Other eBooks in the Star Trek™:
Starfleet Corps of Engineers series from Pocket Books:
#1:The Belly of the Beast by Dean Wesley Smith
#2:Fatal Error by Keith R.A. DeCandido
#3:Hard Crash by Christie Golden
#4:Interphase Book 1 by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore
#5:Interphase Book 2 by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore
#6:Cold Fusion by Keith R.A. DeCandido
#7:Invincible Book 1 by David Mack & Keith R.A. DeCandido
#8:Invincible Book 2 by David Mack & Keith R.A. DeCandido
#9:The Riddled Post by Aaron Rosenberg
#10:Gateways Epilogue:Here There Be Monsters by Keith R.A. DeCandido
#11:Ambush by Dave Galanter & Greg Brodeur
#12:Some Assembly Required by Scott Ciencin & Dan Jolley
#13:No Surrender by Jeff Mariotte
#14:Caveat Emptor by Ian Edginton & Mike Collins
#15:Past Life by Robert Greenberger
#16:Oaths by Glenn Hauman
#17:Foundations Book 1 by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore
#18:Foundations Book 2 by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore
#19:Foundations Book 3 by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore
#20:Enigma Ship by J. Steven York & Christina F. York
#21:War Stories Book 1 by Keith R.A. DeCandido
#22:War Stories Book 2 by Keith R.A. DeCandido
#23:Wildfire Book 1 by David Mack
#24:Wildfire Book 2 by David Mack
#25:Home Fires by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore
#26:Age of Unreason by Scott Ciencin
#27:Balance of Nature by Heather Jarman
#28:Breakdowns by Keith R.A. DeCandido
#29:Aftermath by Christopher L. Bennett
#30:Ishtar Rising Book 1 by Michael A. Martin & Andy Mangels
#31:Ishtar Rising Book 2 by Michael A. Martin & Andy Mangels
#32:Buying Time by Robert Greenberger
#33:Collective Hindsight Book 1 by Aaron Rosenberg
#34:Collective Hindsight Book 2 by Aaron Rosenberg
#35:The Demon Book 1 by Loren L. Coleman & Randall N. Bills
#36:The Demon Book 2 by Loren L. Coleman & Randall N. Bills
#37:Ring Around the Sky by Allyn Gibson
#38:Orphans by Kevin Killiany
COMING SOON:
#39:Grand Designs by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore
#40:Failsafe by David Mack
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
An Original Publication of POCKET BOOKS
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Acknowledgments
The occasion of my first eBook demands that I acknowledge individually all of the people who encouraged me and helped me through my long years of development as I figured out just what being a writer entailed. I can’t, of course; there are far too many of you.
I do want to thank the entire community of Star Trek writers (if I start listing names, I won’t be able to stop). This is the most welcoming, accessible, and genuinely helpful group of professionals I have ever met.
Honorable mention also goes to my three children, Alethea, Anson, and Daya, for their patience and for accepting that when Dad is staring vacuously into space he is “working.”
Finally, and most important, I want to publicly thank the one person who believed in me even when I didn’t believe in myself, my partner in life, my other half, and the person to whom this book is dedicated: my wife, Valerie.
CHAPTER
1
Eve of the Quest
Naiar stroked Striver’s arching neck, following the rough pull of the currycomb with a soothing palm. His mount’s blue-black coat already glistened in the source light streaming through the stable’s doorway, but youth and beast enjoyed the ritual.
“Tomorrow,” he murmured, Striver’s ear twitching at the sound of his voice. “Tomorrow, the quest.”
The riderbeast seemed unimpressed, but the creatures were not known for their sense of adventure. Naiar set the grooming tools on the shelf and checked the level of the feed trough. With a final pat for his mount, he let himself out of the stall.
In the stable yard he paused, his eyes following the curve of the world up and up until it was lost in the haze of the sky. Some mornings, just as the source breached the Dawn Mountains, Naiar knew the fabled lands above the sky could be seen, just for a moment, in the morning glow.
Until three fours of days ago, he had thought his destiny lay there, above the sky. That had been the goal of his proving quest.
But then the gnomes had appeared, stumbling out of the mountains near a fallen hollow. Strange creatures, shaped much like People, but short and hairless, or mostly hairless. Strangest had been their faces, with eyes above the nose, squeezed down toward the bottoms of their heads.
They had stayed awhile in his father’s House, though they ate nothing they had not brought with them and drank only water, and that after they had added strange herbs of their own. The Doctors believed the gnomes feared some binding curse that would hold them to the land of the People, but Naiar, who had nearly choked when he tried a bite of their food, suspected the gnomes simply did not eat as People did.
The gnomes had said, in the days before they lost their speech, that they were seeking access, though to what was not clear. They had been fascinated by the stories of the hollows of the Builders and made much of the mirrors purchased from the Barony of Atwaan. The two who might have been female had listened for hours as Nodoc recounted the histories of mad giants and children who had wandered from the depths of the world generations before.
When they could no longer speak as People—their powers, the Doctors said, fading in this world—the gnomes had left the Tetrarchy and the borders of the known world. They had followed the direction of the source—duskward, away from the mountains—seeking the origins of the old stories. His father had given them writs of safe passage, though how far that would carry them in the wilds was uncertain. Not every House and Hold loved the Tetrarchy when the Tetrarch’s armsmen were not present. Most thought the gnomes to be mad, but Naiar knew now his destiny was to follow them, to learn the secret of this access.
The lands above the sky had always been there. They would be there still for him to explore when he returned from his proving quest. Though he was heir in his brother’s stead, it would be many fours of seasons before his training in governance became intense. Time enough to pursue his dreams.
Turning away from the main compound, he made his way to the clan’s birthing pool, sheltered in a hollow far from casual eyes. Ignoring the inviting scent of the water, he circled the pool to the memorial field beyond. The stones of the stillborn were unmarked, but he had l
ong ago decided which were those of his clutch brothers.
“Tomorrow I go on my quest,” he told the three stones slightly apart from the others. “I know it is a shadow of the great Journey the People are on. Less than a shadow of your journey. But…”
He paused, not sure what to add to that. After a moment’s thought, he pulled a leather pouch from his belt. Transferring his flint and tinder to his tool pouch, he scooped a thick handful of soil from the center of the triangle of memorial stones and filled his fire pouch.
“I’ll bring it back,” he said, “and you’ll see where I’ve been.”
The source was nearing the end of its journey. Soon darkness would come. Already the hollow of the birthing pool was deep in shadow and a chill wind, working its way among the rocks, ruffled the sleek hair of his neck and arms.
“Tomorrow,” Naiar promised again, and turned toward the house.
The yard in front of the great house was abustle with grooms and servants unloading the packbeasts of a modest caravan. Naiar recognized the sigil of Tolan, the second house of the Tetrarchy, and quickened his step. To see Miura before his proving quest…
“Ho!” The shout brought him up short at the threshold.
“Uncle!”
“No rush, son.” The older man slapped his rounded shoulder, propelling him the rest of the way into the hall. “She’s not with me this night.”
Naiar lidded his eyes for a moment, embarrassed he’d been so transparent. Uncle Tolan laughed as he shed his heavy coat.
“No coat, boy?” he asked as a servant took his.
“You’ll catch your death yet.”
Naiar shrugged; the remark was not worth comment. Everyone knew the young, those who survived their birth and avoided the withering, did not feel the cold the older generations complained so much about. Still, he never met a relative who did not comment on his light jerkin and vest within a minute of their greeting. He hoped he’d be less predictable in his old age.
Torches lit the hall, though the source was not yet gone. The traditional quiet evening with close family before the quest was being replaced with a hasty feast in honor of his uncle’s visit. Naiar minded not in the least; he greatly preferred hearing news of other households to the lecture on his House’s history and their expectations of him as heir that he’d been dreading.
Miura across the table, her down golden in the torchlight, would have made the evening perfect.
At the moment the feast table was still being assembled, trestles and planks added to the everyday sideboard. Naiar suspected the kitchen was frantically adding fruit dishes and quickbreads to the modest feast prepared for the family of the House. Uncle Tolan would not care, knowing how close to dinner he’d arrived, but Cook would never let it get back to Tolan House that Nazent House had not excelled at a moment’s notice.
Two servants entered from the family door, bearing a padded chair between them.
“Nodoc!” Uncle Tolan cried out with the same joy he’d had at the sight of Naiar. He towered over the tiny gray form of Naiar’s older brother nestled in the chair, but seemed unaware that anything was amiss.
The servants lowered the chair, and Uncle Tolan dropped casually to one knee to be eye to eye with his cousin’s oldest son.
“You’ve tales to tell, I’ll wager,” he said. “Consorting with gnomes, from what I hear.”
“We all consorted,” Nodoc countered cheerfully.
“Many spent as much time with them as I.”
“But none have your keen eye and wit. I’ll have the whole story from you before the evening’s out. And a tale of my own to trade,” Tolan added, glancing up at Naiar to include him in this last.
“What sort of tale?” Nodoc asked. “We’ve time before dinner.”
Tolan cast his eye about the hall, gauging the state of readiness, and nodded. Naiar hooked a basket with his foot, overturning it to make a stool. The stream of servants flowed around their island without comment.
“A beast, a magical beast, by all accounts,” Tolan said, “has been seen in the foothills of the Dawns.”
“Near the Fallen Hollow?” Naiar guessed.
“At first,” their uncle said, “though it’s been seen elsewhere since, following the path of the source.”
“How is it magical?” Nodoc demanded.
“It is very like an insect, but blue as an ice flower, with only eight legs.”
“A blue insect is new, not magical,” Nodoc said.
Naiar nodded, content to leave the conversation in the hands of his learned brother. The insect, hardly a beast, did not sound too remarkable to him.
“Even an insect that cries out in a voice like ringing bells?” Tolan asked.
“That we’ve never seen an insect with a voice does not mean all insects are silent,” Nodoc answered.
“And missing a four of legs could merely mean an injury.”
“Did I mention,” Tolan asked innocently, “that the beast is the size of a packbeast colt?”
“You did not!” accused Naiar.
“When you say it cried out,” Nodoc asked, his mind leaping to another trail, “did it merely give voice or did it attempt to speak?”
“On that our witnesses are divided,” Tolan admitted. “But—”
“Tolan!” Nazent’s voice cut through the industrious murmur of the hall. “Where are you?”
“Here.” Tolan rose. “The slackness of my host forced his sons to hold court in his stead.”
“Ha. Then you are in good hands,” Nazent said. “I can retire in peace.”
“Not before we eat!”
The cousins linked arms, making their way toward the head table, which was arrayed with an overabundance of food. No doubt the Householder had delayed his entrance to give Cook time to present this feast. Thus is the loyalty of servants earned.
As Nodoc, borne in his chair, followed, Naiar made a business of righting the basket and returning it to its place.
A magical beast, perhaps following the gnomes? If friend, a valuable ally. If foe, a worthy opponent. By the time he reached the sideboard, the nature of Naiar’s proving quest had undergone another change.
CHAPTER
2
Four fours of days before the Quest
The da Vinci was spiraling madly.
Centered on the main viewer was a dark blue-gray cylinder, nearly invisible to the naked eye against the blackness of space. With nothing to provide scale, its size was impossible to determine, but there was an unmistakable sense of mass. The thing was huge. Beyond it the field of stars was a sheet of diagonal streaks. At irregular intervals the image of the cylinder would jerk minutely and the streaking stars changed angle as the da Vinci altered orbit.
Captain David Gold sat in his command chair and tried to convince his inner ear that the spinning sensation was all in his imagination. By trial and error he had determined this was most successful when he remained seated.
“Sensors are still unable to penetrate beyond the outer levels,” Lieutenant Commander Mor glasch Tev announced from one of the aft science stations. “We’ll have to get closer.”
Gold could tell from the set of his shoulders that Songmin Wong did not like the idea. He didn’t blame the conn officer; he knew enough about piloting to appreciate the concentration needed to hold the da Vinci in a circle less than a light-second in diameter at warp one.
“What will that gain us?” he asked his second officer.
The Tellarite stifled an impatient sigh. Gold doubted Tev would ever lose his arrogance—he’d earned it honestly—but it was good to see him learning to curb expressing it.
“It will not be possible to determine that until we have gotten closer,” Tev replied. “But based on our last course adjustment, sensor efficacy should increase by four percent.”
“Wong?”
“We’re near tolerances now,” the young lieutenant replied, leaving the implications hanging.
“You recommend?”
“Pulling
out to sixty-three thousand kilometers,” Wong answered promptly. He’d clearly been giving the matter a lot of thought while fighting to hold the da Vinci in place.
“Faugh,” said Tev. “That’s no better than leapfrogging.”
Gold sat for a moment, considering the four percent. They needed more information; he wanted to have at least the outline of a plan in hand before the others arrived. But it would do him no good if he damaged his ship getting it.
Perversely, his left hand itched. It had been doing that when he was frustrated ever since he got the biosynthetic replacement after Galvan VI. Knowing it was psychosomatic, and knowing it was a common experience with prosthetics, did nothing to make the sensation go away.
“Your choice,” he said to Tev.
“Continuous scans offer the best chance of penetration.”
Gold nodded. “Wong, take us out to sixty-three thousand kilometers and continue spiral.” He stood up, resisting the urge to scratch his prosthetic hand as he made his way to the turbolift. “I think everyone’s had a chance to chew on the data. Haznedl, notify the team we’ll be meeting in ten minutes.”
“Captain!”
The urgency in the tactical officer’s voice brought Gold up short.
“What is it, Shabalala?”
“There’s a Klingon”—he paused for a moment, evidently rechecking readings on his board—“warship approaching at warp five. It has not responded to hails.”
“Better make that fifteen minutes, Haznedl,” Gold said as he returned to his chair. “And call Gomez to the bridge. It seems the other half of our team has arrived ahead of schedule.”
“Faugh,” repeated Tev.
“Let’s not make them try to match orbits, Wong,” Gold said. He was aware of the turbolift opening and Commander Sonya Gomez, the ship’s first officer and leader of the S.C.E. team, taking up station behind him. “Jump five light-minutes ahead of the colony vessel and drop from warp.”
On the viewscreen the spinning star field executed a jarring pinwheel and righted itself. For a moment the streaks of starlight radiated in comfortingly straight lines from the center of the screen as the da Vinci leapt ninety million kilometers in a matter of seconds. Then, for the first time in what seemed like months to Gold, the stars became steady points of distant light. They were in normal space.
Orphans Page 1
