Star Trek: Enterprise: The Romulan War: Beneath the Raptor's Wing (Star Trek : Enterprise)

by Michael A. Martin

  Which one of the two of us, I wonder, is playing the role of Satan? T’Pol thought as she allowed T’Pau to think on her words in silence.

  “It is imperative,” the administrator said at length, “that our allies do not discover our relationship to the Romulans. Perhaps the Romulans’ own obsession with keeping their society closed and leaving behind no prisoners will be enough to ensure that this does not occur.”

  “It will occur, Administrator. The only question is when it will occur.”

  “We shall see,” T’Pau said, then resumed walking.

  “Your reluctance to see our Romulan connection revealed is logical, Administrator,” T’Pol said as she moved alongside her again. “But if you fail to plan for its inevitable revelation—if you continue to sit out the fight without offering a satisfactory explanation for Vulcan’s idleness—then you may damage the Coalition beyond all hope of repair.”

  “That is the burden we must carry, T’Pol.”

  “And that burden may be heavier than you realize. There is a fundamental ethical concern at play here, Administrator. Even without the Coalition Compact, Vulcan bears at least some responsibility for the actions of the Romulans.”

  “The Romulans make their own choices,” T’Pau said. “Just as their ancestors did, centuries ago. Vulcan is not responsible for that.”

  “Can you be certain of that? Are the Romulans not what we once were? Are they not us?”

  Nodding solemnly as she trudged onward, T’Pau said, “That is precisely why we dare not get any more deeply involved in this fight than we are already.”

  SIXTY-FOUR

  Day Two, Month of et’Khior

  Thursday, March 18, 2156

  Uaenn Ei’krih Outpost, near Haakonan space

  WORKING IN ORANGE FATIGUES right alongside the eighteen enlisted personnel in his company, Uhlan Takris personally oversaw the preparations to evacuate the partially hollowed-out planetoid. Most of the base’s equipment and supplies had been inventoried and packed on antigrav pallets within three dierha of Commander Pehrek’s initial posting of Admiral Valdore’s surprising new orders.

  Takris, the clerk in charge of maintaining the outpost’s electronic supply manifests, might have been disappointed to have a posting downgraded as Command had just done with the Uaenn Ei’krih facility; the stroke of an admiral’s stylus had just redesignated Uaenn Ei’krih as a semiautomated listening post. In lieu of its banks of hastily disassembled particle weapons, the base would soon train multitudes of sensitive electronic ears upon Haakona, once the final technical swapouts had been completed and the new staff of intel specialists—a far smaller number of personnel than made up the base’s present all-military complement—had arrived and settled in.

  Takris was anything but disappointed at the prospect of leaving this barren, lonely place behind; Uaenn Ei’krih was essentially just a ten-mat’drih-diameter ball of rock and iron, tumbling eternally through the cold silence just beyond the bow-shock of the central Haakonan binary star system.

  But mostly he was delighted at the prospect of going home and seeing V’Kelis again, at least until his next deployment orders came through.

  Takris had briefly questioned the wisdom of packing up everything in the facility, weapons included; but those fears had been assuaged by Subcommander Ghavenehk’s assurances that such measures were necessary to discourage any Haakonan scavenging of the base’s weapons technology in the unlikely event of a sudden enemy attack. Ghavenehk considered it prudent to have all the weaponry already packed and secured for transport before the cargo and personnel ships arrived, even though the move would leave the planetoid essentially defenseless for a few brief dierha.

  Since neither Subcommander Ghavenehk nor Commander Pehrek was worried, Takris decided not to worry either—until he felt the ground rumble beneath his feet, and the sick-making lightness in his belly that could only mean that the artificial gravity had failed. But even then Takris worried only that one of the enlisted men might have broken down and packed up the base’s tech gear a little too thoroughly, inadvertently gutting part of the life-support system in the process.

  It wasn’t until one of the men activated a monitor screen—one keyed to the last sensor system capable of displaying an infrared view of the space just beyond Uaenn Ei’krih’s rocky confines—that Takris began to grasp what was happening. Limned in the false green hues of the external dark-vision sensor system was the elegant, deceptively fragile-looking shape of an approaching Haakonan warship, its forward weapons tubes refulgent with menace.

  Only now, as Takris loped through the intermittent and oscillating gravity toward the emergency subspace transmitter controls, did he understand that he hadn’t worried nearly enough....

  SIXTY-FIVE

  Day Four, Month of et’Khior

  Saturday, March 20, 2156

  The Hall of State, Dartha, Romulus

  THE CENTURION ENTERED VALDORE’S OFFICE, carrying a padd whose ominous deep green hue marked its contents as highly classified. From the uneasy expression on the young woman’s face, Valdore assumed that the tidings he was about to receive would make him no happier than had the initial reports of the Uaenn Ei’krih Outpost’s destruction two ch’Rihanturns ago.

  “Admiral, the first detailed forensic report has just come back from the responders to the Uaenn Ei’krih attack,” she reported as she leaned across Valdore’s desk to hand him the padd.

  At least the responders were able to gain access to the base’s remains, Valdore thought as he quickly scroll-skimmed over the text and tables the padd displayed, grateful for any stroke of good luck he could find in this unfavorable turn of fortune. We were fortunate that the Haakonans chose not to establish their own base at Uaenn Ei’krih. They seem mainly interested in eradicating our forward bases in Haakonan territory, and they appear content to withdraw homeward once they accomplish that.

  At least that was how the Haakonans had operated so far. The future, however, was never certain, a fact that the padd in his hand now all but screamed at him.

  “Has this been verified?” he asked.

  The centurion nodded. “I presume you refer to the Vulcan energy signatures the forensic analysts discovered, Admiral.”

  He threw her a hard glare.

  “It has been verified, sir, multiple times,” she said, chastened. “The precise meaning of the findings is still being determined, however.”

  “Thank you, Centurion. Dismissed.” With another nod, she made her exit.

  Alone in his office, Valdore resumed studying the padd, more slowly this time. Whatever debates the intel specialists might be conducting at this moment, the meaning of this latest report from the front of D’deridex’s Haakonan war could not have been clearer: Vulcan was covertly supplying Haakona with weapons, and perhaps other technology as well.

  Irrespective of the broader, more critical war with the Coalition, this revelation made it a military imperative to establish a new listening post at least as close to Haakona as the defunct Uaenn Ei’krih facility had been. Valore couldn’t afford to allow Haakona to attack from the rear just when his forces were about to become fully engaged with the higher-priority task of bringing Earth and her allies to heel.

  Tossing the padd onto the desktop, Valdore keyed open one particular secure channel on his personal comm unit. The dark viewscreen before him suddenly brightened and displayed a cunning, familiar female face.

  She did not appear surprised to be hearing from him. Given the nature of her work, that fact, in turn, did not surprise him either.

  “T’Luadh,” he said. “I require your assistance.”

  A predatory smile spread slowly across her face. “The Tal Shiar lives to serve, Admiral. I assume you are speaking of the intelligence that your people gathered during their sweep of the rubble of the Uaenn Ei’krih Outpost.”

  Unwilling to volunteer any information that her reputedly omniscient spy bureau hadn’t already managed to gather on its own elsewhere, he said, “
You tell me.”

  “All right, Admiral,” she said, apparently not offended by his caution. “Haakona has come into possession of certain Vulcan technologies. You want me to get to the bottom of it.”

  He was impressed, though again unsurprised. “Correct. I trust you understand the danger to the Empire that such a Vulcan-Haakonan connection would pose if it were allowed to continue.”

  “I do indeed, Admiral. Therefore I shall apply my resources to the problem with the tenacity of a wild hnoiyika.”

  Now that Valdore better understood the origin of her smile, he returned it; her grin did indeed make her resemble a ravenous hnoiyika about to sever the jugular of some terrified rodent.

  “But I must caution you, Admiral,” T’Luadh continued. “Even the fiercest hnoiyika must be patient. Vulcans are quite clever adversaries. Tracking down and cutting off the specific supply line in question will take a great deal of careful intel gathering on the ground, and could take a considerable amount of time and effort.”

  Valdore knew he was not renowned for his patience. But he was also a military man of a highly practical bent; he knew when it was time to bow to necessity’s nonnegotiable demands.

  “In this instance, T’Luadh, results are far more important than raw speed,” he said. “But even if success can come only slowly, I trust I need not remind you that failure is not one of our available options.”

  She nodded and vanished from the screen, leaving Valdore alone with his thoughts.

  And vainly struggling to confine his worries to those matters he was capable of influencing directly.

  Sihaer nnea Rrhiol ch’Chulla, Romulus

  ”Major, I have an assignment for you,” said the woman on the screen.

  Talok tried to conceal how pleased he was by the prospect of the imminent alleviation of his between-missions boredom; such ennui was an occupational hazard that he didn’t like to broadcast, especially to his Tal Shiar superiors.

  “I’m listening, Colonel T’Luadh.”

  “It’s an extremely important assignment.”

  Sure it is, he thought wryly as he nodded toward the screen. But they’re all critically important, aren’t they?

  “This mission should be quite interesting to you, personally, Major,” she continued. “It begins on Vulcan.”

  In spite of himself, Talok’s right eyebrow rose in a steep slope, wordlessly ratifying her presumptions. He hadn’t been to Vulcan since he’d almost succeeded in subverting that planet’s government, alongside the ousted Administrator V’Las, in preparation for an Andorsu war and a Romulan conquest, both of which, sadly, had been aborted two years ago.

  “Tell me more, Colonel.”

  SIXTY-SIX

  Friday, April 2, 2156

  Enterprise, near the Berengaria system

  JONATHAN ARCHER STEPPED OUT of the turbolift and began a slow, counterclockwise stroll around the bridge’s comfortingly familiar circumference. He nodded to each individual crew member working at the various duty stations as he passed them.

  By the time he’d completed about three-quarters of the circuit, a hard realization struck him: With the exception of Malcolm Reed at the tactical console and Hoshi Sato at the comm station, none of the bridge personnel currently on duty had been aboard Enterprise for longer than a few months. Elrene Leydon had occupied Travis Mayweather’s old position as the alpha-shift helmsman for the past four months, and almost everybody else present had come aboard far more recently than that. The absence of T’Pol and Trip now seemed embarrassingly conspicuous.

  Archer quietly kicked himself for his momentary lapse into moping self-indulgence. He told himself that having a rock-steady, veteran hand working at tactical was far more important than the luxury of being surrounded by familiar faces.

  “Any further contact with the enemy?” Archer asked as he came to a stop near Lieutenant Reed.

  “Not since we took out that patrol four hours ago, Captain,” Malcolm said with an audible air of incredulity. “I honestly would have expected a lot more Romulan resistance this close to Berengaria. We’re less than an hour from crossing Berengaria’s magnetopause and entering the system, but the Romulans are still quiet. It’s almost as though they’re... distracted, or preoccupied.”

  Archer didn’t believe that for a moment. “That’d be very convenient for us, wouldn’t it? It’s more likely that the patrol warned them that we’re coming.”

  “The better to give us a very warm welcome,” Malcolm said with a nod. “Once they think they’ve lulled us into a false sense of security, that is.”

  Archer was aware, of course, that Reed wasn’t all that easily lulled. The lieutenant’s tactical assessment buoyed Archer’s growing sense of confidence in the coming battle’s likely outcome. And having his back covered by the largest starfaring attack force Earth had ever assembled didn’t hurt either.

  “Fleet readiness?” Archer asked.

  “Fully locked and loaded for bear,” Malcolm said, obviously proud of all the hard work he’d done coordinating tactical preparations across the entire fleet over the past several days. The battle group consisted almost entirely of Daedalus-class vessels whose offensive and defensive capabilities had benefited greatly from Malcolm’s expertise, in addition to the rush hardware upgrades those vessels had already received.

  “All MACO units report ready across the fleet, including landing equipment and ground matériel,” Malcolm continued. “And best of all, since Intrepid joined us, we now have a total complement of fourteen starships.”

  Archer grinned. Starfleet had originally ordered Intrepid deployed elsewhere, but Captain Carlos Ramirez had started twisting arms at Starfleet Command to get those orders revised. The way Carlos told the tale, Admiral Gardner finally knuckled under to his request to join the Berengaria battle group shortly after being made aware that the flotilla as originally constituted was comprised of thirteen vessels; a small but influential plurality of spacegoing humans still seemed to take that numeric superstition far too seriously, going back nearly two centuries to the Apollo era.

  Despite Archer’s escalating sense of confidence, he still felt a healthy distrust for any quiet that came immediately before an anticipated storm.

  Berengaria VII

  Archer arranged the flotilla into a one-hundred-klick-long linear formation in order to obscure the final, subluminal phase of the attack group’s approach to Berengaria’s mist-shrouded seventh planet. He appreciated the ironic justice of using one of the Romulans’ own tactics against them, having bet on the likelihood that they would be making as much use as they could of Berengaria’s preexisting warp-field detection grid.

  He dared to believe that his combined stealth tactics had actually worked by the time the hindmost vessels in the formation reported their insertion into an extended orbit about the planet.

  That, of course, was when a group of eight birds-of-prey came swooping up out of the cloud canopy, their weapons ports blazing in almost simultaneous fusillades of angry red disruptor fire.

  “Evasive, Ensign Leydon,” Archer barked. “Malcolm, polarize the hull plating. Target the lead ship and bring every tube to bear. Hoshi, tell the fleet to execute Tactical Plan Alpha.”

  As the bridge crew busied itself carrying out Archer’s orders, the battle seemed to unfold in dreamlike slow motion on the bridge’s central viewscreen. Hot blue phase cannon blasts and salvoes of photonic torpedoes lanced across the ever-dwindling distance between Enterprise and the nearest of the fiercely plumaged Romulan warships, while the Valley Forge and the Zefram Cochrane worked in tandem to engage another raptorlike hostile vessel. The Olympus dropped into the fray a moment later, her spherical primary hull and cylindrical secondary hull already showing severe damage from Romulan weapons fire. Her attitude control apparently haywire, the Olympus drew impossibly close to one of the Romulan craft. A moment later she disappeared in an expanding fireball, along with the Romulan, leaving Archer to wonder whether Olympus had actually been entirely out o
f control, or if a deliberate ramming maneuver had become her captain’s final viable option.

  “Keep hitting ’em!” Archer shouted to his own crew, addressing the fleet as well. “And get those dropships launched!”

  Once the sixty-odd small troop transports were away from the ships that carried them, the battle for Starbase 1—or whatever might remain of it following the long months of Romulan occupation—would finally be joined in earnest.