The Xavoth were a flying species, averaging nearly two meters long with torpedo-shaped bodies and stubby delta wings, more than sufficient for lift in this thick, buoyant carbon dioxide atmosphere. Three pairs of slender limbs, ending in three-digited appendages serviceable as both feet and hands as needed, descended from the underside of the body, able to fold flat against it in flight. They were among the more dexterous species within the Partnership, limited in technology more by their inhospitable environment than their anatomy. As T’Pol watched, two Xavoth experts, a doctor and an engineer, perched on their hindmost limbs while using their others to detach the neural interface and feeding tubes from the comatose Xavoth on the berth between them, an individual whose wings were wrapped tightly around its body and limbs so that it somewhat resembled an ear of Earth corn. Despite the volunteer’s compactness, T’Pol recognized that the berth was larger and more ergonomic than the bare slabs she had observed thirteen years ago during her rescue of Travis Mayweather from the Ware repair station that had captured him. Also, the entire data core facility appeared more clean and inviting, allowing for the profoundly alien needs and aesthetics of the Xavoth. It was clearly a place that was visited routinely, unlike a typical Ware data core.
Even so, the Partnership technicians worked briskly and with an air of calm alertness. T’Pol could understand why. According to the task force logs as well as her own one-time experience, the Ware possessed vigorous physical and digital security systems to resist any form of tampering. Normally, any intrusion into a primary data core would be objected to strenuously by the automated systems. Anyone who attempted to access a core would be summarily beamed away, and any who circumvented that and attempted to remove the living processors would be met with aggressive retaliation upon their exit, pursued relentlessly until the liberated “components” had been retrieved. T’Pol knew this security was not infallible; she had personally disabled the repair station’s transporters during Mayweather’s rescue. But she also knew that the Ware was capable of self-repair. That the Partnership had managed to bypass or spoof the programming sufficiently to allow this exchange of volunteers at all, let alone maintain it on a continuous basis on more than a dozen worlds, was truly impressive. Yet the hushed, vigilant haste with which the technicians proceeded was a reminder that the underlying threat of the Ware had not been eliminated, only tempered. Jahlet noted this in more poetic terms: “Like trying to remove a cub from the bower of a sleeping raptor-wolf.”
The thought prompted T’Pol to step closer to the new Xavoth volunteer, a female named Bexa-Xak. (All Xavoth she had met so far identified as female. T’Pol had not yet inquired about the apparent absence of males, aware it might be an offensive question.) “You are certain you wish to do this?” T’Pol asked.
The Xavoth had little in the way of a readable face; the species relied mainly on an echolocation node and chemosensor tendrils to perceive its environment, and had only small, nearsighted eyes on the underside of its forward tip. But T’Pol could recognize the assurance in Bexa-Xak’s body language. “It is with pride that I offer myself for the benefit of my fellow Partners,” she replied. “I have awaited this opportunity for years.”
“And you are fully aware of what will happen to you? That your mind will be subordinated to a mechanism, your will and consciousness suppressed, your brain and body subjected to harmful stresses?”
Bexa-Xak turned toward her. “All my life, I have shared in the blessings the Ware gives us. When I nearly lost my first litter, the Ware healed me and ensured that they were born alive and healthy. A few months of my life are the least I can offer in repayment.”
“Do you not at least wish to wait to ensure that Hakev-Tal is well before you take her place?” T’Pol continued, naming the volunteer currently being revived.
Rinheith Chep came alongside them—merely to get T’Pol’s attention, since they could all hear one another clearly through their suit comms. Fendob remained where she was, though her eyes followed Rinheith’s every move. “That is not an option,” the Hurrait Partner told T’Pol. “As you know, the Ware is not designed to release its processors. Our ability to circumvent its security relies on the rapid replacement of reawakened volunteers. We will need to install Bexa-Xak in the berth before we will be able to leave with Hakev-Tal.”
“So you just expect her to trust that it’ll be safe?” Valeria Williams asked.
“I do not.” A brief shudder ruffled his downy orange feathers. “I offer myself as evidence. I was a volunteer for Ware service eight years ago. I did my term as a processor, contributed my brainpower to the operation of our society, and recovered without permanent harm.”
“Before you became a Senior Partner?” T’Pol asked.
“In between my two terms in that role.” Rinheith tilted his birdlike head to peer at her sharply. “If you expected that the elites of our society exempted ourselves from the selection rolls, you were mistaken. We could not call ourselves Partners if we did not take on the responsibilities of that title.” He glanced toward Bexa-Xak. “Or the risks.”
“Yes,” the Xavoth added. “I was informed of the risks when I volunteered, Captain T’Pol. There is a slight chance, even with the best screening, that I may emerge with damage to my neural conduits. There are even deaths—rarely, but they do happen.
“But it is not as if I am free from risk in my daily life,” she went on. “At any time, I could be caught in an acid windstorm or buried in a rock melt. I could be taken by a predator that got past the security drones. If anything, I will be safer in here, with my condition constantly monitored and doctors ready to assist me at any time.”
“If we did not take this slight risk as individuals,” Tefcem var Skos added, “then all our people would be deprived of the Ware’s bounty, completely vulnerable to starvation, disease, predators, and ignorance. This is the fate that you would wish upon us. So do not pretend your compassion for our volunteers is so great. Not when you would attempt to instill fear in Bexa-Xak at the moment when she most needs reassurance.”
T’Pol took his point and schooled herself to silence. The captain realized she had been provoked by an emotion—her distaste at the idea of mental invasion and control, a remnant of her recent ordeal in V’Las’s custody. Yet Bexa-Xak’s words made it very clear that she was submitting voluntarily. If T’Pol was concerned for the Xavoth’s mental autonomy, then it was incumbent upon her to respect that choice. Whether the same choice would continue to be required for Partners in the future was a question that would not be resolved here.
The remainder of the procedure went smoothly. Once the doctor and technician were ready to awaken Hakev-Tal, they laid Bexa-Xak on an identical pallet and administered a sedative. When Hakev-Tal’s neural implant was disengaged, the Ware sounded an alarm and an automated warning that “theft of primary data core components” would not be permitted. Jahlet, who had never heard a Ware warning announcement before, was startled; Williams and the guard grew more alert. But the transfer team took the repeating announcement in stride as they efficiently swapped out the two pallets and attached the neural implant to Bexa-Xak. A tense moment elapsed before the warning subsided, but the team had already begun the careful process of inserting the life-support tubes that would sustain the Xavoth during her months of service.
Rinheith and var Skos allowed T’Pol to scan Hakev-Tal’s biosigns and neural activity, comparing them to the baseline scan she had taken of Bexa-Xak earlier. As far as she could tell, the recovering volunteer was awakening normally, still weak but with no signs of lasting damage. When Hakev-Tal spoke, it was to thank the Partners for taking care of her. Rinheith and var Skos did not allow the Starfleet personnel or Jahlet to speak to her directly, not wishing to confuse her, but Rinheith asked for their benefit: “How was the service period for you? Do you recall anything of your time within the Ware?”
“No,” the Xavoth said after a moment’s thought. “I drifted to s
leep, and now I wake. I feel weak, though . . . as if I had flown halfway around the planet.”
Rinheith issued what may have been a chuckle. “I would give much to know what that feels like, my friend,” he said, shrugging to indicate the nonfunctional wings encased in his environment-suit sleeves. “But I have been where you are. They will take good care of you while you regain your strength.”
While half the medical team remained to ensure Bexa-Xak’s smooth transition, the other half led Hakev-Tal through the makeshift hatchway that the Xavoth engineers had managed to install in the bulkhead of the data core, taking care not to dislodge the sensor interference modules around its frame. “We should leave with them,” Rinheith advised, “so that the breach does not remain open for too long.”
Rinheith exited the core first, assisted by Fendob, but var Skos remained behind, watching the Federation contingent warily and exiting after the last of them. The party proceeded along a familiar, white-walled corridor, though the dense air created a reddish tinge in the near distance. Jahlet stroked the wall surface with a white-gloved hand. “Remarkable,” she said. “That this material can withstand so many extremes of temperature and atmosphere. I thought Rigel unparalleled in the diversity of its environments and peoples; I see now how limited my perspective was.”
“Indeed, the robustness of the construction material is extraordinary,” T’Pol said, “particularly considering that this corrosive atmosphere would dissolve nearly all metals. The technology that created the Ware must have been formidable indeed.” Meeting Jahlet’s pale eyes, she could tell that the ambassador read her subtext: such technology would be difficult to counter.
But Jahlet turned her attention to Rinheith, in the evident hope that individuals could be more amenable to persuasion. “Partner Rinheith,” the ambassador asked, “why did you not mention your term as a Ware processor before?”
The Hurraait’s body language was difficult to read, due as much to his alien anatomy as to his heavy environment suit, but the interruption in his gait indicated that the question had provoked an emotional response. “It is not a pleasant thing to dwell on,” he admitted. “We serve for the good of all Partners, but it is a strain upon the body and mind. My recovery was slow and difficult. And when I awoke, I learned that Gondob, the Monsof who had been my Hands since my earliest days, had died of old age.” He extended a wing to brush Fendob’s back. “Fendob, his daughter, was a great help and comfort during my recovery, but being required to miss his final days was the one sacrifice I wish the Ware had spared me from.”
T’Pol noted the uneasy reactions of Reed and Williams. She gathered that they perceived the Monsof’s service to the Hurraait as a form of slavery. But watching Rinheith and Fendob, T’Pol recognized that the Hurraait were as helpless without the Monsof’s dexterity as the Monsof were without the Hurraait’s intellect. If the Monsof had wished to escape or even dominate the Hurraait, they would have been physically capable of doing so with ease.
Perhaps Reed was aware of this as well, for his next words were otherwise directed. “You chastise us for lacking compassion. But is the Ware really so much better? So benevolent that it preys upon you, drains you to the death unless you trick it into letting you go? So merciful that you have to watch in fear at every moment that it might catch on to what you’re doing and turn on you?”
They entered a lift, and Reed continued. “Have you really achieved a stable symbiosis with the Ware, or have you just found a way to appease a predator? You said it yourself, you’d be helpless without it. That gives it all the power. You may have found a way to make the best of a bad situation, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t better options. There are societies out there that would help you without demanding your mental subjugation in return.”
“Your Federation?” var Skos countered as the lift began to rise.
“Yes,” Jahlet replied simply.
Reed added: “Or the Tyrellians, the Menaik, other neighbors in this region.”
“We have seen what our ‘neighbors’ think of us. The Manochai, the Guidons, the Silver Armada, all have sought to ‘liberate’ us from the Ware and reduce us to our former primitive existence, or total dependence upon them.”
“How,” T’Pol asked, “is total dependence upon the Ware any better?”
“Because the Ware is neutral. It is a mechanism, operating without volition or malice. It is a force of nature, one that gives and takes without prejudice.”
“But what about the Ware’s creators?” Reed countered. “They designed this system, its traps, its lures and deceptions. They set it loose upon the galaxy to prey on others.”
“Then where are they? Why have they not come for us? We have never seen them. We have only seen races like the Silver Armada and the Federation.”
“We aren’t like those others. We want nothing from you beyond your participation as equals.”
Exiting the lift brought them to the airlock where their atmospheric transport craft was docked. The Starfleet personnel had been reluctant to entrust themselves to the Ware transporters, and both T’Pol and Reed had been intrigued by the opportunity to explore a Venus-like environment, hence this more conventional mode of travel—if anything in these conditions could be called conventional.
“The Federation,” Jahlet explained as they stepped into the airlock, “is an alliance of diverse worlds joined in mutual interest. Multiple species cooperate and share knowledge and culture, much as you do here in the Partnership. Our societies are very much alike, with similar ideals. You would be welcomed as members of the Federation, and would share in its benefits equally, as my own Rigel system has done.”
“So you say,” var Skos replied. “And yet these others wear the same uniform as those who attacked our Ware without warning, without regard for the safety of the people of Sris and Etrafso and Rastish. Why should we expect more consideration from your state than any other?”
There was little to say in response to that, and little opportunity as the dense atmosphere was replaced with one suited to Minshara-class conditions, allowing the party to remove their environment suits. Rather than risk provoking the Partners further, the Federation party proceeded to the observation deck of their transport as it undocked from the data core facility.
Since the carbon dioxide atmosphere outside was considerably denser than the nitrogen-oxygen mix within, the vehicle was naturally buoyant and rose without the need for thrust. It was, T’Pol reflected, an elegant design. And the view outside was fascinating. It was difficult to see much through the thick, ruddy atmosphere, a fluid so dense that it warped the light and made the landscape appear concave, like the interior of a bowl. But T’Pol could see an elaborate Ware-built city extending in all directions around the data core, with thousands of delta-winged Xavoth flying effortlessly among the ziggurat-shaped structures. Most flying species expended considerable metabolic cost to stay airborne, which was why larger ones like the Hurraait often became flightless. But the Xavoth were almost neutrally buoyant in their native atmosphere, flying as easily as an Earth dolphin swam.
The transport rose swiftly, and the cityscape was lost to view through the ruddy murk. Before long, the view was further obscured as they entered the dense clouds of sulfuric acid and sulfur dioxide that enswathed the Venus-like world. This was all they would see for several minutes.
“It is remarkable,” T’Pol said to Reed during the lull. “In all my travels, I have never seen an environment like this with my own eyes, rather than through sensor telemetry.” The Starfleet personnel and the ambassador were gathered together by the windows, while the Senior Partners sat at a Ware matter-replication table and ordered beverages. For them, this journey was routine.
“We’ve seen so many,” Reed replied. “Hot planets, ice planets, ocean worlds . . . I’ll give the Partnership this: the diversity they’ve achieved is staggering.”
“It is the Vulcan ideal of
Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations,” T’Pol agreed, “achieved more fully than even the Federation has managed.”
“Granted, though, these are not the kind of species you’d normally encounter in an interstellar civilization. The one thing that unites them is that they wouldn’t fit in anywhere else.”
“Indeed. I cannot deny that it is the Ware that made this alliance possible. It provides them ready transport to other worlds, grants translation between their languages, offers assistance to let them function in one another’s gravities and atmospheres, and meets all their resource needs so they have nothing to fight over.”
“Their biologies are so different,” Ambassador Jahlet observed, “that most have no overlapping needs to begin with. They would have had no reason to fight over resources or territory.”
“Nor would they have even interacted, absent the Ware,” T’Pol replied
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Reed objected. “Other races, like the Federation or the Tyrellians, would’ve contacted them in time. Interacted with them, traded with them.”
Rise of the Federation: Live by the Code Page 18
