But by the same token, he couldn’t just stand by and let countless Saurians die when he had the power to deliver a warning.

  What made his inner struggle even harder was that he had no one to share it with. Reed was too busy finishing Pioneer’s refit, and it was difficult for the two men to arrange opportunities to converse securely. T’Pol was dozens of light-years away, trying to establish a dialogue with a forest. Dani Erickson was safely out of the loop about Section 31, and he had no intention of endangering her by changing that. He couldn’t even bring himself to discuss it with Porthos. The aging beagle might not follow the details of Archer’s account all that well, but he would surely sense his master’s distress, and that was the last thing he needed in his waning days. When he had time to spend with Porthos, Archer strove to make it as pleasant and soothing as he could for his old companion.

  So preoccupied was Archer as he sat behind his office desk, struggling to reach a decision, that he took a moment to notice his aide striding toward him. “Admiral, could I speak with you?” Captain Williams asked him.

  The big man looked unusually nervous and tentative. Archer realized that, in his concern for secrecy, he’d been keeping his aide at more of a distance than usual. Hoping to remedy that, he smiled at the captain. “Of course, Marcus. Anytime. Won’t you have a seat?”

  Williams lowered his muscular frame into the chair before the desk and fidgeted like a schoolboy before the principal. “Admiral . . . sir . . . I’ve been wrestling with this for the past couple of days, but . . .”

  “Whatever it is, you can tell me, Marcus.”

  Williams folded his hands before him and cleared his throat. “Sir . . . there’s something I need to tell you about . . . the fall of the Partnership. About how the Ware destruct protocol really fell into the Klingons’ hands.”

  Archer stared at him, stunned. Not knowing what to think, he numbly said, “Go on.”

  “Admiral . . . years ago, around the start of the Romulan War, I was contacted by a man called Harris. A man I know you’ve had some contact with.”

  Williams went on to unfold a familiar story of being recruited as an asset, called on to provide certain information and assistance in service to what appeared to be the greater good of the Federation. “I was never actually a member of his organization, sir. More just a, a source that they drew on occasionally. I kept them aware of what went on in Admiral Gardner’s office . . . and later on, sir, sometimes in yours.” He lowered his head. “I always justified it to myself by accepting what Harris told me—that it was necessary for the sake of Earth and the Federation, that I was helping things get better in the long run.

  “But what happened to the Partnership . . . I tried to rationalize it, sir. I figured, if it was the catalyst for your new directive, then some good had come of it, so ultimately Harris’s people had done the right thing. But my Val . . . she was there. She saw it happen. And so did her boyfriend, Mister Kirk—a man I had sorely underestimated and who schooled me in no uncertain terms about what a selfish damn fool I’d been. With my daughter backing him up, and let me tell you, Admiral, that’s a sobering experience.”

  Williams took a shuddering breath. Looking into his eyes, listening to the quaver in his voice, Archer doubted that his aide was a good enough actor for this to be some kind of trap by Harris to draw him out. “Marcus . . . I’m very disappointed to learn that you’ve been spying on me, even just ‘sometimes.’ Disappointed and angry. However—this isn’t the first time I’ve had this experience. And I know how much courage it must have taken to decide to confess your involvement with Harris. You’re taking a big risk by talking to me.”

  “Yes, sir. But I’ve had it knocked into my head that I don’t have any business expecting others to make all the sacrifices for the Federation’s well-being. Sometimes you have to take a hit for your team, sir.”

  Archer leaned forward. “What did you have in mind?”

  March 7, 2166

  Lower atmosphere of Sauria

  Tucker and Ruiz had managed to reach the launch gantry undetected and stow away in the engine control bay of the ship scheduled for launch—fortunately one with a first-generation drive, so there was no risk of a significant antimatter explosion in the event of a crash. Which was good, since a crash was what they hoped to bring about . . . more or less.

  Like the antique pulp-magazine space planes it resembled, the ship launched vertically using rocket propulsion, although the primitive warp drive was able to generate enough of an inertial reduction field to diminish the amount of thrust required to reach orbit. Still, the presence of two unauthorized human males on board meant that the ship was approximately 150 kilograms more massive than it was supposed to be, which meant that the launch was fractionally more sluggish than it was supposed to be—not enough to disrupt the ship’s trajectory, but enough to register as an
anomaly, which might tip off the M’Tezir military pilots and crew to the presence of stowaways. Thus, once the ship was in the air, Tucker acted fast, sabotaging the engine bay circuits to create a power drop-off in the engines that would look like a worsening of the initial problem. This would make it impossible for the ship to reach orbit, requiring it to abort and land at the first available site. Since they had already risen to a significant altitude and left the narrow land mass of M’Tezir hundreds of kilometers behind, that descent path would have to take them somewhere else. “So far, so good,” Tucker said to Ruiz, whom he’d briefed on the plan during their wait. “I’m trying to time it so the optimal descent arc will bring the ship down in the vicinity of Lyaksti.” He spoke softly, for they were in a small power systems access bay off of the main engine compartment, which was crewed by two M’Tezir military engineers. He was reasonably sure the crew would be unable to trace the engine fault to the circuits he was manipulating, but there was no point gambling on the acuteness of their hearing. He and Ruiz had made that mistake with the Malurians.

  “How big a vicinity are we talking?” Ruiz asked just as softly, keeping his lips close to Tucker’s ear.

  Tucker met his skeptical gaze and fidgeted. “Significantly less than a hemisphere,” he admitted.

  “And what are the odds we’ll even end up on land?”

  “That’s up to the pilots.”

  “Is real spy work always this improvisational?”

  “Real spy work is mostly gathering information. Talking to people, reading, listening, cultivating contacts and assets. This kind of stuff is what happens when the plan goes very wrong.”

  “Is that what I am? A cultivated asset?”

  “Started that way.” Tucker grinned at him. “But you made yourself a lot more . . . Mister Leiter.”

  Ruiz looked touched for a moment, but he masked it. “Aww, I wanted to be Q.”

  “I’m an engineer. I’m my own—”

  Perhaps they hadn’t spoken softly enough after all, for the hatch swung open. A burly, purple-skinned Saurian shouted out, grabbed Ruiz’s arm, and dragged him out of the access bay. Tucker rose from his crouch and drew his (or rather, his departed prison guard’s) sidearm, but as he reached the hatch, the second engineer arrived to block it. Tucker had forgotten how swiftly Saurians could move.

  And with that thought came the recognition that he would have no chance in hand-to-hand combat if the engineer managed to get a grip on him. The only choice he had was the one he took now—firing the weapon right at the Saurian’s chest. The projectiles from its double barrel tore into her body, making her convulse and fall. Saurians were not easy to kill, but that meant their lethal weapons were designed to be especially potent. Even now, some life remained in the engineer; maybe she could be saved with immediate treatment. But that was not a prospect here. Tucker climbed over her and out into the engine compartment, where the other engineer was pummeling Ruiz. He fired again, this time at the Saurian’s head.

  Trying not to look at the results of that act, Tucker knelt by his friend and checked him over. “You okay?”

  Ruiz groaned. “That . . . is the stupidest question . . . I’ve ever heard!”

  “You’re okay.”

  “Not . . . entirely.”

  Further examination showed that Ruiz had several broken ribs from the beating and a fractured ankle sustained when the engineer had tossed him to the deck. “No time to fix you up now,” Tucker said, moving to seal the entry hatch. “I’m gonna have to speed up our crash timetable, keep the rest of the crew too busy to come back here.”

  While he saw to that, Ruiz tried to avoid looking at the engineers’ bodies and failed. “Had to be done,” Tucker told him.

  “I know. Needs of the many.” He grimaced, but not in pain. “I just . . . We’re trying to save lives. It seems like a failure to have to take other lives to do it.”

  “For all you know, these guys helped bomb Lyaksti’s capital. They might’ve killed thousands.”

  “Maybe. But they probably have people who love them. I can’t help but wonder if we’ve just made someone feel like I felt when my girlfriend died in the Xindi attack.”

  Tucker remembered his sister Lizzie, vaporized in that same attack. He shook it off. “Better not to think about it.”

  “Easier not to think about it,” Ruiz said. “Doesn’t make it better.”

  The success of Tucker’s sabotage was heralded by a strained whine and a bang from somewhere within the engine, followed by a sudden sinking sensation. “Was that a bad bang?” Ruiz asked. “I mean, worse than we want?”

  “Just bad enough. The really bad bang, we’d never hear.”

  Luckily, this crude ship had crash harnesses built into the walls in case of emergency. He secured Ruiz and himself as best he could and waited. Tucker didn’t have to wait long for the crash, although the noise and jostling were disorienting enough that he had little memory of it afterward.

  The various sounds and smells of a crippled fusion reactor jogged him into action, though, and he hastily unstrapped himself and moved to extricate Ruiz. “We need to get out of here.”

  “Could the reactor blow?” Ruiz asked, alarmed.

  “If you mean a fusion explosion, no—only way to make a fusion reactor blow up is to drop at least a fission bomb on it. But from the chill in the air, I’d say the liquid hydrogen is leaking—”

  “And hydrogen’s very flammable. Got it. Vamonos.” He put his arm around Tucker’s shoulders and hobbled forward with Tucker supporting his weight.

  Once they exited through the emergency hatch, they found that the space plane had come down in an arroyo in mountainous territory. The nose of the craft was uncomfortably near a sharp drop-off that might be a waterfall during the rainy season. In the other direction, the smoking hot, torn-up ground and debris from the crash blocked their path. Steep slopes covered by scree and brush bracketed the valley, with only one clear pass visible between them.

  “This way,” Tucker said. But it was slow going with Ruiz’s injuries. Just before they reached the pass, shots began ringing out. Glancing back, Tucker saw that the remaining four crew members had survived and exited the ship by the cockpit’s escape ladder. Two were already on the ground and running toward the humans, taking potshots. “Come on, faster, Tony!”

  They got to the edge of a hill and ducked behind it, but the Saurians were still coming. That was lucky for the Saurians, since a massive clap rang out moments later; the hydrogen had finally ignited. Tucker peered over the crest of the hill to see that the ship’s hull had been cracked open by the explosion, and now it burned from within, a funeral pyre for the engineers Tucker had killed. The other M’Tezir had been knocked to the ground, one bleeding from a shrapnel hit, but all four were merely dazed and starting to climb to their feet—a testament to Saurian robustness, but a bad sign for the humans’ survival.

  Tucker pulled Ruiz up from his crouch. “We have to move.” Bits of debris from the blast were starting to rain down with some force.

  “No use.” Slumping back to his knees, Ruiz gasped for breath. “I’m only slowing you down, buddy.”

  “No, don’t talk that way.”

  “Needs of the many, Trip! You said it yourself. Leave me the gun. I’ll hold them off while you get away.”

  “Tony . . .”

  Ruiz held his gaze. “I’ve known since the day I decided to stay and fight that I’d probably die here. I’m okay with that . . . as long as it makes a difference. Make sure it does, Trip.”

  Tucker quashed his emotions. The mission had to come first. All this was for a purpose.

  He handed the gun to his friend, then clasped his wrist. Tony clasped his in return. “Para Sauria. Para la libertad.”

  Tucker nodded. “Vaya con Dios, amigo.”

  He ran, not looking back. Moments later, cracks of gunfire began echoing through the pass. Soon it became a ledge running along the steep hillside. The cliff below was negotiable for a human, less
so for a web-footed Saurian. And the sun was coming up in this part of the planet, illuminating the cliff face brightly. For once, his anatomy gave him an advantage over the locals. He lowered himself over the edge and began to climb down. Shots continued to ring out behind him.

  There was an anguished, very human scream. It cut off abruptly, and the shots ended.

  Tucker closed his eyes for a moment. Then he resumed his descent with grim efficiency. He still had a mission to complete—and he could afford no distractions if he wished to make it in time. He focused relentlessly on that purpose, reminding himself that all this death, all this sacrifice, was the only way to stop a catastrophe.

  Starfleet Headquarters

  “This could be it, sir,” Malcolm Reed said as he and Archer reviewed the information Marcus Williams had shared with the latter the night before. That had included all the means by which Section 31 had surveilled Archer’s office, so they were now able to be confident that all countermeasures had been taken and they could speak freely here. “The information Marcus had about Harris is sparse, but put together with my dossier and Trip’s, I believe it’s enough. It’s the last piece of the puzzle we needed to tie Harris to the leak of the Ware destruct code and to at least a couple of other blatantly criminal acts. With this, we can go to the judge advocate general and get arrest warrants for Harris and most of his people. We can finally bring his cabal into the light of day!”

  “And we can do all this without Trip’s frame? We can do it the right way, with the truth?”

  “With Marcus’s testimony, and mine, yes, I’m confident we can. And I have no doubt there are others like us, officers who’ve aided Harris reluctantly and would be willing to come forward.”

  “Good,” Archer said. “This needs to happen out in the open. Groups like this . . . the reason they insist on secrecy is because it’s the only thing that lets them get away with their tricks, their crimes. They convince people it’s for the greater good, but it’s really just a license to get away with murder. If we don’t play their games, if we refuse to hide the truth, then we can win.”