by Dayton Ward
Now believing he was beginning to understand the nature of this furtive conversation and the reasons for Nogura’s actions and precautions, Kirk nodded. “You do, sir.”
Appearing satisfied with that answer, the admiral seemed to relax as he shifted in his chair. “Good. Now let’s you and I have our last conversation about Operation Vanguard, concentrating on the role you, your crew, and the Enterprise played before the whole thing went to hell.”
On second thought, Kirk decided that drink was not such a bad idea after all.
TWO
Holding the squat octagonal-shaped glass in his left hand, Kirk examined its contents. It was Saurian brandy, which Nogura had poured from a bottle he had produced from a drawer in his desk. For a brief moment, Kirk pondered how the admiral might have learned his preferred label but chalked it up as just another bit of evidence fueling the popular theory that Nogura simply was omniscient. Rather than dwell on the point, Kirk instead wondered what Commodore DeRoché might think of two officers using one of his station’s private offices to engage in such unseemly activities at just before the midpoint of the starbase’s main duty shift.
Let him sit in on this conversation, and he’ll probably want a drink of his own.
“Permission to speak freely, Admiral?” Kirk asked.
Nogura did not hesitate. “Absolutely, at least for the duration of this conversation. I figure you’ve earned that much.”
Emboldened by the admiral’s accommodating response, Kirk took a sip of his brandy before plunging ahead. “As you know, sir, I’m not read into Operation Vanguard. Not really, anyway. I believe it’s you who last told me I have no need to know.” The brandy was smooth; when it came to his choice of spirits, Nogura had impeccable taste.
Nogura’s expression betrayed nothing as he settled back into his chair while holding his own glass. “You still don’t. Yes, I know you’ve had exposure to some aspects of the project, as well as being involved in one or two peripheral incidents, but you’re correct; you’re still not fully read into the program. That’s not going to change.”
Forcing himself to maintain his bearing, as much out of respect for Nogura as the simple fact that the admiral was unlikely to bend on this point before either of them died, Kirk said, “Even though you and Starfleet have done your best to keep the whole thing under wraps, I’ve been able to put some of it together. This all started with that meta-genome the Constellation found six years ago, and led to incidents at Ravanar IV, Erilon, and Gamma Tauri IV, before you replaced Commodore Reyes as commander of Starbase 47. So far as I can tell, things went completely to hell after that.”
Kirk wondered for a moment if it might not have been better for to him to have exercised some restraint, but Nogura had given him permission to speak without the hamstringing of protocol. Given the circumstances, in particular the dense shroud of secrecy that had enveloped the mysterious project from its inception, Kirk decided that Nogura’s decision even to have this conversation was an act of understanding, if not kindness. It was true that the Enterprise on occasion had crossed paths with the project, up to and including the climactic battle that had resulted in Starbase 47’s destruction. However, Kirk and his crew had managed degrees of tangential involvement from the earliest days of the station’s presence in the Taurus Reach, a wedge of space at the fringes of Federation territory and sandwiched between the borders of the Klingon Empire and the Tholian Assembly. It was here that the Federation had launched a massive colonization effort, supported by Starfleet security patrols as well as logistical and other aid from the station itself. Only a small, select group of people had known of the secret mission for which all of this activity provided cover: Operation Vanguard, a top secret project with the single mandate to discover the secrets of an ancient race which once had ruled over the Taurus Reach, the Shedai.
From what Kirk had managed to learn about the Shedai—thanks mostly to articles published by Federation News Service reporter Tim Pennington, himself living and working aboard Starbase 47—they once possessed and commanded a level of technological sophistication almost beyond comprehension. The Vanguard project had managed to acquire significant information about the Shedai and the complex, artificially constructed DNA structure they had created, dubbed the “Taurus Meta-Genome.” A number of practical applications for it had been postulated, particularly in the areas of terraforming as well as medical science, based on what had been learned about the Shedai civilization that had existed millennia ago. However, that knowledge had come at tremendous cost, spanning more than six years and costing lives in numbers of which Kirk had little real knowledge. The project had come perilously close to unleashing upon the Federation an enemy against which it had limited means of defense. Only through the ingenuity and courage of a handful of people and no small amount of luck had the Shedai been defeated.
“There’s a lot I still don’t know, sir,” Kirk said, rotating his glass between his hands as he studied its contents. “I’m going to have some questions.”
“I’m sure you will,” Nogura replied. “I may be able to answer some of them, but probably not all of them. You should keep that in mind before you actually ask me anything. It’ll save us both some time.” Though the statement was firm, the admiral punctuated it with a small mischievous smile that succeeded in taking away some of the sting.
“Fair enough,” Kirk said, before pausing to sip from his brandy. “I’m actually surprised we’re having this discussion at all. Given the secrecy surrounding the project, I figured you’d already be working to clean up as much of the mess as possible before burying the whole thing for good.”
Nogura nodded. “Oh, make no mistake, that’s being done even as we speak. For all I know, they’re preparing to stuff me in a box along with all the data and other materials we collected.” He brought his glass to his lips and inhaled the brandy’s aroma before taking a sip. “However, aside from the ships actually assigned to Starbase 47 in support of the project, you and your crew had more involvement than anyone else. So it seems only fair that we have this one last talk about it before I order you to forget the whole thing forever.”
Managing to suppress a chuckle, Kirk said, “It’s not the first time I’ve heard that song, Admiral. I imagine you’ll be having a similar talk with Captain Khatami.”
“I’d call that a safe bet,” Nogura replied. “I’m talking to you first, because the Enterprise repairs will take far less time than those required by the Endeavour. Khatami and her crew aren’t going anywhere for a while yet.”
“How long before the Endeavour’s ready for duty?” Kirk asked.
Nogura gestured to the computer terminal on his desk. “According to the last report I got, at least three weeks, and that’s with repair crews working around the clock. Most of the engineering staff has to be replaced, and there aren’t too many chief engineers around qualified to crew a Constitution-class starship.” He paused, his expression falling. “They really got pounded. It would’ve been a hell of a lot worse if the Enterprise hadn’t swooped in when you did.”
The fiery end of Starbase 47 in the Taurus Reach a mere five days earlier had been one of the most intense conflicts in which Kirk had ever taken part. Nogura had called the Enterprise back to Vanguard when it became clear the station would be targeted for annihilation by an armada of Tholian vessels. Kirk and his crew had arrived in time to render aid to the Endeavour in the final moments of that vessel’s hopeless bid to defend the massive Watchtower-class space station against the hundreds of Tholian ships pitted against it. The Endeavour—assisted by two other Starfleet vessels that ultimately were destroyed and a third that was so damaged it was forced to leave the battle—had managed for a time to stave off the incursion. However, sheer numbers had worked against them from the moment the first shot was fired. With the Enterprise able to provide cover, the Endeavour had succeeded in evacuating Vanguard’s remaining personnel before both starships retreated just as the station exploded.
“The
Sagittarius, on the other hand,” Nogura said, “is faring much better. According to the latest report, it should be ready for duty in about three days. I’ve ordered its priority downgraded so that we can get you on your way as quickly as possible.”
Kirk nodded, his mood sobering. “From what I can tell, Captain Terrell certainly deserves his promotion. I just wish it could be under better circumstances.”
“Agreed,” Nogura replied. “He’s got big shoes to fill. Captain Nassir was one hell of an officer.”
Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Kirk sighed. “Yes, he was.” Adelard Nassir, captain of the Sagittarius, was one of two casualties the small Archer-class scout had suffered during the battle. The ship’s first officer, Clark Terrell, assumed command and guided his wounded vessel to safety when it had become apparent that the Sagittarius was outmatched against the waves of Tholian vessels. That had not stopped him from wanting to stay in the fight, and he might well have done so if not for an order from Captain Khatami to evacuate the area. “I’ve never met Terrell, but I hear he’s a good man, too. He’d have to be, or else Nassir would never have recruited him to be his second-in-command.”
Nogura, having finished the brandy in his glass, reached for the bottle and poured himself another portion. “He’ll do fine, and he and the Sagittarius will have plenty to do, as our exploration efforts in the Taurus Reach will continue, but that’s not why we’re here.” He leaned back in his chair, sipping brandy. After a moment, he added, “Of course, I suppose we’re going to need a new space station.” He shook his head, and his expression turned to one of discontent. “An entire Watchtower-class starbase, gone. Do you have any idea how long it takes to build one of those damned things?”
“Lieutenant Xiong was very brave, doing what he did,” Kirk said.
“Yes,” Nogura agreed, his eyes dropping to stare at his desk. “He certainly was.”
The captain had been saddened to hear of Xiong’s passing, though he could not help but admire the lieutenant’s bold, selfless action that had saved so many lives. He had met Starbase 47’s archaeology and anthropology officer during the Enterprise’s mission to the Federation outpost on Ravanar IV to investigate the loss of the U.S.S. Bombay, a vessel assigned to the station and believed destroyed after an attack by Tholian vessels. That assignment, and the ensuing mission to the planet’s surface, had almost ended in disaster when Kirk and his landing party, along with Xiong, fell victim to a booby trap left by the Tholians responsible for the outpost’s destruction. Kirk had found Ming Xiong to be a driven, ambitious officer, motivated not by a desire for personal gain but instead the simple furthering of knowledge. The lieutenant had approached the mystery of the meta-genome and the Shedai with the hope of bringing all the knowledge they once had commanded back to the Federation.
“From what I understand,” Kirk said, “he stood by the button until the last possible second, giving us every chance he could to get clear.” After a moment, he added, “He was a good man.”
Nogura countered, “He was an idealist, which by itself isn’t a bad thing. There were those who argued he wasn’t the right man for the Vanguard project, but I came to believe otherwise. In a lot of ways, he was our moral compass. More than anyone else, he wanted the Shedai technology to be an instrument for good, and who knows? That might still happen, at least in some small way. I’d like to think that was possible, even after everything that’s happened. At least then maybe his sacrifice and that of so many others won’t feel like such a damned waste.”
Despite his still-limited knowledge of the veils of security that had shrouded Starbase 47 and its mission in the Taurus Reach, Kirk reasoned that the decision to allow the station’s destruction was born from a desire to protect whatever secrets remained of Operation Vanguard. That the act also had dealt the attacking Tholian fleet a crippling blow and sent the survivors into a frenzied withdrawal from the skirmish had been a fortunate happenstance for both the Enterprise and the Endeavour.
“After our mission with Lieutenant Xiong and his team to Ravanar IV,” Kirk said, “we were ordered to purge all details of that incident from the Enterprise memory banks.” He paused long enough to finish the brandy lingering in his glass. “I suppose you’ll be asking us to do that again?”
Nogura smiled. “Already being taken care of. Commander Spock has been given precise instructions on the transfer and deletion of relevant data from your ship’s computer records. Everything with even the most fleeting connection to Vanguard will be expunged, beginning with your mission to find the Defiant.”
THREE
Stardate 5694.7
Everything around him was darkness.
Kirk drifted in the void, the sound of his own low, ragged breathing echoing within the confines of his environment suit’s helmet. It almost, but not quite, masked the soft repeating drone of the alert indicator reminding him that his suit was running out of oxygen.
There was nothing but unyielding blackness in all directions. How long had he been here? Hours, obviously, straining to their limit the capabilities of his suit’s life-support systems. When the shock had passed in the wake of the Defiant’s transition to . . . this place, whatever it was, and it became evident that a quick rescue might not happen, Kirk had taken steps to extend his suit’s oxygen supply. Small, shallow breaths, just as he had been taught in academy survival training. Still, he could not rule out that he might already be suffering the effects of oxygen deprivation. The act of being transferred to this odd realm also seemed to have other effects. First, a feeling of sudden, almost overwhelming fatigue had gripped him, as though his body had fought the transition down to the last molecule. Then there was the disorientation as he struggled to get his bearings, when he was certain he was falling victim to hallucinations. Instead of floating, out here in the midst of nothing, he had envisioned himself aboard the Enterprise, seeing members of his crew and calling to them for help. His shouts seemed to go unheard, but had his people seen him? Did he imagine them reaching out as though trying to make contact?
As for the Defiant, it was gone, having disappeared in the same abrupt manner in which it and he had been brought to this place. Had it returned to normal space, visible to the Enterprise, or had it been sent somewhere else entirely? Perhaps it simply had been destroyed, falling victim to whatever unknown forces might be at play here.
That doesn’t bode well for you, does it?
Fatigue already had him in its grasp, and it was a fight for Kirk even to remain conscious. He tried to focus on his breathing, inhaling and exhaling in short, measured repetition, holding each breath as he counted off the seconds before releasing it. His efforts were only delaying the inevitable, he knew, but he could not bring himself to surrender even this small battle. Kirk had faced death on numerous occasions, but in almost none of those cases had he been a passive observer to his own demise, powerless to ward off whatever fate might await him.
Aside from the odd hunch or stroke of intuition that from time to time had informed a decision during a heated moment, Kirk did not consider himself a prophet or possessed of any gift of foreknowledge. Still, one of the beliefs he always had held, for reasons he did not understand, was that he would die alone. He was certain that did not mean he would suffer the lone fatal injury while commanding a landing party, or even that he might be the sole casualty while standing on the bridge of his ship. He had no ideas, thoughts, or beliefs as to the actual time or means of his demise, only the certainty that when death came, it would visit him during some point of extreme isolation. There could be no denying that holding on to such a thought was silly, but that did not stop him from contemplating it. On occasion, while lying in bed in the privacy of his quarters aboard the Enterprise, Kirk had wondered if his being “alone” in that instance might imply a literal or perhaps metaphorical sense.
This seems pretty literal to me, right about now.
He wanted nothing more than to sleep, though he knew what likely would happen if he allowed himself to
fall into slumber. Keeping his eyes open required physical effort, and only the interior of his helmet provided any means of telling the difference between the inside of his eyelids and the vast gulf of absolute black before him. It would be so easy, he knew, such a simple thing to just close his eyes.
Then fleeting bright light exploded in his vision. He had just enough time to register the effect and flinch in the face of it, his body swathed in the same odd tingling sensation he had felt upon entering the void with the Defiant. As before, his body seemed to rebel against the grip of whatever forces snared him. A wave of nausea swept over him and he worried that he might vomit inside his helmet. He forced away the anxiety, seeking some measure of calm as he willed his body not to resist whatever was happening. Then, as quickly as the light appeared, it was gone.
And stars were everywhere.
Kirk grunted in surprise at the scene before him, but when he tried to draw another breath, he was greeted by the low buzz of his life-support system telling him he had depleted the final remnants of his oxygen supply. Whatever air remained to him was trapped within the confines of the suit itself. He had minutes, at most. There would be no fighting it. There would be no fighting anything, as he felt the lingering vestiges of strength draining away.
Then another odd tingling played across his body. This one he recognized, and the first rush of relief began even as he felt the transporter beam envelop him. The stars disappeared, replaced by the familiar welcoming environs of the Enterprise transporter room. Behind the console was Lieutenant O’Neil, one of Scotty’s young engineering technicians, and standing next to him were McCoy and Nurse Chapel. Kirk was able to comprehend the concerned expressions on their faces as the transporter beam faded and his body gave out, unable to support its own weight let alone the added burden of the now useless environment suit.
