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

by Christopher L. Bennett

  “I’m sure,” Archer said, trying to maintain his friendly tone. Inside, a number of females and a few males of various species lounged or strolled around in scanty attire, showcasing their wares for the customers. Archer himself had made sure to come in civilian clothes to draw less attention.

  Penap gestured to a bronze-skinned, golden-haired female with pronounced supraorbital ridges and hands with a surprising number of fingers. “May I recommend one of our Nuvian masseuses? They are justly legendary throughout the sector.”

  “Actually I was hoping for something a little more exotic. A little more . . . green?”

  The plump Xarantine’s eyes widened. “Ah, of course. Our Orion ladies are right this way,” he said, leading Archer toward the back of the establishment. “Their talents are in great demand, and out of the price range of the ordinary customer. We don’t parade them around for just anybody.”

  “I’d think it’d draw in a lot of business if you showed them off more.”

  “Their reputation speaks for itself.” Penap stopped him at the end of the corridor, gesturing to a row of lockers. “I’m afraid that all recording and communication devices must be stored here before we enter. The privacy of our clients is of great importance to us.”

  “I’m . . . sure it is,” Archer said, depositing his communicator and scanner.

  They moved into a lushly appointed chamber in which over half a dozen Orion women went about their business—a couple practicing dance moves, others trying on clothes, three of them bathing fully nude in the central pool. They all noticed Archer’s entrance and merely continued doing what they were doing, albeit a little more seductively. As uneasy as Archer was with the scene before him for more than one reason, he couldn’t help being affected by the sight.

  And Penap recognized as much. “Ah, yes, they are extraordinary creatures, aren’t they?”

  “They are something else.” Archer sidled closer, focusing on his rehearsed plan as a distraction from the beauty before him. “Just between us . . . they’ve gotta have some pheromones, right? Not as much as the elites, but something.”

  “Oh, no—well, no more than any other humanoid.”

  “But there must be some secret to their . . .” He gestured at them. “That.”

  “Only their innate talents and years of practice. They are all fully dedicated to their craft.”

  “I just bet they are. But I was just thinking . . . I’ve been under the influence of Orion pheromones. It went badly, but . . . it had its rewards. I was kind of hoping, in lesser doses, maybe . . .”

  The women began to wander closer. Penap was fidgeting more. “I’m sorry, I simply can’t help you there, Admiral. But I guarantee you, these ladies will leave you fully satisfied. Just pick your favorite one—or two, if you think you can handle them.”

  He looked them over—forcing himself to concentrate on their faces—but he didn’t recognize the slender, pale-skinned one he was looking for. “Actually . . . I was hoping you could set me up with the same one that Commissioner Noar’s been coming to see. He sings her praises very highly. And he seems like . . . a changed man because of her. What was her name again?”

  “Ahh.” Penap’s eyes darted between the approaching women and Archer. “Well, I’m afraid our client lists are strictly confidential. Even if the commissioner has told you her name, I can’t confirm it.”

  “I see.”

  “But I assure you, any of these ladies will give you just as rewarding an experience. I’ll even give you a discount to ease any disappointment.”

  Archer began moving for the door. “You know what? I really had my heart set on the commissioner’s friend. Maybe I’ll try again some other time.”

  He retrieved his gear and made his way out of the establishment as quickly as he could. Damn. So much for getting to question that pale-skinned Orion and find out whether she was influencing Commissioner Noar, and why. So what’s my next move? he thought. What would Malcolm do? What would . . .

  “Well, well, well,” came a familiar and implausibly timely voice. “What’s a nice boy like you doin’ in a place like this?”

  Trip was in the shadows of the adjacent alley, leaning against a wall in a casual, good-old-boy manner that clashed with the spartan black suit he wore. Archer looked around, made sure no one was watching, and joined his old friend, resisting the urge to call his name. “What are you doing here?”

  They clasped hands briefly. “Same thing you are, looks like. T’Pol had her own doubts about what’s going on with the task force. She doesn’t trust that Garos, and I happen to know she has good reason for that.”

  “Right.” Archer nodded, remembering the strange telepathic bond Trip and T’Pol shared. “Somehow I doubt she would’ve asked you to investigate. Not without telling me.”

  “She asked me not to, but my . . . colleagues decided it was worth looking into. Mister Penap in there is a lead I’ve been following. I take it you’re concerned about his Orion women and all the time they’ve been spending with Commissioner Noar and Minister Knowlton.”

  Archer stared. He was aware that Earth’s defense minister had extended her stay on Deneva, but he hadn’t realized the reason why. “Pretty much. I’m not convinced these women are as pheromone-free as Penap claims.”

  Trip looked at the ground for a moment. “Jonathan, you should let me handle this. An investigation like this . . . it’s more my kind of job than yours.”

  The admiral gave him a wary look. “And why’s that?”

  His old friend sighed. “Look, if you’re worried about my methods, don’t be. All I plan to do is get Penap away from the Orions and any influence they might have over him. Get him someplace secure where he can talk freely.”

  Archer considered. “That’s not gonna be easy. Penap will be on his guard now, after the way I nosed around.”

  “I was tryin’ not to mention that.”

  They traded a sour look. “The point is, getting him alone might be easier if you have some help.”

  Trip considered. “Like maybe a decoy? You draw their attention while I—”

  “I guess I could do that.”

  “All right.”

  “But—only if I’m there for the interrogation.”

  Trip smirked. “What’s the matter? Don’t you trust me?”

  Archer just stared, and the smirk faded rapidly.

  U.S.S. Endeavour

  “Much of what I perceived in the meld remains difficult to interpret,” T’Pol confessed. She stood at the head of the conference room table, flanked by Thanien and Sato. Commodore th’Menchal sat by Thanien, and the seat beside Sato was occupied by Dular Garos. The two had beamed aboard out of concern that the Mutes might fire on their shuttles; under the circumstances, it seemed the lesser risk. On the wall screen were Admiral Shran and Commissioner Noar. “Perhaps this is due to my limited experience as a melder, or perhaps due to our fundamental differences in neurology.

  “However, Commander Sato has been helping me sort through my perceptions, and we are confident of one conclusion: The aliens are not motivated by conquest.”

  That prompted reactions of disbelief and protest from the visitors and the commissioner. “Let her finish,” Shran told them, though he looked skeptical himself.

  “Thank you, Admiral. I do not claim that the aliens’ intentions toward us are harmless. In their view, we are an inferior and dangerous form of life. They see us as we would see wild animals.”

  “But we’re clearly not that,” th’Menchal objected. “We have language, technology, civilizations.”

  “We distinguish persons from animals on those bases, among others. They evidently do not.”

  Sato leaned forward. “Their senses let them literally see inside each other, sense each other’s reactions and emotions. We call them Mutes, but in reality they’re in constant communication, linked on a deep level. To them, that communication is fundamental to their sense of personhood. It’s intimately linked to their feelings, their th
oughts. We don’t have that kind of connection, so to them, it’s like we have no real awareness or emotion.”

  “But they bear us no particular malice,” T’Pol said. “Rather, their interest is scientific. They have an intense curiosity about the universe, but because they do not consider us capable of true emotion or pain, they feel no compassion toward us either. Hence the ruthlessness of their experimental procedure.”

  “That’s why they didn’t retaliate before when their ship was destroyed,” the communications officer added. “If some of our people were killed by dangerous animals on some planet, we’d mourn their loss, yes, but we wouldn’t declare war on the animals. They aren’t people, so what’s the point? We’d just try to make sure they didn’t hurt anyone else—study them so we could understand their behavior and figure out the best way to protect our people from further attacks.”

  “This is a very clever set of speculations,” Garos intoned. “But perhaps you’ve forgotten that we are currently surrounded by a fleet of Mute ships demanding our surrender.”

  “I wasn’t finished,” Sato told him. “If those animals took some of our people alive, it would change everything. We’d go to any lengths to get them back safely.”

  “It is not our surrender they demand,” T’Pol said. “It is the surrender of their comrades. They may lack concern for us, but their compassion for their fellows is profound. They will do anything to protect one another.”

  “So what are you suggesting?” Noar asked. “That you simply turn over their captives and hope they let you go? What about the innocent crews they would ‘experiment’ on in the future?”

  “Now that we understand why they’re attacking us,” Sato told him, “we have an opportunity to try to change things. We know they feel compassion and concern for their own kind, and that’s part of how they define themselves as people. What we need to do is convince them we have the same capacity for emotion and empathy, even if our ways of expressing it are alien to them. If we can convince them that we’re people too, we might be able to get them to stop the attacks. Like the way humans stopped hunting and experimenting on Earth animals once we learned they were more self-aware and capable of suffering than we’d believed.”

  Th’Menchal frowned at her. “How do you propose we convince them of that when they won’t even talk to us?”

  “I believe the alien I melded with now understands that we are more than animals,” T’Pol replied. “If we release their captives, that individual could serve as a go-between.”

  Noar scoffed. “You’d just trust in its good intentions?”

  “No,” Sato said. “I’ve been working with Commander Romaine on a device that would let me mimic their magnetic and infrared communication, transmit emotional cues they could understand.”

  “You?” the commodore asked.

  She fidgeted. “I would . . . go with the released prisoners. Turn myself over as a voluntary captive, try to establish a dialogue. To prove to them, in their terms, that we’re true people.”

  The visitors and watchers reacted with surprise. “Commander Sato,” Shran said, “your courage is impressive, but is it wise to risk yourself like that? Alone?”

  “I’m aware of the risk, Admiral. Believe me,” she added, her voice quavering a little. “But there’s a body-language component as well . . . it’s something I’d have to do in person. And the gesture itself, my willingness to risk my safety to communicate, could be a powerful statement to them in its own right. It would show them that we’re capable of more than self-preservation. At least it might make them want to find out how and why I was communicating in their terms. Imagine if you were studying an animal and it suddenly started talking to you in something like your own language.”

  “I imagine,” Garos said, “that many in such a situation would see the animal as a danger and destroy it. I think this is a foolish risk. Commander Sato is too valuable to jeopardize in this way.”

  “I agree,” said Noar.

  “What is our alternative?” Thanien asked, breaking his silence. “How many ships, how many lives would we lose if we tried to fight our way out?”

  “You do have reinforcements en route.”

  “And so do they,” T’Pol said. “A Tesnian listening post detected a large number of their ships heading in our direction. Their estimated arrival time is shortly after that of our own reinforcements.”

  “Even if we win,” Thanien said, “we will have to kill many of them to do so. And we now know, thanks to Captain T’Pol, that they hold each other’s lives as paramount. If we kill so many, they will no longer be content to treat us as scientifically interesting wild beasts, to be captured and studied but otherwise avoided. They will see us as a threat that must be contained or destroyed.”

  T’Pol gave the Andorian a look of thanks, which he acknowledged with a nod. “If we fight now, it will be the beginning of a war. Our only hope of avoiding that war is to take a chance on communication. It’s our job as Starfleet officers—as defenders of the Federation and its allies—to risk our own safety to protect the lives of others. Sometimes, yes, that means fighting. But in this case, we put those lives in more danger by fighting back. I am convinced that Commander Sato’s plan is our best chance for protecting those lives . . . otherwise I would never permit her to risk herself.”

  “There is another way of assessing the risks,” Garos said. “I think you give too little credit to Rivgor and the other Malurian vessel en route. We’ve destroyed one of their ships already, working with the lamentably departed crew of Thejal. Using what we’ve learned, I believe we can defeat their armada.” He held up his hand. “As for the risk of retaliation that would create, we can avoid that outcome if we quickly identify the location of their homeworld—something that should be possible now that you, Captain, have made a breakthrough in communication with the captives. By blockading their home system, we can force them to halt their aggressions—and then we can follow Commander Sato’s plan to open communication with them at our leisure. I think that offers a surer chance of success all around.”

  “He makes a very good point,” Commissioner Noar said. “Negotiation is all well and good, but it must come from a position of strength.”

  “Negotiation with these beings would be far harder if we were responsible for inflicting that much death and suffering on them,” T’Pol said. “They may be callous toward those they consider nonpersons, but violence against persons is horrific to them in the extreme. They would not forgive it, and peace would not be possible.”

  “Forgive me,” Garos said, “but you’re basing that on telepathic perceptions that you yourself admit are unreliable.”

  “Given what is at stake, it would be far too dangerous to dismiss the possibility that I am right.” She turned to Shran on the monitor. “If we pursue this plan, Admiral, the worst thing that happens is that Commander Sato becomes their captive and matters otherwise return to status quo. But at best, the gains will be considerable. Garos’s plan poses far greater risks and far more questionable rewards.”

  Shran pondered her words for a few moments.

  “You can’t seriously be considering this,” Noar demanded after a while.

  “I am,” the admiral replied. “What’s more, I’m agreeing with it.”

  “You can’t!”

  “I certainly can, Commissioner. If Captain T’Pol and her people are convinced this is our best chance to avoid a war, I’m willing to let them take it. I’ve seen them succeed against more impossible odds than these. And I don’t want to throw away any more lives if I don’t have to.” He thrust his face closer to Noar’s. “Do you?”

  The commissioner didn’t back down. “Protecting Federation lives is my greatest concern. And protection requires strength, not surrender!”

  “Luckily, you don’t have the authority to overrule me.”

  “Not unless I persuade a majority of ministers to remove you from command of this task force.”

  “I’d like to see you tr
y!”

  “Your wish is granted!” Noar stormed out of the command center.

  Shran gathered himself and turned back to the sensor. “Well, that was bracing. But as long as I am still in command, Captain T’Pol, I’m authorizing you to proceed with your plan. Commodore th’Menchal, Mister Garos, I expect you to cooperate with her in turning over your Mute prisoners.” He leaned forward. “But don’t lower your guard, any of you. If they decide to start shooting once their own people are out of danger, be ready to shoot back. Understood?”

  “Absolutely, Admiral,” th’Menchal assured him.

  “Understood,” T’Pol replied.

  “Good. Shran out.”

  Garos rose as soon as the screen was blank. “I still feel this is a mistake,” he said. “I fear they will open fire on us, and we’ll have lost our best hope of finding their homeworld.”

  “But you will release your prisoners along with ours?” th’Menchal asked.

  “I have agreed to abide by Starfleet’s decisions,” he affirmed with a slight bow. Then he turned to catch T’Pol’s gaze. “I only pray those decisions are not fatally misguided.”

  Rigel V

  Archer and Trip waylaid Penap on his way home that evening, bringing him to an unoccupied hangar Trip had secured at the spaceport. “I resent being treated in this way!” the Xarantine pimp cried once the hood was removed from his bulbous yellow head. “I will register a complaint with Starfleet Command over this!”

  Trip forced him into a seat, looming over him. “Does this look like a Starfleet uniform to you?” Penap grew quiet, registering the implications of Trip’s stark, unmarked black outfit—or, more likely, the cold, controlled manner of the man wearing it. “You can save your protests, Penap. I’ve looked into your finances. They hold up to most forms of inspection, but I found the links to the Orion Syndicate and the Raldul alignment. So you might as well tell me what they’re paying you for.”

  “The Syndicate? The . . . why, I had no idea, honestly! I’m shocked. What will this do to my reputation?”