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

by Christopher L. Bennett

  “What about Tellarite ships?” Grev asked. Dax just stared, as did Williams. The Tellarites had never been much for starship engineering, preferring to buy their ships from outside contractors. “Okay, just trying to do my part.”

  Williams frowned. “But Doctor, why are you assuming that these science ships or multipurpose ships are Starfleet’s future? Surely we’ve learned that we need a strong combat fleet. If the Deneva Conference goes the way it’s looking, that’s going to be proved yet again.”

  Dax looked down at his salad. “I do have colleagues who favor that thinking. They’re pushing for a unified fleet design that’s closer to Vulcan or Andorian.” The Trill shrugged. “But I think it’s better to be . . . able to change identity as you need to, not stuck with just one. Your Earth ships adapted pretty well to combat when they had to. But they can run rings around everyone else when it comes to exploring.

  “Don’t misunderstand—there’s certainly room for improvement. I think getting the different species’ technologies to work together is just the first step. Once you’ve all pooled your understanding, combined the best of all your stuff, it’ll synergize, and Starfleet ships will get even better.” He tilted his head. “But I think that from the outside, at least, they’ll still look basically like Earth ships.”

  “If you’re right, Doctor,” the armory officer said. “If we have the luxury of being explorers or diplomats. But if this Mute thing erupts, or if the Klingons go on the rampage, then the Federation is going to need ships specialized for war. I hope you’re prepared for that eventuality as well.”

  The Trill sighed heavily. “I’ve had my fill of wartime projects. If it comes to that, I’ll probably go home. Or back to Vulcan, at least. I have a friend or two there.”

  You have a friend? she thought. On Vulcan?

  “Well, I think your designs are very nice,” Grev said. “So let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  “Yes,” Dax said. “Let’s hope.”

  March 17, 2163

  U.S.S. Endeavour

  When the conference voted to approve the full task force, Minister Kunas was the only dissenter. Archer was surprised; he’d thought that Commissioner Noar had been coming around to his point of view at first, but over the past two days, the commissioner had been one of the most emphatic voices in favor of the more aggressive plan. Once it had become clear the task force would be approved, it had become a matter of hashing out the details—the number of ships, the relative contribution of each member, the location for the command base, and so forth. On the last point, Ambassador Jahlet invited the Federation to establish its command post in her native system, Raij’hl—a name which humans tended to hear and spell as “Rigel,” like the far more distant star in the Orion constellation, so the star was sometimes called Beta Rigel to avoid confusion. The local Rigel was a regional hub of commerce and diplomacy, home to immigrants of many species including Xarantine and Ithenites, and it was closer than any Federation world to the territory the task force would be patrolling. The conference, in consultation with the joint chiefs, had agreed with these rationales for accepting the invitation—though Archer had noted that Commissioner Noar had become more enthusiastic in his support upon learning that Penap and his camp followers, including the Orion women, would be accompanying them.

  Archer tried to remember that it wasn’t his place to judge the commissioner’s personal habits. Maybe he was just letting his own experience with Orion women—or, rather, with one elite family thereof—color his perceptions. He’d asked Sato to look into Penap’s claims about the differing levels of pheromonal potency among Orion females, and according to her, it seemed to be true. The whammy that the Orion woman Navaar and her sisters, D’Nesh and Maras, had inflicted on the Enterprise crew in late 2154—rendering the men hyperaggressive and suggestible, inducing headaches and irritability in the women, and triggering a premature sleep cycle in Phlox—had been anomalous among reports of encounters with Orion females. Certainly many of them had a considerable sexual allure that seemed as much a function of their pheromones as their physical beauty and innate passion, but to all indications, most of the humanoids who owned or otherwise interacted with Orion women retained their self-control (up to a point, anyway) and ran no evident risk of delusional or psychotic behavior. It seemed true that the pheromones exuded by Navaar’s family had been exceptionally strong—and having all three sisters aboard Enterprise at once, permeating that closed environment with a triple dose of their chemistry, must have intensified the effect. In any case, Archer had no reason to suspect that Noar’s judgment was being compromised by the Orion he’d been spending so much time with over the past few days. After all, it wasn’t exactly out of character for a Tellarite defense official to favor a show of aggression.

  “Shran’s selecting the ships to be pulled from the border patrol fleet,” Archer reported to T’Pol, Thanien, Sato, and Kimura as they stood around the situation table. “They’re mostly going to be from the Andorian Guard contingents patrolling in the Carina and Cetus border regions.”

  “The Denebians won’t like that,” Kimura said, reacting to the latter name. “With the Vulcan fleet in mothballs, they’ve been depending on the Andorians for protection.” The Vulcans had maintained a trading partnership with the Deneb Kaitos system for decades, a relationship the Federation had now inherited.

  “Shran says there hasn’t been much trouble in that sector recently,” Archer told him. “Now that Deneb is a Federation protectorate, that seems to have scared off most of the criminals and pirates.

  “Endeavour will escort Shran, Noar, and myself to Rigel,” he went on. “They’ll be overseeing the fleet, and I’m going along as liaison to the unaligned nations. But once the fleet’s assembled, you’ll be going with them.”

  “Sir?” T’Pol asked.

  He set his jaw. “I don’t underestimate the threat these so-called Mutes pose. I remember what they did to Enterprise, to my crew. But I don’t want to get dragged into another war either, not if there’s an alternative. Your job,” he said, his eyes taking in T’Pol and Sato, “is to try to find that alternative. The Andorians are soldiers—the best we’ve got,” he said with a nod to Thanien. “But you’re explorers. Scientists. Experts in first contact. Use that. Learn everything you can about these Mutes. If you can figure out what they want, how they think, how they communicate, then maybe we can find a way to head off an armed conflict . . . or at least end it as quickly and cleanly as possible.”

  “Understood.” T’Pol’s voice was level, but he could see in her eyes how much she shared his hope for a peaceful resolution.

  “You can count on us, Admiral,” Sato added.

  Archer smiled at her. “I always have.”

  8

  March 19, 2163

  Rigel V Orbital Spacedock, “Beta Rigel” (Tau-3 Eridani) system

  “VERIN, A PLEASURE to see you again!” Thy’lek Shran clasped arms with his old colleague, then turned to introduce him. “Admiral Jonathan Archer, this is Commodore Nisverin th’Menchal. He’ll be leading the task force aboard Vinakthen.” Shran gestured to the transparent aluminum wall of the spaceport’s visitors’ lounge, beyond which Vinakthen floated, a beautiful, strong Kumari-class battleship—newer than his own long-lost Kumari, the first ship of the class, but enough like her to give Shran a pang of nostalgia when he looked out the port.

  Archer shook the other Andorian’s hand in the human manner. “Commodore. Good to meet you at last.”

  “And you, Admiral. An honor to meet you.”

  Archer gestured to T’Pol. “This is Captain T’Pol of Endeavour.”

  The captain nodded, and the elderly, stout th’Menchal gave a similarly reserved greeting. “Captain,” he said. “Your assistance is appreciated.”

  “Indeed, indeed,” came a new, booming voice. Shran turned to see Dular Garos approaching, as smarmily gregarious as ever. “On behalf of the unaligned members of this joint operation,” the Malurian went on
, “I must express what a great reassurance it is that Admiral Archer has assigned his own flagship, and his own trusted right hand,” he went on, nodding at T’Pol, “to stand beside us in our time of need.”

  Th’Menchal tensed, but T’Pol faced the commodore and spoke with humility. “It is our privilege to serve.”

  “And ours as well,” Garos said, gesturing to the view outside. “As you can see, we have contributed one of our most powerful warships to the effort: the Rivgor.”

  The vessel he gestured to was a sleek gray warship contoured like some great sea beast, its warp engines ensconced in heavily armored cowlings along the sides. Rows of tiny windows on its flanks gave testament to the sheer massiveness of the vessel, which dwarfed even the Kumari-class cruisers in the task force. “I recognize the class,” T’Pol said. “Is this the same vessel that engaged Enterprise above the Akaali homewold twelve years ago?”

  “A sister ship,” Garos replied. “The Raldul alignment owns a number of these vessels.”

  “Interesting,” Archer said, an edge in his voice. “And why do the Malurians need so many gigantic warships?”

  Garos spread his hands. “Most of their volume is cargo space, Admiral. We often deal in large quantities of valuable trade goods. Goods which raiders or competitors might wish to steal for themselves. It’s only reasonable to transport those goods within vessels capable of fending off any assault.”

  “Do its origins matter, Admiral?” th’Menchal asked. “Mister Garos, I am grateful for the addition of such a powerful ship to our task force. The greater the show of strength we can display, the more we will cow our enemies and reassure those they threaten.”

  “True enough, Commodore,” Archer said. “But it’s important to be able to trust that the ones wielding that strength will use it responsibly.”

  Th’Menchal’s antennae curved forward aggressively. “And how is it your place to determine what is responsible here? Are you leading this task force, or is Admiral Shran?”

  “Verin, a word?” Shran said. He drew his friend aside. “Verin, you’re being rude.”

  Th’Menchal stared. “And you’ve been too softened living with Aenar and humans. I have cause to be concerned, with Archer here. See how everyone bows at his feet.”

  “Verin, I’m the one who’ll be giving you your orders. Archer is just here as liaison with the unaligned worlds.”

  “Does he know that?”

  “Don’t worry. Jonathan does have a tendency to meddle, and a self-righteous streak as wide as Fesoan’s rings, but he’s no glory seeker. He respects my authority.”

  “I hope so,” his old friend said. “These humans . . . they’re too soft, too careful. Oh, they held their own against the Romulans, true, but war isn’t in their nature—they’d rather be exploring and negotiating. We could’ve ended the war for them in months if we’d chosen to get involved sooner. If this Federation is to survive, it’ll be because Andoria leads its defense.”

  “We already do, Verin.”

  “Oh, they use our ships, our crews, yes. But under a human commander-in-chief, a council that’s half-human, a Vulcan in control of our foreign policy . . . and Archer held up as the guiding prophet of it all, with T’Pol as his chief disciple.” The commodore grabbed Shran’s arm. “Promise me that if it comes down to a fight, you won’t let them hold my Guardsmen back from doing what’s needed.”

  Shran brushed his hand away and glared up at him, speaking through clenched teeth. “I will exercise the same command judgment you’ve always known me to have, without needing to solicit either Archer’s approval or yours—Commodore.” Th’Menchal backed down. “Yes, Andoria is the backbone of the Federation’s defense. But it takes more than a backbone to make a living, breathing organism. We’re part of something bigger now, and I expect you to remember that.”

  “Yes, Admiral.”

  “Good.” Shran took a breath to gather himself. “Now let’s get back to the buffet table before the red-bat runs out.”

  March 20, 2163

  U.S.S. Thejal AGC-6-38, orbiting Rigel V

  It was a pleasure, Thanien thought, to be aboard an Andorian Guard vessel again—even if it was one of the smaller Sevaijen-class cruisers instead of a Kumari-class ship like Docana had been. Several of the larger battlecruisers formed the heart of the joint task force, but the nostalgia that had brought Thanien to Thejal was rooted far more deeply.

  “Hello, cousin!” the cruiser’s captain greeted him warmly when he stepped through the docking port from Endeavour.

  “Kanshent,” he replied, taking her into his arms. Captain Shelav’s return embrace was as crushing as ever; she had always been big and strong even for a shen. “It’s been too long.”

  “It has indeed. And look at you! You’re getting scrawny! Don’t they feed you aboard that human ship? We need to get a proper meal into you.”

  Thanien looked forward to that, but he insisted on a tour of the ship first. It was comforting to be back aboard a starship that didn’t have handholds everywhere, a constant reminder of the unreliability of human gravity plating. Not to mention the more efficient and sensible bridge layout—all the consoles facing outward, since the captain needed to see their displays more than their operators’ faces, and the helm officer working side by side with a dedicated navigator who performed continuous real-time charting of shifting subspace geodesics, ion storms, rogue planetoids, and the like so that the vessel would not be at the mercy of outdated charts. It was Thanien’s hope that as Starfleet became more integrated, its designers could be persuaded to adopt a more Andorian bridge configuration fleetwide.

  A “proper” meal naturally meant Dreshna cuisine. Kanshent Shelav’s branch of the family had always been more traditionalist than Thanien’s, which was why she insisted on using her native Dreshna name even though the Guard officially registered her by her Imperial name Trenkanshent sh’Lavan. Thanien himself answered just as readily to Aranthanien ch’Revash as to Thanien Cherev, although living among humans had given him a new perspective on the necessity for a global nomenclatural standard.

  Thejal was too small to have a chef in its complement, but Kanshent was glad to fill that role herself, and roped Thanien into chopping the vegetables just like old times. They caught up on family while they cooked. Kanshent spoke enthusiastically of how her eldest chei had won acceptance into the Guard Academy, and of the accolades her zh’yi had won for her latest concert. Thanien had little to tell in kind; he had not stayed close to his bondmates after he had discharged his reproductive duties, never finding the secret to balancing career and family the way Kanshent had. He had always felt most at home aboard starships, and as a fellow officer, Kanshent was the family member who understood that the best, and the one he could relate to the most easily.

  Yet her response was more guarded when he spoke of his experiences aboard Endeavour. As always, she was more comfortable with tradition, though she never judged his greater willingness to embrace novelty. Yet her expression hardened, her antennae drawing subtly back, as he spoke of his difficulties finding common ground with T’Pol. “I don’t know why you even try,” she said, stabbing at her chirini roast. “Of all the Earth ships you could have signed aboard, why the one with the Vulcan captain?”

  “Admiral Archer himself requested it. He has great admiration for Captain T’Pol.”

  “Archer has not fought the Vulcans as we have. As you have, or have you forgotten?”

  He took her hand. “I will never forget the loss of my shreya, nor your charan. But both happened long ago, under a different Vulcan regime, a different Vulcan culture. T’Pol was not responsible for our parents’ deaths.”

  “I know the rhetoric, cousin. I have heard enough of it since we agreed to integrate the fleets.” She took a bite of her sauteed hlad root, washing it down with a sip of ale. “And I understand it. The Federation makes sense. We’re better off working with the Vulcans, and the others, than against them. But T’Pol is not just any Vulcan. She was in
the High Command for over fifteen years. Before that she was with the Ministry of Security, a spy!”

  “Only briefly. And her later service was with the Science Directorate.”

  “She was still with their military. Who can say what war crimes she may have been complicit in?”

  Thanien shook his head, antennae drooping. “Kanshent, you’ve got to stop living in the past. Whatever her superiors might have required of the captain in her younger days, she’s more than proven her trustworthiness over the past dozen years serving with Archer, helping him build the peace.”

  “Maybe. But how can that ever be enough if she hasn’t been brought to account for her prior misdeeds?” Her fist struck the table.

  “Cousin . . .”

  “I understand the value of the Federation, Thanien. I want it to work as much as you do. But before our worlds can truly move forward in trust, we all must make amends for past mistakes. Have the Vulcans ever apologized for their actions in the war? For taking our parents from us?”

  He picked at his food, not grateful to her for stirring up old wounds. The attention to his plate hardly helped, for the meal was too much like the ones his shreya had prepared. He pushed it away. “There’s nothing we can do about the past, Kanshent. Our responsibility is to focus on the dangers that face us today. Like the Mutes. We need to stand together if we’re to defeat them.”

  “The past anchors us, cousin. It gives us a place to stand. You can’t hide from it because it hurts. That pain tells you who you are. It demands recognition.”

  He couldn’t think of anything to say; he only sat there stiffly. After a moment, Kanshent came around behind him and put a strong arm around his shoulders, brushing her head against his. “I’m sorry. We shouldn’t be at odds. I know you’ll do what’s right.”

  The conversation moved to other, safer matters. But the ease with which they moved past their argument only highlighted the void that remained between T’Pol and himself. Was it possible that what separated them was more intractable than he had been willing to admit? Was it possible that T’Pol had reason not to let him into her confidence?