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

by Christopher L. Bennett

  But their neighbors had asked for their help, and the foe they faced was very real and very ruthless. What, then, was the alternative? Where was the balance between standing up for the Federation’s values . . . and compromising them?

  7

  March 15, 2163

  Deneva Colony

  COMMISSIONER MIN GLASCH NOAR was pleasantly hoarse and weary after a lively day of debate. Admiral Archer had made things interesting with his new proposal, sparking enjoyably intense disagreements among the Federation defense ministers as well as the unaligned delegates. He had argued in favor of a smaller, less provocative task force in conjunction with an extensive communication and detection grid so that any ship in distress could quickly summon help, and so the movements of the Mute ships could be more safely and effectively tracked. Noar had found the reduced element of risk in his proposal inviting, especially once Kunas, Vulcan’s minister of external security, had pointed out that the larger Starfleet contingent the unaligned worlds were requesting would weaken the Federation’s ability to deter smuggling and raiding activities along its borders by Orions, Nausicaans, Klingon privateers, and the like. After all, Noar had argued, what made these Mutes a worse threat than the others?

  Admiral Shran had pointed out the increasing frequency of their attacks, and argued that so long as their motives and resources remained a mystery, there was no way to know whether they were just petty raiders out to hijack ships or aspiring galactic conquerors testing their neighbors’ weaknesses. The Centaurian defense minister had backed him up, pointing out that the worst threats the region had faced in recent years had come from unknown foes—first the Xindi, then the Romulans. Noar privately conceded they had a point; what kept him up at night was his inability to prepare against those threats he had no knowledge of. But the prospect of letting pirates and criminal networks infiltrate deeper into the Federation’s backyard disturbed him too, and Archer’s more judicious plan seemed to strike a good balance.

  Earth’s defense minister, Althea Knowlton, had countered that the Mutes were known to destroy communications beacons in their territory, and had been unconvinced by Archer’s technical explanation of how the beacons would overlap and provide redundancy, so that any outage could be quickly tracked down before the network could be further compromised. She added that the Federation had a moral duty to help its neighbors in need, to discover the fate of the crews the Mutes had taken, and to liberate them if they were still alive. This was not a time for half measures, she insisted. Noar had enjoyed the dyspeptic look on Kunav’s face when Knowlton had argued that if the Vulcans had fully committed their fleet to the defense of the Coalition of Planets to begin with rather than settling for the halfhearted, passive response of a detection grid, the Romulans would have been defeated much sooner.

  But that struck Noar as “fighting the last war,” as the humans said. It wasn’t yet known if the Mutes were anywhere near as great a threat as the Romulans or warranted an equivalent response. Perhaps it was wiser to start with Archer’s more cautious plan and only escalate if circumstances warranted.

  As the conference members filed out of the hall, Dular Garos took note of their fatigue, and of the tension of those delegates who didn’t take to a lively argument as readily as a Tellarite. “My friends,” the Malurian intoned, “we have made you weary, so the least we can do is offer you our hospitality and refreshment. Please, join us tonight in our encampment.”

  “Yes,” added Orav Penap, spreading his mottled yellow arms. “I have been remiss in my honor as a Xarantine not to offer you succor and ease sooner. Please, come so we may express our gratitude to the noble Federation.”

  Archer looked as though he’d rather return to his ship, but diplomacy demanded accepting their invitation, so the group allowed the unaligned delegates to escort them to their encampment on the edge of the compact city. Though it was spartan, the encampment was made lively by the diversity of its occupants. The Axanar mostly stayed in their ship, the one place on the methane-poor planet where they could remove their atmosphere suits, but the compound was otherwise rife with beaded Rigelians, garrulous Xarantine, diminutive copper-skinned Ithenites, lanky, gray-scaled Malurians, and bulbous-browed Tesnians, all interacting peacefully, though not without the occasional verbal clash to keep life interesting. They could already be well on their way to joining the Federation, Noar thought with pleasure.

  But there were others here, he registered as the group neared Penap’s section of the compound. In keeping with the Xarantine’s promises of hospitality, servitors of several species, all scantily clad and more than half female, presented themselves invitingly to passersby, offering their wares and services. Noar spotted several Risians and Nuvians, along with a pair of Klimasz butterfly dancers, one covered in red body paint, the other gold. “Please,” Penap said, “feel free to partake of our service providers. We have someone to fulfill every possible need.”

  Noar watched the females with considerable interest, but Archer reacted with unease. “I . . . appreciate the gesture,” he said, “but it’s not necessary.”

  “Ahh, perhaps you simply prefer a more . . . specialized service.” He clapped his hands, and four more “providers” emerged—stunning, graceful females whose vivid green flesh was barely concealed by their garments.

  Noar found these the most fascinating sights yet, but Archer reacted with anger. “You’ve got Orion women? Don’t you know how dangerous they are? They give off a powerful pheromone that can control people’s minds, even cause psychosis!”

  Penap laughed. “I see you have encountered members of the Orions’ elite lineages, Admiral.”

  “Elite lineages?”

  “Females whose pheromones are exceptionally potent, able to make males do whatever they wish. Yes, I know that they effectively rule from behind the throne. But it is a trait that runs only in certain genetic lineages. Most Orion females’ pheromones are not nearly as potent, and they serve the males as the males serve the elites. Otherwise why would anyone risk buying Orion slave women once they knew the truth?”

  Minister Knowlton frowned and said, “You must know that the Federation does not approve of slavery.” Nonetheless, her gaze was fixed on the Orions as intently as Noar’s was.

  “Nor do we, Madame Minister,” Penap assured her. “These ladies are all escaped or manumitted slaves. I assure you they work for me voluntarily and are paid a generous wage for their services as dancers, masseuses, or . . . whatever other talents they may choose to offer you of their own free will.”

  “No, thank you,” Archer said. “I think I really need to be getting back to my ship.”

  “Your loss. But as you will.”

  Shran departed just behind the human admiral, muttering about his mates back home. The Vulcan and Centauri ministers left with them. But Noar and Knowlton remained, as did the Andorian secretary of war. The Andorian opted for one of the Nuvians, while Knowlton went off with a buxom Orion with wild, dark auburn hair and rich emerald skin. But Noar found himself drawn to a different Orion. While the other two posed and preened and offered themselves to him bluntly, this one stood silently on the threshold, her deep green eyes gazing up demurely from beneath a mane of thick, straight hair as profoundly black as the goddess Phinda’s eyes. Under its brief, diaphanous robe, her slender body was the lightest shade of green he had ever seen on an Orion. Though she was not as curvaceous or obvious in her allure as the others, she possessed an innocent, submissive sensuality that enticed him greatly.

  “Ahh, you like the quiet ones, do you?” Penap said knowingly.

  Noar grunted. “She’s awfully scrawny,” he countered, just to be polite. “Pale, too. Doesn’t she get any sun? And what kind of a massage could she give me with hands that delicate?”

  Penap grinned, recognizing that he wouldn’t put up such resistance if he weren’t genuinely interested. But it was the Orion herself who answered, slinking forward with sinuous grace. “Clearly your ignorance about Orions is as expansi
ve as your gut,” she purred in a soft, breathy voice that brushed against his ears like silk. “But I’d be willing to teach you a lesson . . . providing you’re not as cowardly as you look.”

  He returned her smile. “We’ll see about that,” he told her. “Let’s go.”

  She turned and slinked away, glancing invitingly over her shoulder. He came up behind her—though not alongside her, since he was enjoying the rear view too much. “Do you have a name?”

  “I am Devna.”

  Once they were in her chamber, Devna bade him to disrobe for his massage. She let her own robe fall as well, revealing what little hadn’t already been evident through it. And “little” was the word for her endowments, which he pointed out as a playful insult, though actually he found her shape quite lovely. Noar laid on his belly and soon found that the daintiness of Devna’s hands was deceptive; they kneaded his muscles expertly, imparting both relaxation and pleasure. “You’ve worked hard today,” her honeyed voice went on. “You must have had much to debate.”

  “There are many complex issues to discuss—no doubt above your little head. And the talks are confidential.”

  “Anything we say—or do—in here does not leave this room,” Devna assured him. “And I do so love a good debate.” Her words were as slow, smooth, and methodically sensual as the strokes of her fingers.

  “Mmm, well, I suppose it can’t hurt.” He outlined Archer’s new proposal and the ensuing arguments, the rehearsal of a lively debate soothing him almost as much as did her superb caresses and breathy voice.

  “It sounds like Archer’s case was most convincing,” Devna finally said.

  Noar scoffed. “I said it would be over your head. The debate is still ongoing, with much to be decided. It could go on for days,” he chortled.

  “But the Vulcan was right, don’t you think?” He felt a tremor in her fingers. “I can’t blame them for fearing the Orion Syndicate. The things they do to the ones in their power. . . .”

  He sat up and turned to face her. “Fear has nothing to do with it! We’re hardly helpless, frail things like you. We have nothing to fear from the Orions or anyone else.” He cupped her cheek in his hand. “And neither do you, as long as you’re under Federation protection.”

  She stroked his hand with her own, her dark, dewy eyes gazing up at him through long lashes. “I wish I had your courage. I’ve been afraid most of my life. I was always so small, so pale, so underdeveloped . . . even the other females pushed me around.” Her hands roved across his hirsute chest.

  “Well, it’s your own fault for being weak, you know. If you want to be taken seriously, you have to stand up for what you want and not let others push you around! Ah, a bit lower. No, to the left . . . bit more . . . aahhhh!”

  “You’re so commanding. How I envy you.”

  “As well you should, little one.”

  “Still,” she went on, “don’t you think you should use that strength to defend your own? The only way I survived so long was by taking care of myself first. It was always me or them.”

  “The way of the coward, of the weakling. The Federation is the strongest power in the region. That’s why they came to us. They see we have the power. How do we prove that to the galaxy if we don’t use it? Yes,” he went on as her fingers dug into his flesh more eagerly, as her breaths came faster, “if we really want to scare off your former masters and all the rest, that’s the way to do it. Not by cowering behind our borders, but by showing everyone that the Federation won’t back down from a fight!”

  “Ohh, yes!” Devna threw herself against him, and they needed no more words.

  March 16, 2163

  U.S.S. Pioneer

  As soon as Valeria Williams was alone in the turbolift with Rey Sangupta, his hands were all over her. She made the most of the first kiss, and the second, then pushed him away. “Come on, Rey, not here.”

  “Let’s have dinner together,” he said, oblivious.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Flaunting it in front of everybody? Besides, you know I’m having dinner with Grev and the doc.” The startlingly gregarious Tellarite communications officer had already gone ahead to haul Doctor Liao away from her work. Williams suspected Grev already knew about her and Sangupta, and had deliberately given them a moment of privacy. “Come on, I promise I’ll drop by your quarters after.”

  “I’ll be waiting.” His seductive smile didn’t quite mask his frustration at having to keep their fling private. Knowing Rey, he probably hated not getting to boast about it; Williams was aware that she was considered one of the most desirable women on the ship. She wasn’t particularly bothered by that fact; Rey was one of the most alluring men aboard, and she wouldn’t mind some boasting privileges herself.

  Williams headed to sickbay to meet with Grev and Liao, giving Sangupta time to pick up something in the mess hall separately. When she arrived with them a few minutes later, he’d evidently been and gone, taking his meal back to his quarters. Since the command crew had been kept working late by an overlong combat simulation, the hall was mostly empty. The Trill engineer, Tobin Dax, sat by himself reviewing a data tablet and picking at a largely uneaten salad. The only other people in the room were the ship’s anthropology and archaeology officer, Ensign Henry Polanski, and the ship’s historian, a sandy-haired man whose name Williams couldn’t quite remember. Stan? Sam? The soft-spoken, bookish man hadn’t left much of an impression on her; she was more attracted to brash, confident types like Rey Sangupta.

  The two antiquarians had taken a table near the opposite end of the room from Doctor Dax, and by unspoken agreement, Williams and Liao gravitated in that direction as well once they’d collected their precooked meals from the compartments along the wall. “Maybe we should sit with Doctor Dax instead,” Grev suggested in soft tones.

  “He seems quite satisfied to be by himself,” Therese Liao said. “I’m content to let him stay that way.”

  “Oh, Doctor,” the chubby young Tellarite said, shaking his shaggy blond head. “I thought you’d overcome your xenophobia issues.”

  “I’m not xenophobic!” Liao protested. “I’m just . . . not used to interacting with aliens. I didn’t encounter many, living on a low-warp cargo ship. The only times it happened, usually, were when I had to deal with an alien infection that got aboard. Some of those did nasty things to my crew, my family.”

  “I assure you, we’re not all diseased,” Grev taunted playfully.

  Liao blushed. “That’s not what I meant to imply. But the thing is, with Dax, I can’t even tell. He refuses to let me perform a physical—just gave me a precooked medical scan result and a note from his personal doctor.”

  Grev snorted. “So you think he’s hiding something?”

  “Honestly, Grev,” Williams said, “I do get that vibe. He’s very guarded. Secretive.”

  “Come on, Val, just look at the man. He’s shy.” Polanski and the historian left, nodding at the three of them but not so much as glancing toward Dax. “And we haven’t been doing much to make him feel welcome,” Grev went on. “We’re treating him and his team like intruders in our home.”

  Williams thought it over, studying the quiet little Trill’s hunched shoulders, his rapt attention on his work. “Maybe you’re right,” she said, standing and picking up her plate. “Maybe we should try to be more friendly.”

  “That’s the spirit!” Grev said, rising to join her.

  “I think I’ll stay here, if you don’t mind,” Liao said. Grev gave her a moue of disappointment but didn’t argue—which, by Tellarite standards, meant he was seriously unhappy with her. “Look, I’ve been on my feet all day, and I’m not as young as you. Let me know if he turns out to be a great guy, and we’ll see where it goes.”

  They made their way across the mess hall. “Doctor Dax?” Grev asked.

  Even the communications officer’s gentle voice startled the Trill. “May we join you?” Williams asked, putting the same careful, soothing tones in her own voice that she’d use to calm
a panicked gunman holding hostages.

  “Oh. Umm . . . I guess so. If you want.”

  “Thank you,” Grev said, and they sat themselves down. They had to push a couple of Dax’s tablets aside, for which he apologized reflexively.

  Williams picked up one of the tablets and took a look at it, skimming through a few screens. There were starship schematics on it: a saucer-shaped ship with an integrated cylindrical section running through the center; a vessel with a spherical main hull like the Daedalus class but with three nacelles; a Columbia-type saucer squared off in back with a small secondary module above and nacelles mounted below. “These look like Earth designs,” she said. “But I don’t recognize them.”

  “That’s . . . because they don’t exist yet. They’re just concepts.”

  “I thought the plan was to integrate the fleets eventually,” Grev said. “For new designs to incorporate the best from every species’ tech—like a continuation of what your team is doing here.”

  “That’s what Commodore Jefferies wants,” he said. “But . . . I think the best thing Earth contributes is the overall shape and structure of their ships.”

  “What do you mean?” Williams asked.

  Talking about engineering was clearly the right way to get Dax to open up. “Well, Vulcan and Andorian ships are . . . they’re great if you want a combat vessel. Their hulls are long and thin—minimizes the forward profile you present to an enemy. Makes you a harder target to hit. But Earth ships, with your spherical or lenticular hulls, have a more efficient internal arrangement. It’s easier to get personnel or resources from one part of the ship to another. It’s better for a multipurpose ship, or a science ship where you need smooth communication between departments, not so much a top-down organization.

  “And the engines, too—Vulcan ring drives are powerful and efficient, but not as easy to adjust in flight as Cochrane-style outrigger nacelles. Again, not as good for flexible mission profiles. And Andorian inboard nacelles are well-shielded, good for combat, but there’s a trade-off in longevity and power consumption. Not so great for long-term or open-ended missions like deep space exploration.”