Trip loomed over him. “Your little community-theater act is wasted on me. The longer you keep me waiting before I get answers, the longer you’ll be locked away and the darker and deeper the hole’s gonna be.”
The Xarantine’s small eyes stared up at him defiantly. “You have no authority here.”
“Your women are compromising Federation officials. That’s all the authority I need.”
Archer was uneasy at the reminder of Trip’s employers’ willingness to bend whatever rules they pleased, with Earth’s—and now the Federation’s—safety as their excuse. He took a step forward. “You should talk to us, Penap. We can make it worth your while. We’re a powerful nation. Maybe you’ve heard about the trade deal we’re making with the Saurians. We’re about to become one of the richest governments in local space. We can treat you well if you play along.”
Penap perked up at the offer of wealth, but after some consideration, he shook his head. “I think you underestimate the Syndicate’s resources. Besides,” he continued with a lascivious grin, “you’ve seen my girls. The Orions can offer rewards that surpass any monetary wealth.”
Trip tutted. “Fishin’ off the company pier? Not a good idea when you keep sharks.”
“The secret,” the Xarantine replied with meaning, “is to keep them happy.”
Trip took a step closer. He didn’t grab Penap’s collar, didn’t get in his face, didn’t raise his voice—but the atmosphere in the room suddenly got considerably icier. “The same applies right here, right now. You don’t want to make me unhappy.”
“I’m not afraid of the Federation. We came to you because of your benevolence, remember?”
“No. You came to us because you know we have the strength to get the job done. Because when someone makes an enemy of us, it doesn’t turn out well for them.”
“Th-there’s nothing you can threaten me with that’s worse than what the Syndicate will do to me.”
“Don’t be so sure. Do you really think we beat the Romulans by being nice? By being afraid to do whatever—whatever—it took to win? If you had any idea . . .”
Penap was trembling badly now, his head shaking in despair. “I, I can imagine. I’ve seen the handiwork of . . . people like you before. Ultimately you’re all the same.” Trip controlled himself, but Archer could see he was taken aback. “And the people on my side will be no less ruthless if they find I betrayed them. I’m damned either way.”
He fell silent, sagging in the chair. Trip reached for him, but Archer grabbed his arm, holding his startled gaze. Let me, his eyes said. After a moment, Trip stepped back, letting Archer crouch before Penap. “The Federation can do one thing the Syndicate can’t: protect you.”
Penap’s eyes shot up to meet his. But after a moment, he shook his head. “There’s nowhere they couldn’t find me.”
“Remember who you’re talking to. We’re explorers. Starfleet has been to places nobody else in known space has ever seen. We know worlds where the Orions and Malurians could never reach you.”
The Xarantine’s puny eyes darted around as he thought it over. “And . . . would you provide some of those riches you offered earlier? To . . . help me make a fresh start.”
“If your information is good enough, we’ll see what we can arrange.”
“And I can take some of my girls with me?”
“Don’t press your luck,” Trip said.
Penap sighed. “All right. Archer, you were right before—all Orion women have pheromones to some degree. The rank-and-file slaves hardly have any—just enough to make them, heh, especially interesting. But seeded among them are more . . . potent . . . ladies who, ah, have a knack for getting their clients to do what they want, or tell them what they want to know.”
“Just like we suspected,” Trip muttered. “It’s one big honeypot operation.”
“So the woman the commissioner’s been seeing?” Archer prompted.
“Her name is Devna. She’s one of their . . . subtler individuals, but that unassuming innocence is part of what makes her so effective. Gets her marks off their guard. She attracts clients who crave a submissive partner, someone who can make them feel powerful and dominant. Men like that often enjoy boasting of the secrets they’re privy to.”
Trip frowned. “But this Devna’s after more than just Noar’s secrets. She’s influencing him. Pushing him to be more dominant, is that it? More aggressive?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know her specific objectives, sir. I’m just the facilitator. They don’t trust me with the details.”
“Imagine that,” Archer said. “And you with such a trustworthy face.”
“Yes, well . . .”
Archer rose and pulled Trip aside. “I’m not convinced he’s told us everything he knows,” Trip protested, still in the same cool tones that were so different from the man Archer had known.
“But he told us more than you were getting with your methods,” Archer said. Trip declined to answer. “At least we know the basics now. And we have a name. This Devna’s the one we should be talking to.”
“Agreed,” Trip said after a moment. “But you should let me handle that alone.” Archer stared, and Trip held up his hands defensively, for a moment looking like his old self again. “Don’t worry, I’ll leave the thumbscrews at home. I just mean . . . you heard what he said about the pheromones. You’re not immune to them. I am.”
Archer remembered. “Because of that . . . bond you have with T’Pol.”
“Right. Somehow it lets me share her Vulcan resistance to the effects.” He shrugged. “Or maybe it just makes me a one-woman kind o’ guy. Either way, I’m the only one who can tackle Devna safely—so to speak.”
Archer looked him over. “All right. But you’ll brief me on what you find out.”
“Absolutely.” He stepped back, looking uneasy. “I guess you can take Penap from here. Thanks for the help.”
“Sure thing.”
Trip faded into the shadows and was gone. Archer gazed after him for a moment, reflecting. The man was right about his immunity to Orion pheromones, but Archer sensed there was more to it. There was a barrier between them now. It was as if Trip was no longer comfortable working closely with anyone who didn’t wear the black suit.
What are you becoming, Trip? Archer thought. He hoped that Orion pheromones weren’t the only thing Trip’s bond with T’Pol enabled him to resist.
14
April 6, 2163
U.S.S. Pioneer
MALCOLM REED RUSHED to the medical tent as soon as he heard that Travis Mayweather was awake. He found his first officer lying on his cot, talking weakly with the doctor, sharing some remark that made her laugh, though he was too weak to do more than smile in return. “Travis,” Reed said. “Good to see you.”
“Sir!” Mayweather tried to sit up.
“At ease,” Reed told him. “You need your rest. Doctor . . . if we could have a moment?”
Liao traded a meaningful look with him. “Of course, Captain.”
As she left, Reed knelt by Mayweather’s cot. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I . . .” He trailed off, frowning, and finally said, “Like I’m too sleepy to think of a clever description.”
“I understand,” Reed said with a weak smile.
“So . . . I get the idea things are pretty bad. Radiation field, decaying orbit . . .”
The captain sighed heavily. “To be honest, Travis . . . you might’ve been better off if you hadn’t woken up. We’re hours from entering the planet’s atmosphere. We don’t have time to finish repairs. . . . There doesn’t seem to be a way out.”
“Malcolm . . . I’m sure you did everything you could.”
Just like Travis, to think of comforting others first. Reed stood and paced the confines of the small tent. “Oh, I did everything I was supposed to, all right. Everything by the book. But it wasn’t enough. This crew . . . they’re good people, they’ve worked hard, but maybe . . . maybe if you’d been here to rally their mor
ale, maybe we could’ve . . .” He shook his head. “I don’t know if we could’ve pulled off some miracle repair work, but at least . . . at least I wouldn’t feel I’ve let them down. Failed to inspire them as their leader.” He sighed. “I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore.”
Mayweather stared. “Are you kidding? Sir . . . if this is the end, then this is when the crew needs you the most.”
“I know. I know. Maybe . . . if you felt up to saying something to them—”
“No.” Mayweather clasped Reed’s hand. “They don’t need me. They need their captain. They need to know that you’re proud of them. That what they did mattered—even if just to you.”
“It does. I am. But . . . I don’t know if I can find the words.”
“The words don’t matter. What matters is that you care enough to try.”
After a moment, the captain placed his other hand over Mayweather’s, giving it one last squeeze. “Thank you, my friend. It’s been an honor serving with you.”
The first officer smiled back. “No place I’d rather be.”
Reed nodded and left the tent. He made his way to the next compartment, where most of the crew was housed. As he passed them, he saw their fear, their growing despair. He saw the need in their eyes as they looked at him—and saw them looking away, afraid they would get nothing in return.
When he reached the front of the compartment, he called, “Attention! All personnel, gather around, please.” They began to move forward. “That’s right, all of you, up here now.”
He made sure that those from adjoining compartments were brought in as well, and soon the entire complement was gathered around him, save for those in the medical tent who couldn’t leave—and they had a communicator open to hear his words. Reed looked them over, taking care to meet their eyes. “I know I haven’t . . . been the most gregarious of commanding officers. I want you to know that that is in no way a reflection of my regard for you as members of my crew. It’s simply . . . it’s the way I was raised. Maintaining a certain reserve, a certain discipline . . .”
He trailed off, and after a moment, he started again. “No. That’s not the real reason. It has always been hard for me to open up; the Reed men are a reserved bunch by nature. But . . . I became very close to my crewmates aboard Enterprise, because they made an ongoing effort to reach out to me—Mister Mayweather as much as anyone. I like to think I mellowed somewhat over the years.
“But then . . .” He forced himself not to turn away from their eyes, never mind the intimacy of what he felt compelled to reveal. “A few months ago, I discovered . . . that due to transporter damage, I can never have children of my own.” The crew murmured, as much in sympathy for his situation as in surprise that he’d confide it in them. “This was . . . hard for me to accept. Family—the Reed family tradition, the importance of propagating the line—has always been important to me. Losing that possibility has been . . . difficult to cope with. I fear I may have retreated too much within myself. I brought . . . Mister Mayweather aboard to facilitate my relationship with all of you, but I fear I’ve used him as a shield instead.
“I think that, in my preoccupation with my family situation . . . I’ve lost sight of how much Starfleet has become my family. And not just my colleagues and friends aboard Enterprise and Endeavour. All of you too. I may not have shown it, but I have been very proud of you all.”
He paused in contemplation. “My father has never been a demonstrative man. Eventually I came to understand that it didn’t mean he cared any less. Still . . . I remember times when it would’ve mattered to me a great deal if he had shown it more. And I’m sorry I didn’t remember those times when I was dealing with you.
“I want you to know that . . . despite our dire straits, I doubt any crew in Starfleet could’ve done more to extricate themselves from this situation. You have done exemplary work, even if no one will ever know it. But I know it, and I want you to know it, and take pride in it. As I take pride in all of you. You are as important to me as my own family . . . and it has been my singular honor to be your captain.”
After a moment of reflective silence, Valeria Williams stood before the group. “Atten-shun! ” she cried.
And all of Pioneer’s crew stood to attention and saluted Captain Reed.
He blinked away a tear as he saluted them back. “Thank you. I’m . . . not sure what orders I can give you for the time we have remaining. Except . . . to continue to do your duty as Starfleet personnel, so that Pioneer can go down with honor.”
A chorus of “aye”s sounded from the group. “Very well. Resume your duties.”
“Um . . . sir?” It was Rey Sangupta.
“Yes, Lieutenant?”
“Permission to propose a crazy, desperate Hail-Mary pass?”
Reed smirked. “I’d say this is the perfect time for one. Go ahead.”
“Well . . .” Sangupta pulled out a data slate. “I’ve been studying—in my spare time, mind you—studying the EM emissions from the planet. The ones I think are signals from some kind of intelligent life-form?”
“Your Jovian whales, yes.”
“Well . . . I’m more convinced than ever that they’re there. And . . . they have to be pretty huge to broadcast so powerfully. I’m thinking, if we get Grev on it, and dedicate all our computer resources to decoding their communications . . . maybe we can identify their distress calls. Or at least get their attention somehow.” He fumbled for words, then shrugged. “I don’t know if it’ll do any good. But at least it’s something we can do in the time we have left.” He breathed a weak chuckle. “I signed on to Starfleet to explore. To learn new things and see wonders. If these are my last hours in Starfleet . . . that’s how I want to go out.”
Reed considered his words, then smiled. “Thank you, Mister Sangupta, for reminding us of our true mission. Very well—go to it. Use Mister Grev and whatever resources and personnel you need.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Sangupta held his gaze a moment longer. “And . . . thank you.”
U.S.S. Endeavour
“You don’t have to do this,” Kimura said as he helped Sato into her EV suit.
“Yes, I do,” she told him. “You know that.”
He sighed. “Yeah, I know. I just hoped if I said it aloud, it might change something.”
Sato stroked his cheek. “You’ve seen me go into danger before.”
“Not alone,” he said, clasping her slender shoulders. She’d always seemed so small and delicate to him. He knew how strong and brilliant she was inside, but he couldn’t look at her, touch her, without wanting to protect her.
She held his gaze. “I’m not alone.” With a bit of a shrug, she gestured to the two beings who stood with them in the prep room, under heavy guard and ensheathed in their force-field carapaces. “I have my escorts.”
“You really think they understand the plan?” he asked her. “Or that they’ll really help you with it? How do you know they aren’t just going to toss you in a zoo somewhere?”
“If they do, at least there’s a good chance I’ll be with the other abducted crews. That’ll be a start.” She looked over the two silent aliens. “But they aren’t fighting us. I think T’Pol convinced her melding buddy over there, and he convinced the other one.”
The commander looked where she gestured. “How do you know which is which?”
“Not sure I do. And ‘he’ isn’t really the right word either.” Her sublimely dainty lips quirked in that way he loved so much. “I just don’t want to call them ‘it.’ Depersonalization is how we got into this mess.”
Kimura took heart. If anything could make this insane plan work, it was Hoshi’s empathy, her incredible gift for connecting with alien minds. She thought of it as a knack for languages, but he’d long felt it had to be more than that. Knowing the definitions of words wasn’t enough to produce the kind of fluency she could pick up in hours. That took a deeper understanding of how the language’s speakers thought about the world they inhabited and the concepts t
hey used to describe it.
He took her finely sculpted chin in his hand and gave her a long, gentle kiss. “You take care of yourself,” he told her. “Take care of everyone.”
“Right,” Sato said as she slipped her helmet on. “No pressure.”
Orion homeworld (Pi-3 Orionis III)
“Damn that Vulcan!” Navaar hurled a heavy vase across the lushly appointed command suite. Such histrionics were usually beneath her, but at a time like this, it felt necessary. “If I’d known how much trouble she’d turn out to be, I’d have had her killed back on Enterprise.”
“Garos won’t go along with their plan, will he?” D’Nesh asked. Behind her, one of their burly male slaves moved automatically to clean up the shards of the shattered vase, so deeply in the sisters’ thrall that words were unnecessary to command him. The Malurian was another matter, though. D’Nesh was uncomfortable dealing with a male over whom they had no power.
“He’ll have to pretend to,” Navaar answered. “But he’s a devious little serpent. Deceit and misdirection are his specialty. He’ll find a way to make sure the battle escalates.”
“Mm,” Maras moaned from the couch, where another massive slave was giving her a shoulder rub. “I like explosions. They’re pretty.”
“Yes, they are, dear,” Navaar called, trading a long-suffering smirk with her more intelligent sister. “And we should have lots of nice explosions for you soon.” She twisted her hair nervously. “As long as that damn Vulcan doesn’t get in the way again.”
“What about the ministers?” D’Nesh asked. “Do we control enough votes to overrule Shran if he goes pacifist on us?”
“We have Noar and Knowlton. The Mars defense minister is basically a ceremonial post; he’ll go along with whatever Knowlton says. We only need one more vote, and the Andorian will be sure to favor a fight.”
“I’d be more comfortable if we had more direct influence over them,” D’Nesh said. “Who knew Federation officials would be so hard to corrupt?”
“They’re young, ambitious,” Navaar said. “Hungry to prove themselves. It breeds idealism. Wait until they get more self-assured, more complacent. They’ll be easier prey then.”
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