Rise of the Federation: Live by the Code

by Christopher L. Bennett

  Crouching down to scratch the little dog between the ears, Archer used his other hand to tap at the activation switch, finding it by feel. “Marcus, unless this is urgent, your timing really stinks.”

  “Oh, I’m confident you’ll want to hear this news, Admiral.”

  It wasn’t Marcus Williams. Still, Archer recognized the smug, nasal voice instantly, even though he’d only heard it a few times in his life. He sat up to face the gray-haired, black-suited man who’d broken into his comm channel. “Harris. What do you want?”

  The Section 31 operative gave him a polite smile that Archer found less than convincing. “This is a courtesy call, Admiral Archer. I know that recent events have placed you under a great deal of stress,” he went on, pointedly saying nothing about just how he knew. “So I just wanted to assure you that a solution is already in hand.”

  Archer’s eyes narrowed. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “The less you know at this point, the better. But you’ll understand soon enough. For tonight, just rest easy. You can afford to now.”

  Archer didn’t sleep a wink that night.

  October 18, 2165

  Starfleet Headquarters

  The explanation came as soon as Archer entered his office the next morning. The aides were in a hectic state, and Captain Williams strode through them to address the admiral upon catching sight of him. “Admiral! It’s astonishing, sir. According to our intelligence reports . . . our listening posts . . .”

  Had the invasion started? The captain sounded too relieved for that. “What is it, Marcus?”

  “Sir, all the Klingon ships are withdrawing from our borders. The entire fleet has been reassigned. The High Council’s even put out diplomatic feelers to the Federation. Sir, something’s changed their minds.”

  Archer stared, dumbstruck. Finally he asked, “The war is over?”

  “Technically, it never started. There was never a formal declaration on either . . .” Archer waved him off, and Williams nodded. “Yes, sir—I’d say it’s over.”

  The admiral studied him. “Then why don’t you look happier, Marcus?” The taller man hesitated. “Captain . . . what is it?”

  “Sir . . . the Klingon fleet hasn’t demobilized. It’s just been redeployed.”

  “Where to?”

  The look of concern in Williams’s eyes reminded Archer that his aide’s daughter was aboard Pioneer. “Sir . . . they’re on course for Partnership space.”

  17

  Menvoq VI, Klingon Empire

  LANETH GRINNED WOLFISHLY as the command post’s view­screen showed the HemQuch warships beginning to emerge from warp—not far from the hundred-plus Ware drones ­arrayed to defend the planet. “We will make short work of them,” she said. “And then, to Qo’noS!”

  Next to her, General Kor crossed his arms over his burly frame. “Do not fight your next battle before you have won the current one, my dear.” She glared at his condescension. “Still, I admire your passion for the fight.” The gray-templed general gestured in displeasure at the command center around them. “Standing here, directing dots on a screen . . . it lacks the grandeur, the intensity of the real thing.”

  Laneth chuckled. “It will be intense enough for the Imperials as they die.”

  “Yes, but why should they get all the satisfaction?”

  She rolled her eyes at the nobleman’s pomposity. It delayed her recognition of the anomaly on the tactical display. “Wait . . . why are there only three warships?”

  The son of Kaltar stroked his beard. “A scouting party, perhaps,” Kor said. “To assess our strength before the mass attack. But Ramnok and B’orel have not been so cautious in their tactics before.”

  “If that is so,” Laneth pointed out, “we should destroy them immediately, before they can report our numbers.”

  “Yes, of course,” Kor agreed with a sigh. “Hardly worth getting out of bed for.” He gave her a courtly bow. “But you are welcome to do the honors, my lady.”

  Suppressing a growl of annoyance, Laneth stepped to the controls. However much she disliked Kor and his elitist attitudes, she was the representative of General K’Vagh, and she would act with the dignity that came with that posting. Besides, she relished the opportunity to direct the drones that would blow more HemQuch fools into atoms. They would call it dishonorable, Kor would call it mundane—but to her, it was simply progress, a more efficient and practical way of destroying one’s enemies.

  “Switch to visual,” she ordered as two squadrons of drones moved in on the three approaching warships. She wanted to see their destruction as directly as possible. She grinned again as the drones spread into their attack formation, their command ships hanging back at a safe distance.

  “Captain!” one of the sensor technicians announced. “The Imperial ships are beaming some kind of signal at the drones. Targeting the command ships most strongly, but encompassing the entire formation.”

  “What signal?” Laneth asked, only mildly puzzled. Surely they would not be so stupid as to think there was anyone on the command drones to talk to; by now they must know that the only life-forms aboard them were the servitors and prisoners whose brains fed their data cores.

  “Unknown. It is extremely complex . . . almost like a teleportation signal, but no one is transporting aboard.”

  A few moments passed before another technician, this one in charge of monitoring the drones’ performance, furrowed his smooth brow and reported, “Captain, there is some kind of new activity in the drones’ computers. They have activated their repair programs.”

  Laneth frowned. “They have not yet been damaged!”

  “No, Captain. I do not— Hold, Captain . . . something is happening!”

  Before she could chastise him for his vague report, the visuals on the screen rendered further words unnecessary. Laneth watched the magnified views of the drones in shock as they faltered in their paths, began to dissolve from within, and finally exploded one by one.

  “What has happened?” she demanded.

  “I do not know!” the technician cried.

  Sick of hearing that, Laneth drew her disruptor and burnt a hole in his chest. She shoved his corpse aside and began inputting her own commands.

  “What are you doing?” Kor asked, moving in behind her.

  “Sending the rest of the drones. We must destroy those ships before they do that again!”

  But it was futile. Every wave of combat drones disintegrated before it could even reach firing range of the Imperials. The three battleships drew relentlessly closer to Menvoq VI.

  They have made progress too, Laneth realized.

  “Excellent!” Kor crowed, making her stare at him in bewilderment. “Let them come. At last, we can do real battle!”

  “Are you mad, old man?” she demanded. “We must withdraw! Without the drones, we have too few ships to hold the planet.”

  “We have more than they do.”

  “We are two days from the homeworld! Now that these have done their job, more will surely come. Kor, if we have lost our advantage, we must conserve the ships and warriors we have. We must consolidate our forces around the territory we can hold!”

  Clenching his teeth, he stared down at her. “Is that the will of K’Vagh?”

  “It is my will. Which the general trusts me to exercise. He will agree.”

  For all his elitist bluster, Kor knew how to act resolutely when he needed to. “Very well. To the ships! We will withdraw to Qu’Vat and regroup for the next stage of the war.”

  Laneth appreciated his confidence, if only because it motivated the soldiers as they abandoned the post (readying a delayed self-destruct before they left, of course, as a trap for the incoming occupiers). But she feared that, with this strange new power the Imperials had to destroy the Ware with the wave of a hand, the war was as good as lost.

&nb
sp; We should never have trusted that fool Lokog, Laneth thought—but then she smiled. At least they will be coming for him too.

  U.S.S. Endeavour, Arvospu system

  T’Pol studied the contingent of Klingon battlecruisers that had emerged from warp on the outskirts of the Arvospu system’s cometary belt. The five D5-class warships would indeed present a formidable challenge to the defenders of the system. This very battle group, one of several currently invading Partnership space, had already defeated multiple drone squadrons, often several at once, by anticipating and countering their limited battle strategies. This group had lost one cruiser and sustained significant damage to several more in the process, yet had nonetheless emerged triumphant. T’Pol calculated that the addition of Endeavour and sh’Lavan to Arvospu’s defense would improve the odds of success, particularly as they had been granted interface access to the command drones, able to modify their programmed responses to a certain degree. In Endeavour’s case, Thanien ch’Revash would direct his drone squadrons from the situation table at the rear of the bridge. Yet those odds were uncomfortably far from certainty.

  Still, T’Pol had not come to fight, if it could be avoided. Negotiation with Klingons was a difficult prospect at the best of times, far more so when they were actively engaged in combat. Yet she had seen Jonathan Archer accomplish it on more than one occasion. She hoped she would be able to manage as well. “Hail the lead ship,” she instructed Hoshi Sato.

  The Klingon captain who appeared on the viewscreen was young but commanding in appearance, his forehead plating pronounced and edged along the temples with serrated ridges. He looked oddly familiar to T’Pol—perhaps a relative of some Klingon she had met before. “This is General Ja’rod, commanding the Imperial invasion fleet,” he declared. “Stand down or be destroyed!”

  “I am Captain T’Pol of the U.S.S. Endeavour,” she replied. “We have no wish to fight you, but we cannot permit you to occupy this system.”

  Ja’rod glowered at her. “You are known to me, Vulcan. You served under Archer on his ship.”

  “That is correct. And I have done business with the High Council before, most recently in the matter of Chancellor M’Rek’s post mortem. I request that we parley and attempt to negotiate an honorable resolution to the current crisis.”

  “Your Federation’s concept of honor eludes me, Vulcan. First you attempted to destroy the technology of these infernal drones, yet now you attempt to protect it.”

  “We seek only to protect those who depend upon the Ware for their way of life.”

  “They have allied themselves with enemies of the Klingon Empire. Their way of life is over.”

  “That was not their intent. They acted only in self-defense, but were taken advantage of by a dangerous renegade. He demanded their technology in exchange for his protection, then sold that technology to your . . . competing parties within the Empire.”

  “Protection from you, it seems.”

  “Regrettably, yes. General Ja’rod, this entire situation has arisen as a consequence of a series of misunderstandings and poor choices by a few individuals, and the willingness of a few others to exploit them for personal gain. Now it has escalated out of control, at great cost to millions. But the damage can be mitigated by a similarly few individuals, if they make the right choices here and now. You and I are in a position to become those individuals. Please, General. Do not allow us both to be swept away by the tide of circumstance that has engulfed us. Let us take control of our fates together.”

  Ja’rod laughed bitterly. “Did you learn to lie so well from your Vulcan teachers, or from Archer? I said I know of you, Captain T’Pol. Our fates are already entangled. For I am Ja’rod—son of Duras.”

  T’Pol raised a brow. That explained the familiarity of his ridge pattern.

  “Yes,” Ja’rod went on, noting her recognition. “Duras, whom your human master Archer disgraced and then slew. There is blood between us, Vulcan. And even though yours is green, I know it will flow just as freely.”

  “Your father’s fate was the consequence of his own actions,” T’Pol said for the record, knowing it would make no difference. “He left us no choice.”

  Again, Ja’rod laughed. “And your Ha’DIbaH allies’ fate is the consequence of their actions. So by your own logic, Vulcan . . . my choice is equally clear.”

  The general signed off, and the armada returned to the viewer, looming still closer. But it was not long before Sato reported: “Captain, they’re broadcasting some kind of signal. Not to us . . . toward the drones,” she finished with a frown.

  T’Pol addressed Thanien over her shoulder. “Commander, drone status?”

  “Nominal, Captain,” the seasoned Andorian officer replied. “No, wait . . . there’s a power drain.” He worked the tabletop controls. “The replication and repair systems are engaging. The drones are nonresponsive.”

  “Captain!” Lieutenant Cutler cried from the science station moments later. “The drones are breaking up!”

  “Onscreen.” The angle changed to a telescopic view of the nearest drone squadron. T’Pol watched intently as the blocky gray ships dissolved from within and exploded. Another familiar sight—but this time, she knew exactly what it resembled.

  “Elizabeth,” she said, “analysis of the signal?”

  “It’s our own protocol, Captain. From the botched trial at Etrafso. The signal that destroyed the Ware.”

  “How did they get it?” a stunned Sato asked.

  “That can be determined later,” T’Pol answered. “Lieutenant, has there been any progress toward a countermeasure?”

  “The team’s still working,” Cutler said. “But they’ve been searching for a modification of that command set, not something to shut it down once it’s been fed in. After all, it’s not like they had any plans to . . . to use it.”

  “Uzaveh,” Thanien swore. “Captain, the drones transmitted the signal before they were destroyed! It’s been relayed to other Ware within the system!”

  It took only a second for T’Pol to realize the ramifications, and a second more to launch into action. “Hoshi, contact the Arvospuan authorities. Warn them to evacuate any populations dependent on Ware life support, and to sever all data and communication links with other Partnership systems immediately.” While the previous shutdown signal had only been powerful enough to reach one star system at a time, this one co-opted the Ware’s own mechanisms, giving it a much greater potential reach.

  “If the signal’s already been sent,” Cutler advised, “it may be too late to save them all. And where could they go? All the technology in the system is Ware.”

  “Except us. Ensign,” she said to Ortega at the helm, “take us back to Arvospu. Hoshi, advise Captain Sharn to follow. We shall rescue as many as we can. Advise the medical section to prepare life-support chambers.”

  Thanien stepped forward to her side. “Captain, the Kling­ons—­shouldn’t we try to stop them?”

  “We and sh’Lavan could not survive a firefight, and certainly could not destroy all five battlecruisers. So long as even one survives, it retains the capacity to destroy all Ware in an entire system—or more, if we cannot successfully quarantine each system. Battle would be a futile gesture under the circumstances. Our energies will be better spent evacuating what Partners we can and working on a defense against the destructive signal.”

  Thanien stared. “It took over a week to get as far as creating the destruct code. Will our defense efforts be any less futile a gesture?”

  She held his gaze evenly. “I do not know, Thanien. But we and the Partners must at least survive if we are to try.”

  U.S.S. Pioneer, orbiting Rastish

  “The Klingon fleet is twenty minutes away,” Rey Sangupta advised. “We can barely even begin to evacuate in that time. It’s not just the Nierl and Xavoth and others from non-Minshara environments. There’s that huge floa
ting city in the ocean. We have a team there right now!”

  “We need a way to buy time,” Malcolm Reed said. He turned to the team gathered in the situation room: Tucker, Akomo, Banerji, and Vabion. “Is there any way to block the signal?”

  Akomo shook her head. “There’s Ware all over the system. The destruct signal only needs to reach one receiver to do its job. We made it too potent.”

  “Then you need to devise some kind of countersignal to negate its effect. Better yet, to immunize against it.”

  “We still don’t know how to fix the mistakes that created the destruct code. We wouldn’t know where to begin.”

  Vabion finally spoke. “We already have a countersignal,” he said. “Think about it.” His eyes fell on Travis Mayweather as he spoke.

  The first officer’s eyes widened. “The shutdown command!”

  “The one I helped you create, yes. With our improved interface protocols, it should be easy enough to adapt into a broadcast signal. No need for Mister Banerji’s probes.”

  “But it only works,” Banerji pointed out, “with the cooperation of the sleepers. These sleepers are volunteers.”

  “We know the Partnership’s protocols for notifying the volunteers it’s time to wake up,” Akomo suggested.

  Mayweather shook his head. “That wouldn’t be enough. When I was inside, interfaced with the other sleepers, we didn’t just wake up. We actively made the Ware shut down.”

  “Rather, you told one another to do so,” Vabion pointed out. “A suggestion the others willingly accepted. The volunteers wish to serve the Partnership. Let us include a status advisory informing the sleepers that the system is in danger and needs to be shut down.”

  “What if they aren’t convinced?” Akomo asked. “Most of them have missed the events of the past few weeks.”

  “They don’t have to be convinced,” Mayweather told her. “Even revived, they’re half-asleep. It’s visceral, instinctive. Controlling the Ware is like controlling your own body. If they feel it’s in danger, they’ll react by reflex.”