Star Trek: Enterprise - 015 - Rise of the Federation: A Choice of Futures

by Christopher L. Bennett

  “Your commitment to fair inclusion is admirable, Commissioner Soval,” said Moxat. “It is a value we of the Global League cherish as well.”

  The Basileus scoffed. “Do not believe them, Commissioner. Their ‘inclusion’ is a sham. Lyaksti has been the dominant empire on Sauria for three millennia. Their so-called equal partners in the League are puppet states, too afraid to defy it.”

  “We have left the Lyaksti Empire in the past,” Moxat countered. “We are the Global League now, and the League is dedicated to even-handedness. It is why our seat of government is here in neutral seas, traveling from land mass to land mass, favoring no one nation.”

  “So they claim,” the Basileus said to Soval. “But they still call the whole planet Lyaksti’kton, as if claiming it for their own. And these barges were used by the Lyaksti royal court as well. A court that had to travel from subject land to subject land for they kept draining each one dry to feed its excesses. Only M’Tezir was strong enough to drive them off.”

  “You seem satisfied enough now to treat the barge as neutral ground.”

  “An unavoidable compromise. I came because I know I am indispensable to the Federation. They need my mineral rights, and would no doubt be quite vengeful should any harm befall me at your hands.”

  Moxat hissed and shook her head. “Paranoid relic. If you will excuse me, Commissioner, Captain, I see a legislator I need to speak to.”

  Not wishing to be upstaged by the Presider’s exit, the Basileus made his farewells also, leaving the human and Vulcan alone.

  “This is just what I warned you about in the first place, Captain,” Soval said. “Our arrival has shifted the balance of power and destabilized the political situation. The M’Tezir nation’s bellicose isolation was rendering it irrelevant in a growing era of global cooperation. Left alone, this planet might have been unified in a few generations. Now, the M’Tezir are more powerful than ever. I still question whether we should enable them by trading for their minerals at all.”

  “You’re always looking for the direst consequences, Soval,” Shumar replied. “Yes, they snipe at each other quite enthusiastically, but the key is, they’re talking. They’re here, together, to pursue a common cause: partnership with the Federation. We have the opportunity to be a unifying force—to bring them together far sooner than they could’ve achieved without an outside catalyst.”

  “Take caution, Captain,” Soval said. “Such an activist attitude toward pre-warp cultures can have destructive consequences. At least one Earth cargo ship has been known to provoke a holy war on one of the planets it contacted. Early Vulcan spacefarers three centuries ago tried to bring logic to the Andorians, but they resented what they saw as an attempt to pacify them, and the result was centuries of enmity.”

  “The same thing happened when you first contacted the Klingons half a century later,” Shumar pointed out, “and they were already warp-capable. How many decades were you at war with them again?”

  “The Klingons,” Soval replied with poorly masked irritation, “are a textbook case of the disruption alien contact can cause. The invasions by the Hur’q not only left them with a heightened sense of hostility toward outsiders, but gave them warp technology and advanced weaponry before they had the sophistication to wield them responsibly. It was these experiences that led us to adopt our policy of noninterference.”

  “But who’s to say those aren’t the exceptions? My point is, maybe it’s not a civilization’s level of space technology that should be the dividing line. Maybe there are other factors that make the difference. There have certainly been pre-warp contacts that didn’t turn out disastrously, like the Denebians or Valakians. There must surely be races out there that we can reach out to as neighbors and partners without disrupting their societies, that we can elevate to membership in a prosperous interstellar community. Maybe it’s simply a matter of carefully assessing which pre-warp cultures are safe to approach and which ones are best to avoid.”

  Soval studied him. “Perhaps,” he said. Then he directed his gaze outward to take in the Basileus, who’d gotten into another argument with a League official. “But are we wise enough to know which is which?”

  6

  March 5, 2163

  U.S.S. Endeavour, orbiting Wolf 46-III

  COMMANDER THANIEN FIDGETED as he watched the probe data come in on the situation table’s screen along with Captain T’Pol and Lieutenant Cutler. “This is frustrating,” he said. “I was looking forward to the new experience of serving on an exploratory vessel. But I expected that to mean actually visiting the planets we explored. Not staring at probe image feeds from orbit.”

  “Commander, if you can come up with a way for us to move around in four Earth gravities,” Cutler told him with a wistful smile, “I’ll be the first to go down with you. I’d love to look at these guys up close.”

  “These guys,” as Cutler called them, were the native life-forms of the superterrestrial planet they currently orbited, a rocky world with nearly ten times the mass of Earth or Vulcan and an atmosphere so dense that even its oxygen existed in concentrations toxic to most humanoids. Starfleet-issue EV suits were designed for low-pressure environments, not hyperpressurized ones, and would require the addition of some form of motorized armature to enable anyone to move freely in that gravity. “Your curiosity is commendable,” T’Pol told Thanien. “But exploration often requires patient observation and contemplation. Particularly in a case like this, we have no idea how disruptive our presence might be to the natives’ worldview.”

  That worldview seemed to be relatively two-dimensional, from what the probes could see. The indigenes were wide and flat-bodied, with muscular, flexible underbellies that let them undulate forward in a manner with similarities to both Terran snails and serpents. Two forward pincers and a complex prolapsing jaw gave them manipulative capability which they employed to construct crude, single-level dwellings with walls of mud brick and roofs of hide or rough canvas—since in their planet’s gravity, being underneath anything solid could be quite deadly if it collapsed upon them. Their atmospheric density and chemistry meant that fires would not burn, only smolder, which had limited their technological growth. But indications were that they had found some intriguing ways to adapt, and T’Pol looked forward to studying them over the days ahead.

  “Captain?” Sato’s voice interrupted T’Pol’s contemplation. “We’re receiving a transmission.” She worked her console as T’Pol came forward. “It’s Admiral Archer, for you.”

  “In my ready room,” she instructed. “Mister Thanien, continue monitoring the probe telemetry. Observe carefully,” she added with a quirk of her brow.

  Once in private and seated at her desk, she opened the channel on her monitor. “Admiral. It’s good to see you.”

  Archer smiled. “You too, T’Pol. And we’ll be seeing more of each other pretty soon.”

  “You’re recalling us to Earth?” It was not unexpected; as Archer’s personal flagship, Endeavour’s time was not always its own. The admiral preferred to let it spend as much time exploring as was feasible, in order to set an example for what he felt Starfleet’s priorities should be, but that had to be balanced with the need to keep the ship reasonably near Earth and ready to change plans at a moment’s notice if Archer needed it. Fortunately, space was vast, and even in “local” space, there was still much unexplored or little-explored territory.

  “That’s right. I need you to take me and an Earth delegation to a ministerial conference on Deneva.”

  T’Pol was surprised. Ministerial conferences were one of the organs of the Federation government; when a particular issue of importance to the entire Federation arose, the member worlds’ respective ministers with the relevant portfolios would gather to address the issue and devise policy. That was clear enough, but the venue was unexpected. “The Deneva colony is still rebuilding in the wake of the war,” she said. “It seems an odd place for a conference.”

  “Well, it’s not just Federation
worlds that are involved.” He paused. “You remember that attack on the Axanar ship in January?”

  “Naturally. Has there been another such incident?”

  “It looks like there may have been quite a few. I was approached by emissaries representing several nonaligned worlds—Axanar, Rigelians, Ithenites, Xarantine. They’d heard about your encounter and compared notes. According to them, a number of their ships have either been attacked by the same aliens or disappeared mysteriously in that region. And the frequency of the attacks has been increasing lately. These silent aliens—they call them Mutes—seem to be getting more aggressive. The unaligned worlds are worried, and they’ve asked us for help.”

  T’Pol absorbed his words. It was no surprise the alien emissaries had sought out Archer, given his reputation. “I assume they mean military intervention?”

  “Yes, and that’s what the defense ministers are getting together to debate. On the one hand, we don’t want to rush into another war. But if these Mutes are becoming more of a threat, it’s better to deal with it sooner than later. On top of which,” Archer went on in wry tones, “President Vanderbilt sees this as an opportunity.”

  “He hopes a partnership with these worlds will help convince them to join the Federation.”

  “That’s right. After the transporter debacle, we could use a chance to rebuild our neighbors’ trust, to show the rest of the galaxy what the Federation can really do. So this could be a pretty important conference. You’ll be escorting me, the Earth defense secretary, and Defense Commissioner Noar to Deneva. Admiral Shran will be joining us.” His lips tensed. “If there is a military action, the Andorian fleet will be doing most of the heavy lifting.”

  “Understood. I’ll have Ortega set course for Earth immediately.”

  Archer studied her. “You sound disappointed. I hope I’m not taking you away from anything too urgent.”

  Had anyone else noted her disappointment, she would have been concerned at her failure of control. But Archer knew her better than . . . almost anyone. “There is a matter of some . . . gravity,” she deadpanned, “but nothing that can’t wait. Indeed, I was just discussing the value of patience with Commander Thanien.” At least the probes were still sending telemetry which Endeavour could continue to monitor for some time after departing. And perhaps later they could return with the right equipment for a landing party.

  Assuming, she thought, that the Federation doesn’t get embroiled in another war.

  March 12, 2163

  U.S.S. Pioneer, orbiting Earth

  “I’m sorry Admiral Archer couldn’t be here to meet you in person,” Captain Marcus Williams said when Malcolm Reed met him at the entrance to Pioneer’s engine room. “It meant a lot to him to keep these upgrade trials in the family, as he put it.”

  “We’re honored to participate, Marc,” Reed replied. “Finally reconciling human-made systems with alien tech would be a major advance for Starfleet. Frankly it’s been something of an embarrassment for the Earth fleet that we can’t use shields at warp without one or both systems suffering. Call it parochial if you like,” he added sotto voce, “but I’d rather not place the Federation’s defense solely in Andorian hands.”

  “Careful, Captain, your guests are here,” the big, square-jawed man murmured back. Coming down the corridor behind him was the engineering team that would be performing the upgrades, a mix of Vulcan, Andorian, and Tellarite engineers. But at their head was a man belonging to a species Reed didn’t recognize. The small, stringy-haired man had seemed human at first, but as he drew closer, the captain realized he had a series of leopard-like spots running from his temples down the sides of his face and neck. His diffident manner, downturned gaze, and chewed fingernails suggested he wasn’t the type to go in for tattoos, so the spots must be a species trait.

  “Doctor Dax,” Williams greeted him, “I’d like to introduce Captain Malcolm Reed. Captain, this is Doctor Tobin Dax of the Cochrane Institute.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Doctor Dax,” Reed said, extending a hand.

  The engineer offered a perfunctory, slightly sweaty handshake in return. “Captain,” he said in a tight, nasal voice. “Umm, these are, are my team,” whom he proceeded to introduce, stumbling over one or two of the names. “Sorry. Ahh . . . could we see your engine? Please? If it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

  “Of course,” Reed said, leading them through the heavy, submarine-style hatch into the engine room beyond. It was much the same as the engine rooms on Enterprise and Endeavour, but a bit roomier due to the slightly more compact warp reactor at its heart.

  “Oh, she’s a beauty,” Dax sighed, smiling for the first time. He climbed the ladder to the raised control station mounted on the reactor; Reed saw that though he appeared to be relatively young, perhaps in his early thirties in human terms, he already had a sizable bald spot.

  Reed noted that a few of his engineers reacted warily to the entrance of the multispecies team, their body language becoming territorial, defensive. The captain could understand their embarrassment at not being able to solve the problem without external assistance; but he hoped that was all he was seeing.

  But Pioneer’s chief engineer, Alan Sheehan, would have none of that. “Doctor Dax,” the big, red-haired man said in his booming voice, extending a hand as the Trill arrived beside him at the control station. “Welcome aboard, welcome! It’s a privilege to meet you at last. We’re going to have a lot of fun on this project, I know it!”

  Dax seemed cowed by Sheehan’s garrulous presence, offering a timid handshake in return. “Th-thank you. That’s very . . . um. Can you show me your current specifications and status?”

  “Certainly,” Sheehan said, calling up the information on the screen. Reed noted that the other engineers had eased their stance, following Sheehan’s example. A few even engaged the other visiting engineers in conversation.

  Dax studied the readouts for a few moments and operated some of the controls on the panel, smiling. He seemed to connect far more easily with the console than with the man beside him. “Hmm. Okay. We’ll have to recalibrate that . . . and. . . . Hmm, that might be a bit of a problem.”

  “What?” Sheehan asked.

  “Oh, sorry. Just muttering to myself. I do that. I’m sure we can figure it out.”

  “You’ve worked with Earth technology before, Doctor Dax?” Reed asked.

  “Hm? Oh, yes. I led a warp coil calibration team aboard Columbia . . . ahh, just before she was lost. Terrible waste, that.”

  Reed softened. “It certainly was.”

  “Yes . . . I did some of my best work on those coils.” He went back to studying the warp controls.

  “Doctor Dax also worked for Captain Stillwell on the telecapture countermeasure project during the war,” Williams put in, trying to move past the awkward moment.

  “Oh, let’s not talk about that,” Dax said, shaking his head. “Sorry, but . . . not a happy time for me.” Reed wondered if this nervous little man even knew what happiness felt like.

  Sheehan wasn’t giving up on being friendly. “You’re from Trill, right? You’re the first one of your people I’ve had the pleasure of meeting.”

  “Oh. Well, I’m afraid the Trill . . . tend to keep to themselves. Very private. Sorry.”

  “Not your fault,” Sheehan laughed, clapping him on the back and making him jump. “So how did you come to be associated with the Cochrane Institute?”

  “I like to travel,” he said, eyes still on the engine. “My first—um, my mother, Lela, she was one of the first Trill to visit other worlds, like Vulcan. I guess I . . . inherited that from her.”

  “So why Earth rather than Vulcan, then?” Reed asked.

  “Vulcan technology is more mature. Yours . . . well, you still have so many problems to solve. That’s more interesting.”

  “And you think you’ve found the solution to our current problem?”

  “Well, that’s what we’re here to find out,” Dax said with an awkward, breathy l
augh. “And, uh, really, the sooner we can, ah, get started—”

  “Of course,” Reed said. “Alan, I’ll leave them in your capable hands.”

  “No worries, sir,” Sheehan said with his usual confident grin. “We’ll have the recalibrations done in no time!”

  “Give or take,” Dax added.

  Once they were back in the corridor, Williams studied Reed, noting the look on his face. “Something bothering you, Captain?”

  “It’s probably nothing. I’m sure Doctor Dax is good at what he does. But he is a little . . . shifty. And nervous, like he was hiding something.”

  “For what it’s worth, he worked on one of Starfleet’s most sensitive projects during the war.”

  “Which went on for years and amounted to little.”

  “And if he’d been responsible for any kind of sabotage, Stillwell would’ve found out.” Williams lowered his voice. “Between you and me, he can be a little paranoid about those things.”

  Reed sighed. “Well . . . I suppose I’m the last person who should judge someone for being socially awkward. Just my old armory officer’s reflexes kicking in, I suppose.”

  “Speaking of which,” Williams asked, “how’s your current armory officer working out?”