by Various
She heard the sound of a throat clearing to her right, and turned to see Shran regarding her with a small, wistful smile. “Your Majesty,” he said as he clasped his arms behind his back, “surely there is some way Professor Soong could be provided with certain weapon components without significantly compromising the tactical systems.” Tilting his head and allowing his antenna to twist and bend until it was pointed at Tucker, the general added, “Commander?”
Knowing he had been backed into a corner, the engineer nodded, though Hoshi saw the reluctance in his eyes. “I suppose we could pull the aft torpedo launcher, and maybe one phaser bank, but that’d be pushing it.”
Mayweather was not pleased. “Even losing those components would leave the ship vulnerable. It could be all the advantage the rebels need if they decide to attack.”
Shran shook his head. “It cannot be helped, Captain. We cannot let our future depend on a single ship, no matter how powerful. Its technology must be duplicated and spread throughout the Empire in order to secure Imperial supremacy.”
Turning to regard her husband, Hoshi could not help but be impressed by Shran’s impromptu speech. He seemed almost human in his passion and determination, taking to heart his pledge to serve her as well as protect his home world.
Perhaps the future she had conjured for the Empire—and herself—might have a chance of being realized after all.
Having found refuge near the master systems display located in the service alcove at the forward section of the Defiant’s engineering spaces, Arik Soong managed to avoid further discussions with Empress Sato during the remainder of her inspection. Here, tucked away from the main engineering floor, the professor sat quietly and enjoyed the brief private interlude. He closed his eyes and listened to the hum of the ship’s enormous impulse power plant, naturally more pronounced here in the heart of the vessel.
Finally, he watched as the Empress departed, followed by Captain Mayweather and Doctor Phlox. Soong released a sigh of relief, realizing too late that his exhalation was audible and looking around to see if he had been overheard. The last thing he needed was for some sycophant to inform the Empress of his lapse in “loyalty.”
Swiveling his chair around until he once more faced the console, Soong wiped his hand along its polished black surface, his eyes taking in its rows of raised, multicolored buttons and banks of switches. The professor had come to appreciate the surprisingly simple yet elegant arrangement of the control interface. Several hours spent perusing the Defiant’s library of technical documentation had given him a wealth of insight into this vessel’s many marvels. His mind all but reeled at the ship’s military superiority as well as the unmatched array of science laboratories, featuring equipment surpassing anything that might be found even within the Empire’s most advanced research and development facilities.
Despite the excitement he felt welling up within him, Soong still was troubled, certain that he was living on borrowed time. If the professor had learned anything during his brief tenure as her science adviser, it was that Sato I was a consummate liar.
“Professor.”
Soong flinched at the sound of the single word, even spoken as it was in a low, conversational tone by someone standing just behind his chair. Drawing a sharp intake of breath, he swung the chair around until he found himself looking up into the blue, scarred face of General Shran. How had he crossed the engineering deck, heavy polished boots and all, without making the slightest sound to announce his presence? Soong felt a knot of unease forming in his gut as his gaze locked on the Andorian’s dead left eye, which still seemed to be studying him with disturbing intensity.
As he rose from the chair, Soong’s hands absently moved to smooth any wrinkles—real or imagined—from his leather jacket. “General,” he said, pausing to clear his throat. “My apologies. I must admit to being rather…distracted.” He smiled and reached out to caress the control console again.
“I admire those who are not afraid to profess a love for their work,” Shran said after a moment, keeping his voice low as though avoiding potential eavesdropping. “It is precisely the level of dedication I require for a special assignment. Few people are suited to such a task, and fewer still rise to the level of trustworthiness I demand.”
Soong could not help the frown tugging at the corners of his mouth, his brow furrowing as he regarded the general. As always, Shran’s manner was as polished as his boots. He spoke with a deliberate cadence that to the professor seemed almost practiced in its delivery. Instinct told Soong that the Andorian had been waiting for precisely this opportunity, when the two of them could speak alone and unobserved.
“You’ve certainly aroused my curiosity,” Soong said after a moment.
Glancing over his shoulder as a crewman walked past the entrance to the service alcove, Shran leaned closer before continuing in an even lower voice. “I understand that you are an accomplished computer specialist. What do you make of the Defiant’s systems?”
Soong shrugged. “There are numerous fundamental similarities, of course, but the main computer’s central processing components resemble nothing we have today.” The ship’s technical schematics referred to “duotronic circuits,” which processed and transferred data at speeds Soong would not have believed possible. Software was another matter entirely. He estimated it would be months before he fully understood the basic framework of the computer’s operating system.
Clasping his hands behind his back, Shran said, “I am most interested in the historical database.”
“I assume you mean ‘what remains of it.’ The files have been deleted—by an expert.” Then, probing tentatively, “I’ve heard that your wife—Her Imperial Highness—has the only existing copy.”
“She guards it jealously,” Shran said with the slightest hint of frustration.
Ah—the Empress won’t even permit her husband to access the historical files, Soong thought. Theirs must be a very happy marriage.
The professor adjusted his glasses. “You know, I wouldn’t mind seeing it myself. Might be able to make some real money at the track.”
Shran didn’t so much as crack a smile. “Knowledge of the future can be dangerous…particularly if one cannot examine the details for one’s self.”
What was Shran trying to tell him? And why was he being so cryptic? Perhaps we are being observed, Soong thought. He considered his next words carefully.
“Yes, I can see why one might find that frustrating.”
“Professor,” Shran asked, “may I confide in you?”
Finally. “Of course.”
Shran circled the small control room, pretending to examine the data displays. “Given the magnitude of what I am asked to accomplish, I’m not prepared to accept any information at face value, even if my beloved wife is the source.”
Surprised by the stark admission, Soong lowered his head until he could study the battle-scarred Andorian over the rims of his mirrored glasses. “You don’t trust our Empress? That is treasonous talk, General.”
“Indeed it is,” Shran said, his lone antenna curling over until it nearly rested atop his close-cropped white hair. “Rest assured that you and I will stand together before the firing squad if the Empress learns of this conversation. It is therefore in our mutual best interest to keep that from happening.”
Soong could not argue with that. Given his uncertain standing with Sato, he already had cultivated a habit of discretion. He remained alive only because the Empress believed he was one of the few people capable of reverse engineering the Defiant’s tactical systems. Once that task was complete, he was certain an unpleasant death awaited him.
Shran appeared to be offering him a different path.
Clearing his throat, Soong asked, “What do you want me to do?”
4
T he slight breeze wafting through the open window of her bedchamber cooled the light sheen of perspiration on Hoshi’s bare skin as she lay on her side, looking over at the reposing form of her husband. She ran h
er hand lightly over Shran’s chest, her fingers tracing the scar that ran from his right pectoral muscle to his hip. The scar was thick and dark, standing out against his otherwise-pale indigo skin.
“How did you get this?” she asked, shifting her weight so that her right leg rested over his.
Without opening his eyes, Shran replied, “Fending off the amorous advances of a lover to whom I had been inattentive.”
Laughing at that, Hoshi leaned over and pressed her lips against the scar’s upper edge. “Hmm. Interesting,” she said. “Judging from what I’ve seen so far, it seems you haven’t learned much from those past mistakes.”
She meant the comment in jest, of course, knowing full well that Shran had been occupied with Imperial business. Following their return from the Defiant inspection tour, Shran had met with his command staff in the war room he had established on the palace’s lower level. Such were the responsibilities of her highest-ranking military adviser, and the general’s unwavering dedication to his duty was but one of the reasons she had chosen him to oversee the planning of what she hoped would be the final, decisive battle against the rebellion.
Opening his eyes, Shran placed his left forearm beneath his head as he turned to regard her. “My aides showed me some startling new information, Your Majesty,” he said, his tone soft and yet missing any trace of the passion and warmth he had exhibited mere moments before. Gone was her consort, Hoshi realized; she was now sharing her bed with the taciturn military strategist. “New intelligence from our operatives working inside the rebels’ command structure. It seems they may have overcome their fears about the Defiant, and are planning a renewed offensive.”
Hoshi sat up in the bed at that, frowning as she felt new irritation welling up within her. “And you didn’t think this important enough to tell me before you came to my bed?”
For the first time since arriving in her bedchamber, Shran smiled. “It is not as though the rebels are attacking at this moment, Your Majesty,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. His one antenna bent and curled as though angling to gaze upon her. “Besides, you were rather insistent upon my arrival.” Glancing down at himself, he added, “I fear you may actually have inflicted permanent injury.”
“A battle-hardened veteran like you?” Hoshi asked as she rose from the bed and retrieved the cream silk kimono draped over the chair next to her bedside table. “Something tells me you’ll survive.” She picked up a carafe on the table and poured water into a squat, thick-based glass. “Now that you’ve carried out your marital duties, tell me about the rebels.”
Pulling himself out of the bed, Shran crossed the thickly carpeted floor to where his uniform lay scattered. “They are gathering their ships for a direct assault on the Proxima shipyards,” he said as he donned his tunic. “Doing so is proving difficult. Despite the damage they inflicted on your fleet at Tau Ceti, the battle was even more costly for them.” He reached for his polished boots before turning to regard Hoshi with a grim expression. “They are determined, but they are also vulnerable. We can repel this attack before it has a chance to begin.”
Hoshi took note of her husband’s current state of undress. “You mean, catch them with their pants down.” Shran gave her a look of complete bewilderment, the metaphor lost on him. Then, more plainly: “You’re suggesting a preemptive strike.”
The Andorian nodded. “According to my informants, the rebels are assembling the remnants of their fleet—within a debris field located in the Devolin system.”
“I’ve never heard of it,” Hoshi said before sipping from her water glass.
Shran shook his head as he stepped into his black leather trousers. “I am not surprised, as it is well outside Empire territory. It’s a trinary system, no planets, just the debris field, which according to my informants is being used as a staging area.”
Hoshi remained skeptical. “It sounds like it would be pretty heavily defended.”
He had moved to the large mirror mounted on the wall opposite the bed, standing before it as he smoothed wrinkles from his uniform and reached up to straighten his rank insignia. “Their defenses will be no match for the Defiant.”
So that’s where this is all leading.
“You have all of Starfleet at your disposal,” Hoshi reminded him, setting down her water glass and pulling her kimono belt tighter around her slim waist. “Why don’t you send the Sixth Fleet after them?”
They both were aware that the Sixth Fleet was comprised primarily of Andorian warships—until recently, those ships had been under the command of the Andorian Imperial Guard, but were now sworn to defend the Terran Empire. Would Shran order his own men to attack rebels with whom they were recently allied?
Shran moved away from the mirror, spreading his hands apart, as if suggesting the matter were beyond his control. “The Sixth Fleet is deployed along our border with the Klingons,” he reminded her gently, a fact she already knew. “It would do us little good to destroy the rebels only to face an invasion from those foul-smelling barbarians.”
Hoshi gave him a stern look, unconvinced by his arguments. Shran pressed on.
“They may be subversives, but the rebels are not fools. They’re hiding in that system because they know our battleships won’t be able to maneuver in a debris field that dense—but Defiant can. With our flagship leading the attack, we’ll be able to finish them and end this war.”
“And if you’re wrong?” Hoshi countered.
The general shrugged. “Then we will still destroy what is there and deal the rebels a crippling blow. Their death will only be slower, if not more painful.”
Instinct told the Empress that Shran’s plan seemed rather straightforward, perhaps too much so. Then again, based on what little understanding she possessed regarding military strategy, history had shown that the intricate schemes more often than not were the ones that ended badly. The more complex the plan, the greater the opportunity for failure.
Additionally, Hoshi could not deny the lure of perhaps being able to put down the rebellion with a single strike. This was precisely the scenario Jonathan Archer had envisioned when he learned of the existence of Defiant. It was Archer’s drive and determination that had seen to the recovery of the mighty starship. If the Empire was to endure, it would do so because of bold, resolute action as Archer had championed. It was time to take the fight to the rebels and end the conflict once and for all.
Fine, then.
“How soon can you be ready?” she asked, still not convinced, but willing to hear the rest of her husband’s plan.
Stepping toward the open window that provided a breathtaking view surrounding the villa, Shran replied, “Final preparations are already under way.” As though sensing Hoshi’s disapproval, the general added, “It was not my intention to overstep my bounds, Your Majesty. The ships I require were already being readied for final inspections. I simply reprioritized their maintenance schedules in the event this plan should meet with your approval.”
Smooth as always, the Empress reminded herself, though something about Shran’s report still bothered her. “You’re planning to lead this attack yourself?”
“Of course, Your Majesty,” Shran replied, his expression one of confusion, though whether it was genuine or manufactured was something Hoshi could not determine. “My place is at the head of the armada, leading our loyal warriors into battle.”
“That might have been acceptable in the Andorian Guard,” Hoshi countered, “but you are the supreme commander of my military. You cannot consume yourself with a single battle, no matter how important. Oversee the attack from Starfleet Headquarters. Appoint whomever you want to head up the task force, but Captain Mayweather will retain command of Defiant.”
Shran said nothing for several seconds, his eyes narrowing as he studied her. Then, a small smile tugged at his lips, and his antenna moved to stand up almost ramrod straight. Clasping his hands behind his back, he said, “Your Majesty, am I to understand that even though you have welcomed me into
your inner circle, your life, and your bed, you still do not trust me?”
Matching his smile, the Empress replied, “Of course I trust you, my dear husband, but only to a point.” She certainly had no intention of allowing Shran to assume command of Defiant. With the starship under his control, there would be precious little to prevent his unseating her from the throne. Hoshi held no illusions that the general had not considered that possibility, among others.
Shran had the good sense to appear slighted by her unspoken suspicions. “Surely the Defiant’s historical database does not include any information about my betraying my wife?”
“Let’s just say I’d rather not tempt fate,” Hoshi said before turning on her heel and walking toward her private bath, certain she felt Shran’s steely eyes boring into her back. Whatever agenda he was pursuing, she was certain she had just confounded it, at least for a time.
Tempting fate, indeed.
5
W e have taken a great risk to meet with you, Vulcan,” the paunchy Tellarite said in a huff to T’Pau. “What purpose does it serve to bring all of us here? Aside from giving the Empress a chance to cripple our rebellion with one decisive blow!”
T’Pol, sitting to the right of the former minister, studied the Tellarite from her seat across the polished black table. They were in the wardroom of the Suurok-class combat cruiser Ni’Var, the vessel that had been T’Pol’s home these past months. It was difficult for her to take any Tellarite seriously—they argued with extreme passion over whatever topic was presently on the table, whether it was military strategy or the temperature of the room. This Tellarite was introduced to her as General Gral, retired, but she knew him by the sobriquet given to him by Imperial propagandists—the “Butcher of Berengaria.”
It was a title Gral wore with pride. T’Pol may not have appreciated his flair for verbal sparring, but she did recognize his proficiency in military matters. The general was widely acknowledged as the finest strategic thinker on Tellar Prime—he was the mastermind behind the brazen hit-and-run attacks on the Empire’s starbase network, which had cost the Terrans dearly in manpower and ships. For a time, Imperial Intelligence considered his capture their number one priority—perhaps only T’Pol now rated higher on their list. The Tellarite had proven adept at eluding capture, primarily by avoiding face-to-face meetings like the one he was presently attending.
