Star Trek: Enterprise - 017 - Rise of the Federation: Uncertain Logic

by Christopher L. Bennett

  Archer moaned, his head shaking under the aged melder’s grip. Despite the drugs and the influence of the meld, he was still resisting, and T’Pol could see that the melding adept was struggling. It was conceivable that the admiral might actually succeed at holding the melder at bay. The human will could be truly impressive at times. And Archer’s determination was particularly unyielding, fueled by the ideals and hopes for the future to which he clung so tightly, and by his deep dedication to his friends and colleagues. T’Pol feared, though, that his resistance would result in damage to his brain. Invasive melding, as she knew from experience, was a violent assault on the central nervous system, creating chemical imbalances that could cause permanent harm. T’Pol had instructed him, as best she could in the brief time available, in the techniques of resistance, but applying them was entirely in his hands. It was intolerable that there was nothing she could do to assist her friend.

  As intolerable as watching V’Las standing over Archer, gloating at the harm he was inflicting on the man who had brought about his own ruin. “Have patience, T’Pol,” he told her, noting her eyes upon him. “Your turn will come soon.”

  Despite all her study of Surak’s word, some part of her yearned to inflict violence upon him for that. So for a moment she thought it was her imagination when a distant explosion sounded from somewhere in the compound. But soon, Zadok burst into the room. “Administrator! Vulcan Security is here, with a Starfleet team.”

  “What? How did we not detect their approach?”

  “They exploited the interference around the lake, as did we! Sir, we are compromised. We must get you safely to the fleet.”

  “No!” V’Las stared covetously at Archer and T’Pol. “Not when I’m so close to bringing them down.”

  “The coup will still work without them, sir. We cannot succeed without you!”

  The appeal to his ego persuaded him, predictably enough. “Very well. But not without the original! We still need that!”

  “I’ll escort you, sir.” A burst of Starfleet-issue particle rifle fire sounded. T’Pol had never imagined she would find that sound so agreeable. “But we must hurry! I’ll get Sokanis.”

  “Leave him! It will take too long to break the meld.” At Zadok’s hesitation, V’Las roared, “You wanted me to go, so let us go!”

  They fled, and T’Pol waited, staring tensely at the melder and hoping he had not done too much damage already. Moments later, Subdirector T’Syra led a team into the room. Seeing Sokanis with Archer, she rushed over, took a breath, and put her own hands on the melder’s head. Meanwhile, a subaltern came over to T’Pol and worked to free her restraints. Before long, Sokanis gasped, convulsed, and fell unconscious to the floor.

  Now free, T’Pol rushed to Archer’s side. “I had to pull him out rather forcibly,” T’Syra said, nodding toward the man on the floor. “I may have damaged him.”

  “I care only about the damage to the admiral,” T’Pol told her in a rough voice. “How is he?”

  T’Syra laid a hand on Archer’s brow, more delicately this time. After a few moments, she opened her eyes and withdrew her hand. “He is disoriented, and he has been under great strain. But I believe whatever this man was attempting was unsuccessful. The admiral has strong mental barriers.”

  “Excellent,” T’Pol said, striding toward the door. “Try to bring him around. I’m going after V’Las.” T’Syra was wise enough to make no attempt to stop her.

  Heading swiftly down the corridor, still clad only in her black undershirt and shorts, T’Pol soon spotted an Endeavour tactical team led by Crewman Valmar. “Cover me,” she ordered them; though they responded with admirable efficiency, they still needed to run to catch up with her. Valmar slapped a spare phase pistol into her hand once he caught up.

  And not a moment too soon. They came upon V’Las and Zadok just as they were entering a chamber off a side corridor. Zadok and another guard opened fire, forcing the team to take cover around the corner. But T’Pol was not willing to wait through a prolonged firefight. Calling up her memory of the enemies’ positions, she calculated her motion precisely, then dropped to the floor in clear view of the two assailants. She had stunned them both before they could adjust their aim downward. She converted her remaining momentum into a tumble and came up to her bare feet, then hastened to the door. Peeking inside, she saw V’Las and another Vulcan closing an upright container some fifty centimeters high, evidently preparing to take it with them. V’Las spotted her and ducked behind the container and the platform on which it rested. The other man, evidently not a combatant, ducked for cover. Moments later, V’Las fired from his position, pinning T’Pol outside the door.

  But Valmar’s team had caught up by now, and more phase pistol fire poured into the room. She peered around the door frame again to see V’Las making one more grab for the container. She fired, grazing his left shoulder and causing his arm to fall limp. With a growl of frustration, V’Las activated a communicator. “Get me out of here now!”

  T’Pol fired determinedly, but a transporter shimmer engulfed him and left only empty air behind.

  While the guards poured in and secured the room, T’Pol made her way over to the container. Its size and shape were strikingly similar to . . . she didn’t dare think it. She simply found the catch and slowly opened the shell.

  Some moments passed before she realized T’Syra had reached them. “We are evacuating Archer for treatment,” she said. “But I have a report from my people in the base’s transporter facility. V’Las was beamed there, then off-planet. We believe he’s beamed aboard his fleet. He will no doubt signal the attack at any moment.”

  But T’Pol could not draw her eyes away from the item within the container. “No doubt. But that may no longer be a problem.”

  Vulcan battleship Karik-tor

  “But Administrator,” Commander T’Faral insisted, “without Commander Zadok to lead the fleet, and with Space Central still intact, our odds of success fall to—”

  “Never mind the odds!” V’Las insisted, cradling his limp left arm as he strode across the upper deck of the Maymora-class battleship’s bridge. “Endeavour is crippled, at least, and it will take days for Starfleet reinforcements to arrive. We may lose more of our forces, but we can still prevail.”

  “I am more concerned with our ability to hold on to a victory. Our plan depended on the people’s sympathy.”

  “The people will still support us,” V’Las said. “I will speak to them, convince them our cause is logical and just. I will lead them as I did—”

  “Commander!” The impertinence of the subaltern’s interruption offended V’Las. But T’Faral heeded him anyway, and he resumed. “A transmission is coming in from the Burning Lake outpost!”

  V’Las’s eyes widened. “Jam it! Don’t let it get out!”

  “We are not in position to do so, sir.”

  “Then get into position! Break orbit and descend on Vulcan!”

  “Without T’Khut’s magnetic pole to shield us, we will be exposed,” T’Faral countered.

  By now, the subaltern had put the transmission on the viewer, and V’Las cursed inwardly in Romulan as Captain T’Pol appeared on the screen holding the one thing that he knew would ruin him. “People of Vulcan,” she said, “I am speaking to you from a base just seized from Administrator V’Las’s forces. And what you see before you is the Kir’Shara. The original item, stolen from the Science Academy Museum and replaced with a forged duplicate.” She nodded offscreen, and a moment later, V’Las’s forger moved into view, escorted by Subdirector T’Syra. “This is Sudok, who has confessed to the creation of the forgery. Vulcan Security is now in the process of gathering evidence that will verify his story.” She turned to Sudok. “Please explain why the Kir’Shara was not destroyed.”

  Sudok made no attempt to conceal the truth. “Administrator V’Las tasked me with altering the text of the origin
al artifact to conform to his own ideology. This would take years of meticulous work to achieve undetectably, but his intention was to reveal the alleged discovery of the genuine Kir’Shara after some years of Starfleet occupation of Vulcan, in order to create the perception that V’Las’s doctrines had been Surak’s all along.”

  “Which would have discredited the Starfleet occupiers and the government they supported,” T’Pol interpreted. “And tricked the public into throwing their allegiance behind V’Las.”

  “I believe that was the intention, yes.”

  It frustrated V’Las that he had needed to select a forger based on skill rather than loyalty to the cause. If he’d had two good hands, he would have killed the man before beaming away.

  T’Pol continued: “Do you give your word that this is the original Kir’Shara and that the recently discovered forgery was your own handiwork on V’Las’s behalf?”

  “I do so affirm.”

  T’Faral was staring at V’Las with open scorn now. “You knew when you evacuated that they had possession of the Kir’Shara. You knew they would discredit you.”

  “It does not matter! Once we have pacified the capital, we will control all communications. We can tell the people whatever we wish.”

  “They will not believe you now. Why did you not destroy the artifact?”

  “I knew there would always be some who believed it had been genuine. I needed to prove to them that they should stand with me!”

  “So you have jeopardized our entire coup for the sake of your pride. And now you would have your own loyal followers throw their lives away in an ill-advised assault that has already failed.”

  “Mind your attitude, Commander! You grow insubordinate.”

  “I grow disillusioned,” T’Faral riposted. “For decades, I believed your way was right for Vulcan. I believed you wished to make us strong. Now I see you wished only to make us dupes for your own power.” She drew her sidearm. “Administrator V’Las, I am placing you under—”

  V’Las coldly fired the sidearm he had hidden in the sleeve of his robe. The burned wreck of T’Faral’s body flopped to the deck a moment later. Others in her bridge crew rose in shock, but V’Las was pleased to see several others drawing their own weapons and moving to his support. At least there were some who still obeyed him.

  “Now,” V’Las said, turning to the flight controller, who warily eyed the firearms pointed at her head. “Set a course out of the system. Head for the nearest border of Federation space.”

  The flight controller wordlessly, grudgingly complied. He would have to find a suitable replacement among his loyalists, to maximize their chances of dodging pursuit until they were beyond Federation control. It infuriated V’Las to have to leave Vulcan to the Syrannite and human weaklings, but now there was no choice. The Federation had a number of enemies; somewhere there must be one who would give him a haven.

  But I have come back before, V’Las told himself. Vulcan is my home—and one day it will bow to me.

  27

  June 11, 2165

  U.S.S. Pioneer

  “AS NEARLY AS WE CAN TELL,” Malcolm Reed reported to Admiral Shran over the bridge viewscreen, “the captives have been awakened and have deactivated the Ware across the entire territory of the Pebru, including all the pre-warp planets they’d seeded. All Ware technology within the Pebru network has shut down except for basic functions like life support—fortunately, continuing the existing environmental conditions rather than reverting to some other default. A lot of Pebru are stranded in space right now, but they’ll survive until they can be rescued.”

  Even relayed through Tashmaji and the subspace amplifiers the task force had laid on their way into this space, the signal from Starfleet Headquarters was low-resolution and noisy. Still, Reed could clearly see the disgust in the Andorian chief of staff’s face and antennae. “A better fate than they deserve, if you ask me.”

  “I sympathize, Admiral, but in a way, the Pebru are victims as much as anyone else. They’ve been completely dependent upon the Ware since it first descended on their homeworld centuries ago. We sent you Doctor Liao’s medical scans of the Pebru we captured: Without the prosthetic hands on their Ware-manufactured armor, their forelimbs barely have the capacity to handle tools.”

  “But they made others pay the price for the gifts the Ware gave them. That makes them no better than parasites.”

  “Their leaders, yes. But from what we gather, most of the Pebru had no idea of any of that. We’ve gotten reports in the past few days of Pebru being astounded and horrified to discover there had been living beings trapped in their Ware cores.”

  “Or so they claimed.” Shran settled in his chair. “Unfortunately, the Federation has no jurisdiction there. It’ll have to be up to their neighbors and victims to decide how to deal with their crimes.”

  Next to Reed, Captain sh’Prenni crossed her arms. “And under Federation law, we have an obligation to rescue the Pebru stranded by our efforts—even if it’s just to deliver them to trial. The rest of the task force is working on that now, sir.”

  “Then I’m sure it will be done efficiently, Thenar.” Shran turned back to the other captain. “But I’m sure you realize, Malcolm, that there’s a deeper problem.”

  “Yes, sir. We still haven’t found the original source of the Ware. And there’s no evidence that our awakening protocol spread any farther than Pebru space.”

  “I can confirm that,” sh’Prenni said. “Kinaph got a report from our Balduk friends: There are still Ware stations active on the other side of their territory.” She smiled. “On the positive side, thanks to Mister Mayweather and the unwitting Mister Vabion, we now have a way to shut down the Ware. Collier’s team is already working on a way to convert it into a signal we can transmit, although it may be difficult to punch it through the data cores’ shielding. Failing that, we can always board the stations and program it into the interfaces manually. Either way, we have an effective weapon now—albeit a weapon that will restore life rather than taking it.”

  “Then your mission is clear, Captains. Once your repairs are complete, you’re to continue seeking the Ware’s creators and doing what you can to neutralize their threat.”

  “Yes, sir,” Reed replied. “Our engineers are doing a fine job repairing our ships, and without any Ware assistance, I might add.” He tugged on his uniform collar. “Albeit with a few parts cannibalized from their drone ships here and there.”

  Shran leaned forward with interest. “Any significant technological advances I should know about?”

  “Unfortunately, not much of their technology is compatible with our systems, and some is based on principles we don’t understand yet. Much of it is advanced molecular-level technology that’s virtually inert without an active data core . . . animating it, for want of a better word. The engineers believe that further study could pay off in years to come, but in the immediate term, our best advantage is the awakening protocol.” He sighed. “It’s frustrating that we still have no answers to the questions we were sent to find. Why was the Ware created? Why does it function the way it does? There’s still so much that doesn’t add up.”

  “You’re closer than you were before, Malcolm,” Shran reminded him. “And you’ve liberated over half a dozen species with a single blow. That’s no small accomplishment.”

  “Thank you, sir.” But any pride Reed took in that achievement was tempered by the knowledge that it would not be easy for the worlds dependent on the Ware to adapt to its sudden absence. He trusted that the Federation would send relief missions, but it would tax the young nation mightily unless the task force could gain the support of more local allies.

  “So what do you intend to do with this Vabion?” the admiral queried. “Try him for hijacking Zabathu and threatening your personnel, or remand him to the Vanotli for his crimes against their world?”

  Reed traded an
uneasy look with sh’Prenni before answering. “Regrettably, sir, none of us have the jurisdiction to arrest him for his crimes on Vanot. Even Miss Zeheri was stripped of that authority. And Vabion made a persuasive case that we still need his assistance in rescuing the stranded Pebru and helping to restore basic subsistence to their society. We may even need his help in dealing with the larger Ware threat. Like it or not, he’s spent longer studying the technology than any of us, and he’s remarkably intelligent. Given how little understanding the Pebru have of the Ware, he’s the best expert we have.”

  “Very well,” Shran said, not looking happy. “But I trust you’ll keep a close eye on him.”

  “No question, sir.”

  “Speaking of Vanot, by the way . . . what do you suggest we do about them?”

  Reed frowned in thought. “We’ll assess that once we arrive at their world. We’ll be relying heavily on Miss Zeheri’s judgment.”

  June 13, 2165

  Stone Valley Hold, Vanot

  Urwen Zeheri clasped Travis Mayweather’s arm as they stood at the window of Najola Rehen’s apartment, watching the plume of smoke that rose from the smoldering ruins of Worldwide Automatics’ brand-new fabrication center. “I never knew exposing the truth would lead to this,” she said. “Yes, the captives are free, WWA is broken, Vabion is gone, the Hemracine government is collapsing, and we no longer have cameras and microphones monitoring our every move. But to see rank and file Vanotli erupting into such violence . . .”

  “They’re entitled to be angry,” Travis said, caressing her shoulder. It was a relief to see him back in Vanotli disguise, looking “normal” again, even though she knew it was a lie. “What Vabion and the Ware almost did to your world . . .”

  Her own reaction to his appearance shamed her. “It’s not just anger, Travis. It’s fear. Our world was . . . invaded . . . by something more alien than we ever imagined. Not just Underlanders but machines from space. To know that there’s a whole universe out there now . . .” She shook her head. “We’re used to guarding against danger from the sky. But storms and lightning are one thing. Knowing there are creatures out there with malevolent intentions . . . we aren’t taking it well.”