Star Trek®: Mirror Universe: Shards and Shadows

by Marco Palmieri

  Building Nobunaga, embedding the prefix code. Chasing the rebels. Archer’s message. Changing sides. Giving the captain the key to the Empress’s brand-spanking-new starship. Giving the rebels a weapon that, at last, could match Defiant.

  Being captured. Being tortured. Physically, first, and then—

  “Rip it out of his mind,” the Empress said. “Get me that code. Now.”

  T’Pol nodded. “I will do as you wish, of course. However, if we cause permanent damage—”

  The Empress let out a scream of frustration and left the room.

  Reed started to follow, then stopped at the door. He looked at Phlox first and then at T’Pol.

  “Let’s do it again, shall we? Until we get it right?”

  T’Pol and Phlox nodded.

  Tucker felt his stomach turn over.

  Again? How many times—

  He tried to catch T’Pol’s eye. She wouldn’t look at him.

  “Progress reports every hour,” Reed said.

  “Every hour.” Phlox nodded. “You’re saying we shouldn’t sleep?”

  Reed glared at him and left the room.

  The doctor shook his head. “No sense of humor, that man.” He walked to the far corner and pulled his cart forward. He looked up at T’Pol.

  “Do you want to go first, or shall I?”

  “You,” T’Pol said. “I have had quite enough for the moment.”

  “Really?” Phlox smiled again. “Not going soft on us, are you?”

  She reached up and pulled off her wig.

  “Of course not,” she said.

  Her face was blank, expressionless, emotionless.

  Courage. Be strong.

  Oh God, Tucker thought. Had he imagined that, too?

  Phlox stepped forward. His eyes glittered.

  Metal gleamed.

  “Memory,” he said. “Such an interesting phenomenon. Don’t you agree?”

  Tucker closed his eyes and braced himself.

  Ill Winds

  Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

  HISTORIAN’S NOTE: “Ill Winds” takes place after 2245 (ACE) and before Captain Christopher Pike takes command of the Terran Empire Starship Enterprise in 2251 (Star Trek).

  Dayton Ward is a software developer, having become a slave to Corporate America after spending eleven years in the U.S. Marine Corps. When asked, he’ll tell you that he joined the military soon after high school because he’d grown tired of people telling him what to do all the time. If you get the chance, be sure to ask him how well that worked out. In addition to the numerous credits he shares with friend and co-writer Kevin Dilmore, he is the author of the Star Trek novel In the Name of Honor and the science fiction novels The Last World War and The Genesis Protocol, as well as short stories that have appeared in the first three Star Trek: Strange New Worlds anthologies, the Yard Dog Press collection Houston, We’ve Got Bubbas, DownInTheCellar.com, Kansas City Voices magazine, and the Star Trek: New Frontier anthology No Limits. Though he currently lives in Kansas City with his wife and daughters, Dayton is a Florida native and still maintains a torrid long-distance romance with his beloved Tampa Bay Buccaneers. Visit him on the web at www.daytonward.com.

  Kevin Dilmore for more than eight years was a contributing writer to Star Trek Communicator, penning news stories and personality profiles for the bimonthly publication of the Official Star Trek Fan Club. On the storytelling side of things, his story “The Road to Edos” was published as part of the Star Trek: New Frontier anthology No Limits. With Dayton Ward, his work includes stories for the anthology Star Trek: Tales of the Dominion War, the Star Trek: The Next Generation novels A Time to Sow and A Time to Harvest, the Star Trek: Vanguard novel Summon the Thunder, the Star Trek: Enterprise novel Age of the Empress, and ten installments of the original e-book series Star Trek: S.C.E. and Star Trek: Corps of Engineers. A graduate of the University of Kansas, Kevin works as a senior writer for Hallmark Cards in Kansas City, Missouri.

  Captain Nathan Thorpe stood at rigid attention in the center of his own quarters aboard the I.S.S. Indomitable, fighting the urge to vomit.

  Bile rose in his throat, and he swallowed, forcing it down for the moment. Feeling a line of sweat trickling down the left side of his face, Thorpe dared not reach up to wipe it away. Despite the lack of personal guards to stop him, the idea of attempting to draw the phaser or dagger on his belt seemed ludicrous. While the reputations and martial prowess of many high-ranking Starfleet officers were fraught with exaggeration—if not outright lies—Thorpe knew from firsthand observation that such was not the case with the officer now standing before him, a man whose very name evoked fear throughout the Terran Empire’s Starfleet.

  Commodore Robert April.

  The commodore was an imposing man with thinning brown hair swept back from his face. His physique was trim and athletic, with lean yet still-muscled arms extending from his sleeveless gold tunic. In one hand, he carried the data slate Thorpe had given him upon his arrival, which contained updated reports on the damage Indomitable had suffered during its recent encounter with Klingon warships, as well as the current status of the crew’s repair efforts.

  “Your crew is to be commended, Captain,” April said, standing before the teak curio cabinet Thorpe had placed near the bed in the far corner of his quarters’ sleeping area. “The progress they’ve made in such a short time is noteworthy.”

  “Thank you, Commodore,” Thorpe replied, feeling his throat tighten.

  Without looking away from the cabinet, April added, “Of course, none of that effort likely would’ve been necessary if you’d made wiser decisions.” He said nothing more for several moments, engrossed in the collection of books, photographs, and other keepsakes arrayed atop the curio’s six shelves—mementos Thorpe had accumulated during his Starfleet career. April seemed particularly interested in the pictures of Thorpe’s wife and family.

  “You’re a widower, Captain,” the commodore said after what to Thorpe felt like an eternity. “Is that correct?”

  Swallowing again, Thorpe replied, “Yes, sir. My wife and children died some years ago in a shuttle accident.” Of course, he knew precisely when they had been killed, just as he remembered the exact date and time he had been informed of their deaths.

  “A tragedy, to be sure,” April said, turning from the cabinet to face him, and Thorpe felt the commodore’s cobalt-blue eyes boring into him. “And you’ve never wavered in your service to the Empire.” He began pacing the quarters’ narrow confines. “Your record shows you to be an exceptional officer, with almost limitless potential.” Pausing before the sheathed Japanese katana sword mounted on the wall over Thorpe’s desk, he reached up and ran a finger along its length before looking over his shoulder. “A gift from the Empress Sato herself, yes?”

  Again, Thorpe nodded. “Yes, Commodore.” While serving years ago as part of Sato II’s personal security detail, he had single-handedly thwarted an assassination attempt by one of her senior military advisers, killing the duplicitous admiral and sustaining severe injuries in the process. In addition to the sword, the Empress had awarded him accelerated promotion and an eventual fast-tracking to starship command.

  None of that seemed to matter at the moment.

  April turned from the sword. “Your loyalty is irrefutable, Captain, which is why it saddens me to be here today.” As he stepped closer, the commodore’s expression changed for the first time since entering the room. Now his chiseled features darkened as he frowned. “I trust you know why Constellation and I were sent?”

  Here it comes.

  Thorpe replied, “I failed in my mission to learn about the new weapon being developed by the Klingons.” There was no sense trying to deflect blame or mitigate the circumstances surrounding the bungled assignment. His only chance here was open honesty and candid acceptance of responsibility for his actions.

  Pursing his lips, April shook his head. “It’s not merely that, or that your clumsy efforts resulted in the destruction of one sta
rship along with heavy damage to your own. More important, the Klingons now know we’re aware of their activities.”

  Though he stood absolutely still before the commodore, inwardly Thorpe flinched. The Klingons had caught on to the covert surveillance being conducted by Indomitable and her companion ship, the I.S.S. Thermopylae, launching an ambush attack on both vessels before either starship could bring weapons or defenses to bear. Thermopylae’s warp core had breached within the first moments of the assault, the resulting matter/antimatter explosion consuming the ship as well as one of the Klingon cruisers. Thorpe had guided Indomitable and her crew through the battle well enough to make an escape, but not before the vessel sustained considerable damage and more than one hundred casualties.

  That alone would justify my execution.

  “Even as we speak,” April continued, “that pack of rabid animals is at this very moment collecting their research and materials and burrowing into a hole to hide. We’ll have to track the Klingons again, only now we’ve lost the element of surprise. By the time we find them, they may well have developed a working model of this new weapon.” He stepped closer, until mere centimeters separated their faces. His hard blue eyes peered into Thorpe’s own as if trying to pierce his very soul, even as his voice maintained its even tenor. “Your failure may well end up costing countless lives, Captain.”

  It required physical effort on Thorpe’s part to keep his knees from buckling.

  Just when it seemed that April would continue to lean in so that Thorpe might have to move to avoid physical contact, the commodore abruptly stepped away, making a show of examining his fingernails before crossing the room and returning his attention to the curio cabinet. “The Admiralty only dispatches me for particular types of missions, Captain—those that prove beyond the capability of other commanders.”

  Thorpe nodded. Despite the commodore’s composed demeanor, he had acquired a reputation for ruthlessness when the situation called for it, particularly when addressing failure. Among his peers and within the ranks of Starfleet, Robert April had come to be known as “the Quiet Tyrant.”

  Drawing a deep breath, April sighed. “Like you, I am a loyal servant of the Empire. Though my orders afford me wide latitude, there still are some things that are beyond my control. For that, Captain Thorpe, I truly apologize.”

  Behind him, Thorpe heard the sound of his door sliding open and someone entering the room. Remaining at attention, he waited until the new arrival walked into his line of sight. Her lean figure reminded Thorpe of a dancer, the provocative cut of her blue uniform skirt and matching top accentuating her long legs, toned arms, and flat stomach. She was armed with a dagger in her left boot and a phaser attached to the wide gold sash wrapped around her waist. Her brown hair was short yet still had a feminine style, with one long lock drooping down to cover her right eye.

  “I’d like you to meet my trusted personal assistant, Captain,” April said, “as well as my wife, Dr. Sarah April.” Of her, he asked, “I trust everything is in order, my dear?”

  The woman said nothing for a moment, choosing instead to study Thorpe from head to toe, her gaze seeming to alternate between clinical detachment and wanton lust. Thorpe felt a new rush of discomfort as she finally nodded toward her husband. “Repairs continue on schedule. Indomitable’s first officer is an efficient taskmaster.” As she spoke, she walked around Thorpe until she passed beyond his peripheral vision. Then he felt a gentle hand on his neck, the doctor’s long, slender fingers playing across his skin. “I think she’ll do just fine, at least until our mission is complete.”

  The commodore nodded. “Very well.”

  Instinct commanded Thorpe to move, guided his right hand to the phaser at his belt. April stood still, hands behind his back and not even flinching as Thorpe brandished the weapon.

  The movement was halted as a staggering jolt of energy coursed through his neck, radiating outward to consume his entire body. His muscles contracting, every nerve ending was aflame, and his sharp cry of pain echoed within the cramped room. He was powerless to move, to defend himself or even to push away the source of his torment. The pain stopped as abruptly as it had begun, and Thorpe fell to his knees, the phaser dropping from his hand.

  He reached for his neck an instant before a booted foot slammed into his rib cage, forcing him to the floor, upon which he rolled onto his back. Looking up, he saw Sarah April standing over him. In her right hand was an object that he did not recognize. Behind her, the commodore observed the proceedings with cold dispassion.

  “I want to thank you for volunteering to help me test this, Captain,” she said, holding up the object for him to see. “I’ve been working on it for months. It stimulates nerve clusters in the body, transmitting signals that translate to varying levels of pain, so far without causing permanent damage. You have the honor of being my first human subject.” With that, she offered a seductive smile.

  The hum of the agony-inducing device was the last thing Thorpe heard.

  “Congratulations on your promotion, Captain.”

  Erin Stone had not even blinked upon entering Thorpe’s quarters and seeing the body of her commanding officer lying on the floor, leading Robert April to wonder if Indomitable’s first officer might have been expecting this turn of events. Perhaps she had been waiting for the opportune moment to enact a similar ploy of her own. Maybe she was not easily affected by death, or it could be that she simply possessed a formidable poker face. She did not even pause to clear her throat before replying.

  “Thank you, Commodore. I won’t let you down.” Stone was a striking woman, April decided, slender yet toned like a swimmer or gymnast. Her dark skin contrasted nicely with her gold uniform skirt and tunic—which he noted was not quite so revealing as the design usually favored by young female officers hoping to catch the eye of a superior. She wore her straight black hair short in a style that exposed the nape of her neck while a few locks drooped across her forehead. Wide, expressive brown eyes offered no hint of emotion as she regarded him.

  April smiled from where he sat at the desk, one hand resting near the desktop computer terminal. “Rest assured, Captain, that any disappointment I feel will last only a short while.” To emphasize his point, he gestured with his free hand toward Thorpe’s body.

  “Understood, sir.” Stone then reached for the phaser on her left hip, drawing the weapon and aiming it at the remains of her former commanding officer. The confined room echoed with the phaser blast as the orange beam enveloped the corpse, dissolving it in the space of a few heartbeats. Apparently satisfied with her work, Stone nodded as she returned the weapon to her hip. “Will there be anything else, Commodore?”

  April shook his head. “I need this room for a time, but rest assured I will be out of your way in short order,” he said without an iota of sarcasm. To occupy the sanctuary of Indomitable’s captain—which, by all rights, now belonged to Erin Stone—was a decision made of efficiency. He possessed the codes and protocols necessary to gain access to Thorpe’s personal log and mission orders, but such action still required interfacing with the quarters’ secure computer terminal, which operated independently of the network of similar interfaces throughout the ship and was inaccessible via outside means.

  “At your leisure, sir,” Stone replied before offering the traditional imperial military salute—tapping her right fist to her chest before extending her arm and hand ahead of her. After April returned the salute, she pivoted on her heel and headed for the cabin’s lone door. The portal opened, and she was almost into the hallway before the commodore stopped her.

  “Captain?”

  “Yes, sir?” she asked, her expression quizzical.

  With a wry grin, he replied, “You’re out of uniform.”

  For the first time, Stone smiled. “I’ll correct that immediately, Commodore. Thank you again.” With that, she was gone, the door sliding closed behind her.

  “I’ll just bet you want her out of uniform,” a voice said from the room’s
sleeping area, beyond the divider screen. Rising from his chair, April moved to see his wife, Sarah, lounging on the bed. Her head propped on a pair of pillows and with her legs crossed at the ankles, Dr. April had drawn her dagger and was using it to pick something from beneath the nail of the ring finger on her left hand.

  Leaning against the low cabinets to the right of the bed, April folded his arms across his chest. “I still might, once all of this is behind us.”

  “You know my rule,” his wife replied, holding up the dagger and pointing it at him for emphasis. “You can’t have her if I know about her. Otherwise, I’ll be forced to kill her.”

  April chuckled. “Maybe you want to keep her for yourself?”

  “I’ve got my eye on that bodyguard of Thorpe’s.” Rising from the bed, she returned her blade to the scabbard in her left boot, the top of which came to the midpoint of her thigh.

  “Well, then, perhaps I can persuade you to make an exception, but now’s not the time.” Moving back into the front room, he reclaimed his seat behind the desk and swiveled the computer display to face him once more. “Computer, access captain’s personal log and current mission orders, voice-print override authority April Zeta Five.”

  “Working,” replied the mechanical male voice of Indomitable’s main computer. Under ordinary circumstances, the personal logs of a starship’s commanding officer, as well as anything else they might protect under their own voice-print lockout, were sacrosanct information, requiring special authorization from the Admiralty or even the Empress herself for others to gain access. Fortunately, April was one of a trusted few officers within Starfleet who held such sanction.

  “What do you know about the Penemu?” he asked after a moment of perusing Thorpe’s mission orders.

  Sarah shook her head. “Not much. Their planet was subjugated by the Klingons eight or nine years ago.”