Glass Empires

by Various

  “Mister Scott,” Spock said over the comm. “Please meet me on the bridge at once. We need to discuss an adjustment to the bridge duty roster.”

  A sick feeling churned in Scott’s gut. He knew what was coming, but the protocol of the situation demanded that he play along as if he didn’t. “The duty roster, sir?”

  Spock’s voice was ominous. “Indeed, Mister Scott…. We appear to have an opening for a senior communications officer.”

  Rumors spread quickly on any starship, but some traveled faster than others. “I heard it directly from Doctor M’Benga,” Lieutenant Robert D’Amato said in a nervous whisper across the mess hall table. “And he heard it from Doctor McCoy himself.”

  “It’s just not possible,” Lieutenant Winston Kyle said, hunched over his soup. “People don’t just wink out of existence.”

  “Mister Scott saw it, too,” D’Amato said. “Just zap—and she was gone. No blood, no ashes, nothing.”

  “Big deal,” Kyle said. “A phaser on full power can do the same thing. Seen it a hundred times.”

  “But there weren’t any phasers in the room,” D’Amato said. “It’s been torn apart three times, nothing.”

  Kyle swallowed a spoonful of his soup and shook his head. “You ask me, I think Scott and McCoy killed her, then they made up this stupid story to cover their tracks.”

  Lieutenant Michael DeSalle, who had recently taken over for Mister Scott as chief engineer, put down his tray next to Kyle’s and joined the conversation. “Be careful what you say,” he said, keeping his own voice low. “Captain Spock hears everything.”

  Rolling his eyes, Kyle asked, “Now you’re paranoid, too?”

  DeSalle shrugged. “Caution pays dividends on this ship. Always has. You know that.” He sliced through a rubbery-looking breast of chicken. “I heard Palmer got Uhura’s job. She’s keeping her distance from Mister Scott, though.”

  D’Amato shook his head. “I don’t know. Way I heard it, Scotty’s being set up.”

  “Forget ‘set up,’ he did it,” Kyle said. “Don’t you guys remember that flap on Argelius II? Three women dead, all evidence pointing at Scotty, then all the charges got dropped?”

  “Thanks to Kirk,” D’Amato said. “Like any of us would’ve gotten that kind of favor.”

  “That’s what I’m saying,” Kyle continued. “He has a history of it. And you know McCoy must have helped bury those forensic reports. So it’s a lot easier to believe that Scott sliced up Uhura and disintegrated the evidence than to pin it on some kind of crazy Vulcan psychic mumbo-jumbo.”

  DeSalle took a sip of his drink, then smirked at Kyle. “Don’t be so quick to write off the Vulcans’ psionic powers. If they can do half the things I’ve heard, we’re lucky we outnumber them seven to one in the Empire.”

  “You ought to hear what Doctor M’Benga says about the Vulcans,” D’Amato said. “He interned on Vulcan. Saw things you wouldn’t believe. He says they can read minds, plant delayed suggestions, even control weak minds from a distance. And in one of their oldest legends, the most powerful Vulcans used something called the Stone of Gol to kill people with just their thoughts—destroy people’s minds, even erase them from reality.”

  “Sounds like someone’s been hitting the Romulan ale again,” Kyle quipped to DeSalle.

  D’Amato’s temper rose to the surface. “You don’t believe me? Go ask M’Benga, he’ll tell you.”

  “Proving what?” Kyle said. “That he’s crazy, too?”

  “I think you’re forgetting something,” DeSalle said.

  Turning slowly to face DeSalle, Kyle asked, “What’s that?”

  A wan smirk crept across DeSalle’s face. “The Klingon cruiser,” he said. “Its entire crew missing, like they’d been beamed out of their seats into space.”

  “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Kyle said. “Can you really not think of a single way that could’ve been done without some kind of magical trick? Occam’s razor, guys. What makes more sense—that cloaked Romulan ships used transporters to kidnap and dematerialize the Klingon crew, or that Captain Spock thought about it really hard and made all the Klingons go poof ?”

  “There’s no evidence that the Romulans were anywhere near here,” D’Amato said.

  DeSalle added, “Or that they can even use transporters while cloaked.”

  Kyle nodded. “Exactly. And there’s no evidence that Vulcans have amazing psionic powers that can vaporize people. But which explanation sounds like it has a better chance of being true?” When neither DeSalle nor D’Amato replied after several seconds, Kyle shook his head in disgust, stood, and picked up his tray. “And you call yourselves men of science,” he grumbled, then stalked away to turn in his half-eaten lunch.

  D’Amato and the chief engineer watched Kyle leave the mess hall, then they continued eating their own lunches. “Kyle’s story does actually make more sense,” D’Amato admitted.

  “I know,” DeSalle replied. He washed down another mouthful of chicken before he added, “But I still think M’Benga’s right.”

  Checking to make sure no one was eavesdropping, D’Amato whispered back, “So do I.”

  It didn’t take long for the stories to spread beyond the confines of the Enterprise. Missives sent via subspace radio carried word of Captain Spock’s eldritch powers throughout the Empire. Tales traded from crewman to crewman, and officer to officer, during shore leaves and transfers, inflated the story with each retelling. Within a few months, Spock’s powers were said to be on a par with those of ancient Vulcan myths. His name became synonymous with power, and the terror that preceded him made his growing reputation for mercy, compromise, and restraint all the more beguiling. Why, many wondered, would a man who could destroy any foe choose to promote peace?

  That question now preoccupied Empress Hoshi Sato III. At the head of an oblong table, she presided over the meeting of her senior advisers in the situation room of the imperial palace on Earth. Sheltered deep below the planet’s surface, the vast, oval underground chamber was illuminated solely by the glow of its massive display screens, which ringed the walls.

  “Grand Admiral Garth,” she said, eyeing the notorious flag officer from Izar. “Where is Captain Spock now?”

  Side conversations around the table fell away to silence as Grand Admiral Garth straightened his posture and replied to the young monarch. “Your Majesty, Captain Spock and the Enterprise have just returned from their successful mission to the Romulan Neutral Zone. They are en route to Starbase 10 with a captured Romulan bird-of-prey in tow.”

  “And the disposition of the Romulan crew?” Sato asked.

  Garth shifted slightly before he answered. “Eliminated, Your Majesty. The ship is empty.”

  A nervous murmur worked its way around the table. Empress Sato did not like the fearful tune that this report was striking up among her cabinet. In a pointed manner she inquired, “By what means were they dispatched, Admiral?”

  Garth cocked his head nervously. “The boarding party was not able to determine that, Your Majesty.”

  “But the ship had been manned when the Enterprise made contact with it, yes?”

  The admiral nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  Sato nodded slowly. Pressing the question further would serve no purpose but to embarrass Admiral Garth and make herself seem insecure or fearful. She had ascended to the throne less than sixteen months ago and was determined not to be perceived as weak. What would my first royal namesake have done? She adjusted her tactics to turn this scenario to her advantage—or, at the very least, to postpone the crisis until she had amassed sufficient political capital to entertain greater risks.

  “If memory serves, Admiral, similar circumstances attended Captain Spock’s capture of a Klingon cruiser just a few months earlier, correct?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” Garth said.

  “And his family and heirs have secured the dilithium mining rights in the Tellun system?”

  Again, Garth dipped his chin an
d confirmed, “Yes, Majesty.”

  “Then it seems to me that Captain Spock is an officer of greater resources than we thought,” Sato proclaimed more loudly, projecting her voice to the far end of the table. “Admiral Garth, move Captain Spock to the top of the list for new Admiralty appointments.”

  “As you wish, Majesty,” Garth replied, “but granting him that kind of power could be dangerous.”

  Sato frowned. “Clearly, Spock is already dangerous,” she said. “Prudence would suggest we try to make an ally of him.”

  Apparently, Garth was unconvinced. “And if elevating his rank only fuels his ambition…?”

  “In that case,” she said, her melodic voice laced with menace, “we shall make an example of him, instead.”

  2277

  4

  Fortunes of the Bold

  C ommander Will Decker, first officer of the I.S.S. Enterprise, greeted Admiral Spock as the Vulcan C.O. entered transporter room one. “Your landing party is ready, Admiral.”

  Spock nodded his acknowledgment as he strode past Decker and stepped onto the platform. Awaiting the admiral there were four young Vulcan officers, three male and one female, all personally selected by Spock to accompany him to the Starfleet Admiralty’s strategic conference on Deneva. Lieutenant Xon, the Enterprise’s new science officer, was a boyish-looking young man with long unruly hair. Ensign Saavik, the woman, had come to the ship directly from the Academy, and now served as its alpha-shift flight controller. The other two, Solok and Stang, were lieutenants in the security division.

  Like the admiral, the other Vulcans all wore full dress uniforms—which, thanks to their dark gray, minimalist styling, looked almost identical to regular duty uniforms, right down to their ceremonial daggers and mandatory sidearms.

  Lieutenant Commander Winston Kyle stood at the transporter control station. “Coordinates locked in, Admiral,” he said.

  “Stand by, Mister Kyle,” Spock said. In a sepulchral tone of voice, he added, “Mister Decker, please join the landing party.”

  The request caught Decker by surprise. He concealed his alarm. “Me, sir? But I’m not dressed for a formal conference.”

  “A technicality,” Spock said. “Overriding protocol is one of the privileges of rank.”

  Decker realized that he had become the center of attention in the transporter room. Debating a direct order from Admiral Spock aboard his flagship would only exacerbate the situation. Refusing it was not an option. Decker wondered if Spock knew what had been arranged on the planet’s surface—or what Decker’s role in it had been. “Aye, sir,” he said, stepping up to join the landing party. Moving past the Vulcans, Decker found an available transporter pad at the rear of the platform.

  In the six years since Will Decker had been appointed by his father, Grand Admiral Matthew Decker, as Spock’s executive officer aboard the Enterprise, the notorious Vulcan flag officer had made a point of keeping him at a distance. Except for the most perfunctory communications, Spock rarely conversed with Decker and generally declined to include him in tactical planning or diplomatic efforts. It was easy for Decker to guess why. Because Spock had never shown any particular affinity for his previous first officer, Montgomery Scott, Decker had ruled out resentment as a factor. In fact, any emotional basis for Spock’s decision to ostracize Decker was denied by the simple fact of the admiral’s Vulcan heritage. The more Decker thought about it, the more convinced he became that Spock simply did not trust him.

  And why should he? I wouldn’t, if I was him. I’d assume that my first loyalty would be to my father. It’s a wonder he hasn’t “disappeared” me like so many others. He still might.

  Decker’s musings were disrupted by Spock’s level baritone. “Mister Kyle…energize.”

  Wrapped in the transporter beam, Decker saw the room swirl with light and color. He unfastened the loop on his phaser before the annular confinement beam ensnared him and restrained his movements. The same irrational fear always raced through his thoughts as the dematerialization sequence began: What if being disassembled is actually fatal? What if the person who comes out on the other side is just a copy of me, perfect in every detail, but completely unaware that I’m dead and he’s a copy? A wash of whiteness brought him up short, then the swirl of light and euphonic noise ushered him back to himself, now in a corridor of the imperial administration building in Deneva’s capital city. Though he knew he could never prove his idea or disprove it, he still wondered, What if I’m a copy now? What if the person who stepped onto the transporter pad on the Enterprise is dead?

  The landing party was in a dim hallway with bare, dark gray walls of a smooth, prefabricated material. Open panels on the wall revealed complex networks of wires and optronic cables. A musty odor permeated the cool air, suggesting to Decker that they were underground, in some kind of subbasement.

  Recalling the pre-mission briefing, he realized that something was wrong. “This isn’t where we were supposed to beam in,” he said.

  “Quite correct, Commander,” Spock said. “Follow me.” Without hesitation, Spock led the group at a quick step down the corridor, then right at a T-shaped intersection. Within a few minutes, he had reached a locked portal marked “Auxiliary Security Control.” Next to the door was an alphanumeric keypad. Spock stood aside while the four Vulcans gathered at the door and stared at it, as if concentrating on something beyond it. They and Spock all were perfectly still and quiet, and Decker followed their example.

  Then Saavik blinked, stepped forward, and tapped in a long string of characters and digits on the security keypad. The door swished open, and the four young Vulcan officers rushed in, swift and silent. Sharp cracking noises were followed by heavy thuds. Spock walked inside the security control center, and Decker followed him.

  Four human Starfleet officers lay unconscious on the floor, and Spock’s team now occupied the fallen officers’ posts. Banks of video screens lined three walls, packed with images from the building’s internal security network. Spock and Decker watched as the four Vulcans worked. Finally, Stang turned his chair to face Spock. “There are no other members of the Admiralty in the conference hall, Admiral.”

  “As I suspected,” Spock said. He looked at the science officer. “Lieutenant Xon, scan the conference hall for any life signs.” To Saavik he said, “Scan the corridor outside the conference hall for evidence of concealed explosives or other antipersonnel devices.” Both officers nodded in acknowledgment and set to work.

  Decker stood and watched, dumbfounded. It was all falling apart. Spock noted Decker’s dismayed expression. “You appear troubled, Commander.”

  Still trying to make sense of what was happening, Decker said, “You came down here expecting a trap?”

  “Naturally,” Spock said.

  “But why?”

  Folding his hands behind his back, Spock replied, “Mister Decker, in the ten years that I have commanded the Enterprise, I have been forced to suppress six mutinies, two of them instigated by senior officers.”

  “None on my watch, Admiral,” Decker said proudly.

  “True,” Spock said. “Discipline has improved markedly under your supervision. Regardless, I have been forced on many occasions to defend my command from persons and factions who oppose my methods. Precaution becomes a necessity.” Decker couldn’t fault Spock’s reasoning. From the alleged “malfunction” of the experimental M-5 computer, which had caused the Starship Excalibur to attack the Enterprise, to Grand Admiral Garth’s failed ambush of the Enterprise at Elba II, the Empire had given Admiral Spock more than sufficient cause to treat any invitation it proffered as being instantly suspect.

  Ensign Saavik turned from her screen to report. “Explosives have been installed at one-meter intervals beneath the floor in the main corridor outside the conference hall.”

  “Fascinating,” Spock said. He looked at Xon.

  Xon, sensing the admiral’s attention, turned to face him. “Two life signs inside the conference hall, Admiral. Close to
gether, in a concealed position opposite the main entrance. Both armed with phased plasma rifles.”

  “Snipers,” Spock said. “Lieutenant, can you deactivate the building’s transport scrambler from here?”

  “Negative, sir,” Xon replied. “Doing so would alert the personnel in the primary security control center.”

  Spock raised his voice. “Solok, Stang, use the emergency exit stairway to reach the conference hall undetected. Eliminate the two snipers. Saavik, Xon, initiate a command override and then execute an intruder protocol inside the primary security control room. Trigger their anesthezine gas module. As soon as they are incapacitated, we will return to the Enterprise.”

  “Aye, sir,” Xon and Saavik answered in near unison, while Stang and Solok swiftly exited the auxiliary security control center on their way up to the conference hall.

  Standing near the door, Decker listened to their retreating footfalls. Inside the room, Spock conferred with Xon and Saavik at the main console. All three had their backs to him.

  Slowly, carefully, as quietly as he was able, Decker drew his phaser from his belt, extended his arm, and leveled his aim. Three against one, but I have the element of surprise, he assured himself. This is the best chance I’ll get.

  He squeezed the trigger.

  Nothing happened. He released the trigger and looked at his weapon, as if it were a friend who had betrayed him.

  Spock, still facing away from Decker, said, “It would seem, Commander, that you are the only member of the landing party who is not aware of the phaser-dampening field inside this room.” The admiral turned to face him. Saavik and Xon swiveled their chairs to do likewise.

  The door swished closed behind Decker. Oh, no. Panic swelled in his gut as he lowered his sidearm.

  “Thank you, Mister Decker, for all your assistance,” Spock continued. “Without your unwitting complicity, I would have been hard-pressed to ascertain the specific time and place of this assassination attempt, arranged by your father.”