The Bloodwing Voyages

by Diane Duane

  “But Vulcans with command training—” the captain said,

  “Command training will make no difference to this artificially augmented ability, Captain,” Ael said. “We are dealing here with an ability that if developed much further will be able to take on even races as telepathically advanced as the Organians and Melkot.”

  The captain’s face went very fierce. “We’ve got to go after them—”

  “You cannot. If you do, you and your whole crew will suffer the same fate as Intrepid—one not so kind, actually. Your minds will fall under control far more swiftly than those of Intrepid’s Vulcans did—and after the Rihannsu move in and arrest you and Spock and the doctor, they will kill your crew and take the Enterprise home to study. The same thing will happen if Inaieu or Constellation follow you in. No, Captain, if you want the Intrepid and its crew back, my plan is the only way. And we will have to be swift about it. They will not wait around, at Levaeri, now that they have the genetic material they need. Processing of the Vulcans will begin at once.”

  Ael sat still, then, and watched the captain think. A long time she had wanted to see this—her old opponent in the process of decision, ideas and options flickering behind his eyes. And it was very quickly, as she had suspected it would be, that he looked up again.

  “Commander,” he said, “I think, for the moment, you’ve got an ally. Spock, have Lieutenant Mahasë call Rihaul and Walsh. I want a meeting of all ships’ department heads in Inaieu in an hour. Bones, bring Lieutenant Kerasus with you.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “Right, Jim.”

  And out they went. Ael found herself alone and looking at an angry man—one who was going to have to do something he didn’t want to, and was very aware of it.

  “Commander,” he said to her, “am I going to regret this?”

  “‘Going to’? Captain, you regret it already.”

  He frowned at her—and at the same time began to smile.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  Chapter Ten

  It turned into the noisiest staff meeting Jim could remember in many years of them. The number of people in attendance was part of the reason—all eighteen of Enterprise’s department heads, along with Janíce Kerasus from linguistics, Jim’s Romulan culture expert, and Colin Matlock, the security chief; and the captains and department heads of both Constellation and Inaieu. There they were, crammed into Inaieu’s main briefing…hominids and tentacled people and people with extra legs, all three kinds of Denebians and very assorted members of other species, in as much or as little Fleet uniform as they usually wore.

  In the middle of all the blue and orange and command gold and green was a patch of color both somberer and more splendid; Ael and her son Tafv, both in the scarlet and gold-shot black of Romulan officers. They did not bear themselves like two aliens alone among suspicious people. Ael sat as unshaken among them as she had in the officers’ lounge; and Jim, looking across at the calm young Tafv leaning back in his chair, decided that he had inherited more from his mother than his nose.

  He had beamed across from Bloodwing at Ael’s request, and had looked around Enterprise’s transporter room with the hard, seeing eyes of someone checking an area for weaknesses, assessing its strengths. Jim had looked curiously at him, wondering how old he really might be; for Romulans, like Vulcans, showed little indication of aging until they were in their sixties. The man looked to be in his mid-twenties, but might have been in his forties for all Jim knew. Then he found himself being examined closely by those eyes, so pale a brown they were almost gold; an intrusive, disconcerting stare. “Subcommander,” he had said, and courteously enough the young man had bowed to him; but Jim went away disquieted, he didn’t know why.

  The department heads of the three ships had been making noise about the Romulans’ presence at their council; politely, but they had been making it all the same. Jim was letting them run down. It seemed the wisest course; that way there would be slightly less noise when he told them what he and Ael were planning.

  He glanced down past McCoy and Sulu and Matlock toward Lieutenant Kerasus, raising an inquiring eyebrow at her.

  She glanced back, shaking her head ever so slightly at some response of one of the Eyrene Denebians to something Spock was telling them about the Levaeri V researches. Janíce Kerasus was chief of linguistics, the person primarily responsible for programming of the translation computer and translation of alien documents received by the ship. She was a tall, big-boned, strikingly handsome woman with dark curling hair and calm brown eyes that slanted up at the corners, making her look like a lazy cat most of the time—excepting when she was very interested, as she was now; then she got the look of a cat waiting patiently by a mousehole, eyes a bit wide and a faintly pleased look on her face.

  She was waiting for something now, that was plain. The room had settled down somewhat from the restrained uproar that had occurred when Jim had first introduced Ael and Tafv. Mike Walsh has stared at Jim as if he’d gone nuts, and Rihaul had slitted her eye at him in a later-for-you gesture he knew too well from the old days, after some particularly painful tutoring session. But now the other officers were beginning to get the idea that these Romulans might actually have come to do them a service. It was taking a while to sink in, unfortunately, and Jim grudged the lost time.

  It was time to kick things in the side. Spock had done the “dirty” work, filling the meeting in on the news Ael had brought them and his confirmation of it. Now Jim stopped Spock from taking another question from one of Rihaul’s people. “Gentlebeings,” he said, “we’ve got to get moving here. You’ve heard what the commander proposes—”

  “It would break almost every reg in the book,” Mike Walsh said. “Allowing hostiles into classified areas. Entering into private alliances with foreign powers. Espionage again. Destruction of private property…”

  “I have those powers, Mike,” Jim said quietly. “That’s what ‘unusual breadth of discretion’ is for, after all.”

  Mike grimaced at him, knowing as well as Jim the pitfalls that awaited him should this operation somehow get botched. “I know. But we’re quite literally in an untenable position. We can’t stay here; the Romulans monitoring the Zone will get suspicious. We can’t leave—certainly not without determining the fate of the Intrepid. We can’t send for help, communication isn’t secure; and we can’t send ships to carry a secure message—we need all our strength here. We have to act, and we have to do it now, and much as I hate to admit it, Ael’s idea is the best we’ve got.”

  Ael threw Jim a glance that reminded him a great deal of one of Spock’s appreciative-but-don’t-tell-anyone expressions. “Gentlefolk,” Tafv said from beside her in his light tenor, “I assure you that the commander is as little sanguine about offering you this plan as you are at the thought of accepting it. If it succeeds, the commander and I have nothing to gain but disgrace, irrevocable exile for both of us and for the rest of her crew, and the permanent possibility of being hunted down and killed by Romulan agents for revenge’s sake.” He looked grave. “We are all willing to risk that for her sake. It’s a matter of mnhei’sahe.” There were curious looks around the table at the word the translator had failed to render, but Tafv didn’t stop. “However, we face far, far worse if the attempt fails. If caught in Romulan territory, we and Bloodwing’s crew will assuredly die. You and your ships could conceivably fight your way out again—and whatever difficulties you may have with Starfleet Command afterward, you will still be alive to have them.”

  “Noted, Subcommander,” Jim said. “One moment. Lieutenant Kerasus—‘mneh’-what?”

  “‘Mnhei’sahe,’” she said promptly. “Captain, I’m sorry, but you would ask me to render one of the most difficult words in the language. It’s not quite honor—and not quite loyalty—and not quite anger, or hatred, or about fifty other things. It can be a form of hatred that requires you to give your last drop of water to a thirsty enemy—or an act of love that requires you to kill a f
riend. The meaning changes constantly with context, and even in one given context, it’s slippery at best.”

  “In this one?”

  Kerasus glanced across at Tafv. “If I understand the subcommander correctly, they are returning the favor that Commander t’Rllaillieu has done them by commanding them, by being in turn willing to be commanded. That sounds a little odd, I know, but their forms of what we call ‘loyalty’ do not always involve compliance. These people will follow her to death…and beyond, if they can…because they acknowledge that what she’s doing is right, no matter what High Command says.”

  There was a little silence around the table at that. “Commander,” Captain Rihaul said quietly, “I hope you will excuse us both our ignorance and our caution. But none of us have ever seen Romulans do anything but make war, and that savagely. That you would also wage peace…if forcefully…comes as something of a surprise.”

  Ael smiled at the Deirr captain, a rueful look. “Oh, I assure you, Captain, we know more arts than those of war. But our position between you and the Klingons has left us little leisure to practice them. So we tend to leave their development to others. Our allies…or our subjects.”

  Lieutenant Kerasus lifted her head at that, though she said nothing. Jim caught the look, though. “Comment, Lieutenant?”

  “Yes, sir.” She looked down the table toward Ael and began to speak, and her quiet voice suddenly had steel in it. “‘Other peoples may yet/ more skillfully teach bronze to breathe,

  “‘leading outward and loosing

  the life lying hidden in marble;

  some may plead causes better,

  or using the tools of science

  better predict heaven’s moods

  and chart the stars’ changing courses.

  But Roman, remember you well

  that your own arts are these others:

  to govern the nations in power;

  to dictate their rule in peace;

  to raise up the peoples you’ve conquered,

  and throw down the proud who resist….’”

  Jim saw Ael looking at Kerasus with an expression that looked like surprise, or hope, or both. “That is very well said. But the language sounds old. Those people are no longer with you, I think.”

  “Their descendants only,” Jim said. “Though many of Earth’s major languages were powerfully affected by theirs. For the most part, their way is one we’ve left behind us. But they were a great people.”

  “If they became less than great,” Ael said, glancing around the table at the many sorts of listeners, “it is because they forgot those words and handed their rule over to others—perhaps to onetime enemies, whom in their contempt and laziness they tried to absorb, and forgot to fear. Or else to those who paid lip service to the ancient laws without understanding the vision on which they were founded. Am I wrong?”

  The stillness of their faces evidently told her she was not. “That is the danger in which my Empire now stands, gentlefolk. And I will not see five thousand years’ civilization fall, as it seems other empires have, due to some paltry cause, to mere sloth, or folly—or the death of honor! I have said to Enterprise’s captain that there was no help to be found in my friends, so that I needs must turn to my enemies. Your Federation says it wants peace among the great powers. Now it shall be seen how much it wants that, by the actions of you its representatives. For if you fail to act now on the information I bring you, with the power to hand, peace will fail you forever.”

  The room was quiet for a few seconds, and into that quietness came the whistle of the intercom. “Main briefing,” said Captain Rihaul.

  “Captain,” said the foghorn voice of one of Rihaul’s bridge crew, “we’re now in the area from which Intrepid made its last report. The meson residue of her engines comes this far, then stops…as if the matter-antimatter converters had been shut down. There’s a faint meson trail leading away from here, though—shutdown residue, nothing more.”

  “Where does it lead?” Mike Walsh said.

  “Bearing ninety mark plus-five, sir. Into the Neutral Zone.”

  People all around the room looked at one another. “Anything else, Syill?” said Rihaul.

  “No, madam.”

  “All right. Main briefing out.”

  “There it is, gentlebeings,” Jim said. “One of our starships is missing—and we know where it’s gone. If we needed an excuse for crossing the Zone, we’ve got one now. Not even Fleet will be able to argue with what our sensors show us. And the question of committing an act of war is now also moot. What would you call shanghaiing the Intrepid?”

  “No argument there, Jim.” Rihaul looked across the table at him with great concern. “Unfortunately. Now it falls to us to keep this war from escalating into a full-scale conflict.”

  “And the only way we’re going to manage it is Ael’s plan,” Jim said. “I’m sorry to have to command you to do things you can’t fully support—but I see no alternative.”

  “Jim,” Mike Walsh said, “you misunderstand us. We support you to the hilt. But we don’t like this!”

  “Bad odds?” Jim said gently.

  Mike looked rueful. “They’d be better if you’d take Inaieu and Constellation along.”

  “Sorry, Mike, but that’s out of the question. At the slightest warning the people on Levaeri will dump their computers and escape with the genetic material—and take Intrepid along with them, so deep into Romulan space that none of us would ever get out again.”

  “We could be taken along in tow, ‘captured’ as you would be,” Rihaul said. But she said it so wistfully that Jim wanted to reach over and pat her tentacles.

  Ael, seated not far from Rihaul, laughed very kindly. “Captain,” she said, “you do Bloodwing such an honor as she has never been done before. But it would never work. One starship I can barely justify catching, on my own reputation as a commander. But with Cuirass, and the idiot crew that Romulan High Command knows is aboard her—three starships, and one of those a Defender-class destroyer? They would know upon detecting us that something was amiss, and flee Levaeri as Enterprise’s captain has said…. And besides all that, if I tried to tow so much tonnage, I would burn out Bloodwing’s engines. I fear it will not work. But I am sorry to have to answer such mnhei’sahe with cold counsel….”

  The people around the table were quiet, looking at Jim. “Well, we’d best get started,” he said. “Mr. Spock has detailed the commander’s plan for you. We will be following it quite closely. I want Inaieu and Constellation to continue routine patrols—being careful to avoid this area for several hours on the next sweep; we mustn’t have any more muon trails through here than Ael’s story will account for—and the phaser fire of the ‘battle’ we’re going to stage will obliterate the trails left by your presence here and now. Ael will be beaming about forty Romulans aboard to man key posts in case the escorting ships decide they need proof of what’s going on. Subcommander Tafv will be remaining on Bloodwing, while Ael supervises her people’s settling in over here. What’s our ETA at Levaeri V?”

  “At towing speed, about warp two, two days and five hours in your time system,” Tafv said. “We will hit their sensor boundary at about one day twenty hours. An escort, should Command decide to send us one, would doubtless scramble and meet us about one day into the journey.”

  “Couldn’t we just sneak in?” Sulu said, from beyond Spock.

  “Besides the lack of honor in such an approach,” Tafv said with a slight smile, “no. Our side of the border is as thickly sown with sensor satellites as yours is; and should we try to reenter the Zone without reporting our presence, Command would know immediately that something was amiss. The ships sent to intercept us would fire first and ask no questions, whether we had Enterprise in tow or not—in fact, they would be glad to blow you up and take the credit for it. And as you already know, they count the commander a nuisance better dead than alive. No, we must declare ourselves, and then prepare to deceive the escort.”

 
“So we’d best get started,” Jim said. “Commander, Subcommander, will you beam over to Enterprise with Dr. McCoy and Mr. Spock and work out quartering arrangements for your crewpeople with them? We don’t have a lot of space in crew’s quarters proper, but those who need to be aboard for the ruse should be comfortable enough. And, Uhura, I want you to see if there isn’t some way to temporarily block subspace communication in our neighborhood—or at least interfere with it.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Captain Rihaul, I leave you in command of the task force—what’s left of it. Be very clear about this: should something go wrong with this operation, under no circumstances are you to mount a rescue attempt of any kind. You must disavow us if approached. Understood?”

  “Jim—”

  “No ‘buts,’ Mike. Acknowledge and comply.”

  “Acknowledged,” said Captain Walsh.

  “Yes, Jim,” said Rihaul.

  “Very well.”

  “And good luck, Captain,” Walsh said.

  “If there is such a thing,” Jim said, “I accept with thanks. Dismissed, all.”

  Jim stood; the room emptied—swiftly of Denebians, more slowly of the other species. Finally only the three of them were left—the two hominids and the brown, baggy Deirr, looking uncomfortably at one another.

  “It’s hardly a pat hand, Jim,” Mike said. “I would much rather you cheated.”

  “I am considering tucking you two up my sleeve,” Jim said. “Nhauris, let’s go down to your quarters and talk.”

  Much later, Jim leaned over the helm console and said, “How about it, Mr. Sulu? Do you think you can make it work?”

  “No question, Captain.” Sulu was seated at the console, making minute adjustments to a set of programmed flight instructions. Beside Jim, looking over Sulu’s other shoulder with great interest, was Subcommander Tafv. He and Sulu had been consulting for nearly an hour now, “choreographing” the “battle” they would fight in Romulan space.