“Captain, the first duty of any Starfleet officer should be to the truth,” Reed said tightly. “Your obligation was to report the crisis on Etrafso immediately, not attempt to downplay it at the cost of lives!”
Nd’Orelag lowered his bulbous, bald head. “Then I have failed in my duties. I misunderstood. Perhaps my people are not ready for Federation membership after all.”
“Let’s not go that far,” Mayweather offered. “You made a mistake. That’s part of the learning process.”
“And frankly,” Tucker put in, “this isn’t about you. It’s about all those people you need to be helping.”
“Yes,” the Kinaph captain replied. “I have incurred a profound debt to them. I must put it right.”
“We all must,” Malcolm told him. “But first we need to figure out what ‘right’ means here.”
U.S.S. Endeavour, orbiting Denobula
Archer paced Endeavour’s briefing room, trying to absorb what Malcolm Reed had related to him over the wall screen. The signal from Pioneer, relayed as it was through multiple widely spaced subspace amplifiers, was blurry and laden with interference, but at least it was in real time. On the other half of the screen was a much clearer transmission from Admiral Shran on Andoria. The chief of staff of the Andorian Guard did not pace, but the way his antennae folded back against his white-haired cranium revealed his fury. Only Captain T’Pol, who stood by the end of the briefing table nearest the screen, seemed calm in light of Reed’s revelations.
“How did it get to this point?” Archer demanded. “Why didn’t sh’Prenni wait to gather more intelligence about this Partnership?”
Shran looked surprised. “You can’t be blaming her!”
“I’m not blaming anyone, Shran. I’m just trying to get answers.”
“You have to understand, sir,” Reed said. “We’ve seen the horrors the Ware leaves behind, the way it enslaves and ruins entire civilizations, even while they believe it’s doing them a favor. The Partnership’s protests just sounded like more of the same to her. They would have to any of us. If she’s guilty of anything, it’s excessive zeal to help people. The same zeal that’s always made her an asset to Starfleet.” He hesitated. “Still . . . we can’t deny that there is some truth to the Partnership’s claims. We may have gravely misjudged the situation here.”
“You can’t know that,” Shran said. “Yes, you’ve seen disruptions on one world, but you only have the Partnership’s word about conditions elsewhere. Maybe Thenar was right—maybe these no-tech races are the fodder that the Partnership’s true masters feed to the Ware. Maybe they even created the Ware.”
“Nothing the task force has observed would suggest that, Admiral,” T’Pol put in.
“Maybe, but they’ve given us plenty of reason to question their integrity. Partnering with Vabion. Hiring Klingons and mercenaries. Not to mention their ties to the Pebru.”
“I share your concern, Admiral Shran,” said Reed. “They want me to turn over . . . my consultants Collier and Akomo for their role in creating the shutdown protocol—something I’m vigorously resisting—but they’re working with Vabion even though he’s just as responsible for its creation.” Pioneer’s captain sighed. “Granted, though, Vabion had them over a barrel. We could shut down the Ware, so he offered them a line of defense we couldn’t deactivate.”
“In exchange for working Ware of their own to use back home!” Shran pointed out. “Can you imagine what the Klingons could do with drone battle fleets that advanced?”
“We do have a defense against Ware, Admiral,” Reed replied. “Besides, these are privateers, not Imperial soldiers.”
“That doesn’t mean they won’t do serious harm. We’ve seen how virulent the Ware plague can be. If it’s allowed to spread at all, it could engulf the Federation in time—not to mention all those other worlds we sent you out there to protect.” Shran’s antennae thrust forward belligerently. “We need to wipe it all out, without exception. If these Partnership people depend on it, find them an alternative. The one they’re using is unacceptable.”
“Shran,” Archer cautioned. Waiting until he was sure he had his friend’s attention, he said, “We’ve seen what happens when we meddle in other cultures without fully understanding them. Even with the best of intentions, it can go seriously wrong.”
“I know the rhetoric, Jonathan. The old Vulcan party line—let them develop at their own pace, make their own mistakes. If you ask me, that was just an excuse to do nothing to help others in need. The High Command certainly interfered when it was in their own interests.”
T’Pol retained her cool, but Archer could tell she did not appreciate the Andorian’s words. “Granted that the High Command abused the noninterference principle on occasion,” she said, “but are you suggesting that we should be just as arbitrary?”
“I’m suggesting that we live up to what the Federation stands for. We don’t sit idly by when people are in need. That’s the whole reason your task force is out there, Captain Reed. Thenar did what she was supposed to do.”
“That’s as may be, sir,” Reed said, “but the upshot is that she and her crew are in prison awaiting trial. If there’s a debate to be had over the ethics of her actions, that’s the place to have it—before the Partnership, so we can try to convince them that she acted with good intentions. Perhaps even convince them that there’s a better way than dependence on the Ware.”
“That presupposes,” T’Pol said, “that the Partnership’s justice system will be fair. Even if that is generally the case, civilizations often become unreasonable when they feel their survival or way of life has been threatened.”
“For what it’s worth,” Reed said, “they have agreed to delay the trial until sh’Prenni’s representative can gain sufficient familiarity with Partnership law.”
“Her representative?” Archer asked.
Reed grimaced. “Me, sir. Apparently, as the one responsible for sh’Prenni and her crew, I’m to be the advocate on their behalf. I tried to convince them that, as the person responsible, I should be the one on trial instead of her. But apparently the Partnership is organized according to a complex network of interdependencies and shared responsibilities, so that logic would be effectively useless if they tried to apply it here. In their system, the ones who actually committed the act must be the ones put on trial.”
“And they expect you to become an expert in their laws quickly enough to offer a valid defense?” a skeptical Shran asked.
“I’ve been assigned a Partnership legal advisor as co-counsel. And the trial isn’t scheduled for at least another six weeks.” He paused. “They’ve requested that the Federation send a diplomatic representative to negotiate a treaty agreement. They want assurances that we’ll honor whatever verdict they deliver.”
Shran sneered. “Diplomats. We should be sending you more battleships, so you can get sh’Prenni and her people out of there by force.”
“You talked about our principles, Shran,” Archer said. “We should at least try to give their system a chance to work fairly before we write it off.”
“Even if it means sacrificing one of the finest officers I ever trained?!”
“With respect, Admiral,” Reed said, “would Captain sh’Prenni expect any less from us?”
Shran subsided, unable to deny it. After a momentary lull, Archer traded a look with T’Pol, saw that they were in agreement, and spoke. “I’ll send Endeavour your way immediately, Malcolm. I’ll make arrangements to have a diplomatic team join them en route.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“But in the meantime, you’re to continue your search for the Ware’s origin world. Shran is right—the Ware is still dangerous. Even if the Partnership is on the level, even if they truly have found a way to coexist with the Ware, their use of it could still pose a threat to others.” On the screen, Shran looked up and met Archer’s gaze, but d
id not go so far as to convey gratitude. Shran could keep up a good sulk for months. “Everything we’ve learned about this technology suggests it was created as a trap, a tool to exploit other races. If we can prove that was the intent behind the Ware all along, it might convince the Partnership that sh’Prenni was acting in their best interests after all.”
“I agree, sir.” Reed looked uncertain. “If nothing else, it would keep my engineering team out of harm’s way. But as Thenar’s assigned advocate, I’m obliged to remain in the Partnership myself. And I’d prefer to stay close to Thenar in any case.”
“I understand.” Archer smiled for the first time in this conversation. “Why not turn Pioneer over to Travis? Give him some practice sitting in the big chair. I’d say he’s earned his shot by now.”
Reed smiled as well. “He has indeed, sir. It’s a splendid idea.”
Archer’s eyes darted to the other half of the screen. “Anything more to add, Shran?”
“Not for the moment,” the other chief of staff replied. “I want to let this simmer for a while before I really give you a piece of my mind.”
With a wry smirk, Archer said, “I look forward to it. Endeavour out.”
Shran disappeared from the screen, and Reed followed after signing off. T’Pol turned to the human admiral. “I’ll have Hoshi call the crew back from the surface.”
“Do that. But first, I want to speak to Phlox personally.”
Within a few minutes, Endeavour’s doctor was on the screen, and Archer filled him in on the situation. “I knew Endeavour would not be able to remain indefinitely, Admiral,” Phlox said. “However, I fear I will be unable to accompany it this time. I’m still needed here, as a witness in the legal proceedings against Mettus. And I need to be with my family in these trying times.”
Archer shook his head in sympathy. “I can’t imagine how you must feel, Phlox. Your own son . . .” The investigation had confirmed that it was indeed Mettus’s weapon that had struck the killing blow against Sohon Retab.
Phlox’s expression was tightly controlled. “I appreciate the sentiment, Admiral, but that . . . individual is my son in only the strictest biological sense. I gave him every chance, tried for years to get through to him, but this . . . this is what he has become, through his own choices. My only concern now is for Pehle and Vaneel . . . to help them work through this crisis.”
Archer could not disagree with the doctor’s sentiment. As harsh as it seemed, Mettus had brought it on himself with his atrocious act. “I understand, Phlox. I just wish there were something I could do.”
“Well . . . the Antaran people have just lost one of their most respected statesmen at the hands of a Denobulan,” Phlox said, his tone clinically detached. “I know that neither of our worlds is a Federation member, but depending on how the Antarans react, we may need to request a neutral mediator.”
“Do you think that likely, Doctor?” T’Pol asked.
Phlox shook his head. “I don’t know, T’Pol. I’d like to think that the Antarans wish to preserve the peace as much as we do. Our own Curia has already made it clear that they in no way endorsed this horrible crime and are receptive to extraditing Mettus for trial on Antar.” His voice faltered for a moment. “I suspect that should be enough to ameliorate any diplomatic tensions. Still, if you could monitor the situation, just in case . . .”
“Of course, Phlox,” Archer said. “Don’t you worry about that. Just take care of your family.”
The doctor nodded. “I do apologize, Captain, for leaving you without my services for such an important mission.”
“The cause is more than sufficient,” T’Pol told him. “I shall simply have to locate a substitute.”
Phlox brightened, in the sense that a dense fog is brighter than a thunderhead. “If I may make a suggestion . . . Jeremy Lucas is as accomplished an IME physician as I am. His credentials in interspecies medicine are impeccable, and he’s currently between assignments. He’s also charming company. I couldn’t recommend a better person.”
T’Pol tilted her head in acknowledgment. “Your endorsement is sufficient, Doctor. Provided Doctor Lucas is amenable, I have no objection.”
“Excellent.” Phlox foundered, unsure what else to say. “Well. Thank you both for attending the wedding. I’m sorry it couldn’t be a more positive memory for you.”
Archer smiled. “The wedding was great, Phlox. That’s the part I choose to remember. Thank you for having us.”
Phlox blinked his eyes several times, and hastened to sign off before he betrayed any more emotion. T’Pol turned to Archer and raised an eyebrow. “We seem to find ourselves amid a glut of prosecutions.”
“It never rains but it pours,” Archer agreed. “Let’s just hope that only one of them returns a guilty verdict.”
8
August 13, 2165
Ware construction complex, Rastish system
LOKOG STARED THROUGH the wide viewport and grinned as he watched the automated manipulators of the Ware spaceyard beyond assembling drone after drone with untiring efficiency. “With these,” he said, “the Klingon Empire will soon belong to the QuchHa’!”
Daskel Vabion looked at him sidelong. “Or perhaps the QuchHa’ will belong to the Ware.”
The Klingon scoffed. “Do not worry, businessman. If the drones develop an appetite, we will have plenty of HemQuch to sate them.” A rough chuckle followed. “And if we run out of them, there are always the humans.”
“Take care,” Vabion advised. He was not sure why he wasted his advice on this boorish pirate, although he supposed the man had a drive he could identify with. “Ambition is admirable. Ruthlessness is often necessary. But cruelty tends to backfire. I learned that the hard way. Look how many of the Ware’s users have turned against it when they learned the true price of its use. It’s a poor product that inspires such customer disloyalty.” He gazed around him at the automated station on whose indulgence he, Lokog, and so many in the Partnership relied. “Why do you think I seek the Ware’s creators rather than simply using their product? I will be at no other’s mercy, person or machine. This technology is astonishing, but it has a fatal design flaw.”
“The ability to kill is not a flaw.”
Vabion resisted glaring at the Klingon, aware that it could provoke a primitively violent reaction. “I meant fatal to it, and to the purposes of those who wish to profit from it. Once I find its creators and obtain their secrets—with or without their cooperation—I will show them a better way of applying this technology.”
Lokog sneered. “So that no one will be harmed anymore? You sound like a human.”
“No, Lokog. So that its owners’ control of the market will not be harmed due to the blatant shortcomings of their product. Feed off the consumers, yes. That is what they’re for. But do it in a way that makes them think you’re serving them.”
“That sounds no different from what the machines already do.”
“Except that the machines do it badly. They ruin or alienate their customers and thereby lose business. Have I not been explaining this to you?” He paused, reminding himself to temper his irritation. No matter how this primitive provoked him, he would not succumb to the same lack of control. “The difference is one of judgment. The judgment I can provide to perfect their flawed business plan.”
The Klingon examined him. “I respect your ambition, businessman. But do not underestimate the value of cruelty.” His jaw tightened. “You are used to being on top. It has been long since you have had to struggle and suffer beneath the heels of those who would hold you down. Perhaps you have forgotten how satisfying it is to put them in their place—to see them squirm beneath your own heel.”
“My ambitions are not so base as that,” Vabion insisted. Then he gave a slight sigh. “But I do not begrudge you yours. I have fulfilled my part of the bargain,” he said, gesturing toward the drone fleet quickly takin
g shape on the other side of the port, “and you have fulfilled yours. What you do now is no concern of mine. Once I master the Ware, I will have no shortage of other clients.”
“If Starfleet does not destroy it first,” Lokog countered.
“Starfleet is reasonable. If I show them I have overcome the Ware’s more predatory aspects, they will no longer be compelled to destroy it. They are an intelligent people who value progress and knowledge, even if their ethics occasionally blind them to opportunity. If I salve their ethical concerns sufficiently, I am sure they will come to appreciate the Ware’s value. They may even become valued customers of mine.”
“And how can you be so sure you can manipulate them?”
Vabion smiled. “Because they are idealists, while I am a pragmatist. That gives me the advantage. They will throw enormous resources into an act of charity, however misguided. I invest only in my own profit. And that is why I will inevitably win.”
Lokog laughed and clapped Vabion on the back, staggering the Vanotli and earning a glare of irritation. “To victory!” the Klingon crowed.
Vabion stared out at the Ware, seeing power in it far beyond the raw force that Lokog craved. “Yes,” he murmured. “Always.”
August 22, 2165
Partnership planet Cotesc
When Reshthenar sh’Prenni was brought into the visitation area, she brightened at the sight of Malcolm Reed, cried his name, and ran over to clasp his shoulders firmly—hard enough to make him wince. “Forgive me,” she said, letting go. “I’m just so glad to see you. And I forget how little you are in person,” she added, tousling his hair.
His urges to laugh and fidget were equally strong, so he gave in to them both. If anything, he was grateful that the Partnership did not forbid direct physical contact between prisoners and visitors, trusting the Ware’s sensors to detect any contraband. “It’s good to see you too, Thenar. I wanted to come much sooner, but—”
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