Glass Empires

by Various

  Decker smiled sadly. “You know I had no choice, right?”

  “One always has a choice,” said Spock. “Even refusing to decide is still a choice. And choices have consequences.”

  Saavik stood and walked slowly toward Decker. Xon followed a step behind her. Both unsheathed their daggers.

  Not content to let himself be murdered without a fight, Decker drew his own dagger and squared himself for combat.

  They were so fast, and he felt so slow.

  He met a lunge with a block, dodged a thrust, slashed at an opponent who had already slipped away—

  —then cruel agony, sharp and cold. Steel plunged into his body below his ribs. Gouging upward, ripping him apart from the inside out. Then the serrated Vulcan blades tore free. He dropped to his knees and clutched his gut. Blood, warm and coppery-smelling, coated his fingers.

  Xon and Saavik stood above him, the blood-slicked blades still in their hands. Spock remained at the far console. All the Vulcans wore the same dispassionate expression as they watched Decker die. For people from a scorching-hot planet, they were the most cold-blooded killers that he had ever seen.

  Decker tried to swallow, but his mouth was dust-dry and his throat constricted. “My father will kill you all,” he rasped.

  “It is very likely that he will try,” Spock said, then he nodded once to Saavik.

  Another flash of steel landed a stinging cut across Decker’s throat. He felt himself slipping away and going dark, and his last thought was that it felt not all that different from vanishing into a transporter beam.

  “That rotten, scheming, Vulcan sonofabitch!” Grand Admiral Matthew Decker hurled an expensive bottle of Romulan ale against the wall of his quarters, showering his first officer, Commander Hiromi Takeshewada, with broken glass and pale blue liquor.

  A few seconds later, she felt reasonably certain that none of the glass had penetrated her eye. A light sweep of her hand wiped the splatter of liquid from her sleeve. The grand admiral, meanwhile, was almost literally tearing at his gray hair while thumping his forehead heavily against the bulkhead.

  For all the times that being the right-hand officer to the Grand Admiral of Starfleet had been a boon to Takeshewada, it was moments such as these that made the job a horror. Being the one to inform him that his son, Will, had been slain—cut down by Admiral Spock’s loyal Vulcan operatives—marked a low point in her Imperial military career. Now she had the unpleasant task of delivering a second piece of news to the grand admiral.

  “There’s one more thing, sir.”

  His face was scrunched almost into a knot from his efforts to muzzle his grief and fury. Through clenched teeth he replied, “What is it?”

  She cast her eyes downward. “The Empress commands you to make contact with her at once.”

  An angry, bitter chuckle rumbled inside Decker’s throat. “Of course she does.”

  Takeshewada pointed toward the door. “Should I…?”

  “No,” Decker said. “Stay. I want you to hear this. So you can be glad you’ll never have to deal with it.”

  Long hours of training for months at a time enabled Takeshewada to suppress any reaction to Decker’s almost-reflexive insults. At first, his mocking reminders that her career would never advance beyond its current position had grated sorely on her nerves. It was well known that the empresses of the Sato Dynasty had refused for more than a century to grant female officers the rank of admiral. A lucky few made captain, but such an honor was rare and usually restricted to noncombat vessels—in other words, to ships of little value to the Empire. Takeshewada’s own ambitions had never been a secret, and as a result she had endured continual mockery by her peers and shipmates for more than two decades.

  A few years ago, with the help of a sympathetic Vulcan officer, she had started teaching herself how to suppress her emotional reactions to Decker’s taunts. No longer did a snarl twist her lip or a grimace crease the corner of her mouth. Her eyes didn’t narrow, nor did her face flush with anger when he hurled another of his unthinking japes in her direction.

  He powered up the private viewscreen on his desk. “Computer,” he said. “Establish a secure, real-time communication channel to Empress Sato on Earth.”

  “Working,” said the computer’s masculine, synthetic voice.

  Decker took a few deep breaths while he waited for the channel to open on his screen. He had just composed himself into a semblance of his normally grim, imposing visage when the face of Empress Hoshi Sato III appeared on the viewscreen.

  “Grand Admiral Decker.” She sounded almost amused. “It’s my understanding that the trap you set on Deneva was unsuccessful.”

  He bowed his head like a common supplicant to the throne. “Yes, Your Majesty. Admiral Spock anticipated the ambush.”

  “I warned you not to underestimate him,” Sato said. “His promotion of compromise and nonviolence might seem irrational, but I am beginning to comprehend a method to his madness.”

  Vengeful wrath usurped Decker’s demeanor. “He’s just a man, Your Majesty. And I’m going to kill him.”

  Her voice was hard and unyielding. “You will kill him, Admiral, but you will do so because I order it, not for your personal satisfaction.” She waited until he bowed his head before she continued. “And he’s more than just a man. For dissidents and malcontents throughout the Empire, he has become a symbol. The longer he remains free to promote his agenda, the more allies he attracts. He enjoys an unprecedented level of popularity among civilians, and my sources warn me that more than half of Starfleet is prepared to follow his banner.”

  “Any who follow him are traitors,” Decker declared. “Any crew that mutinies will be put to death.”

  “Really?” The empress tilted her head, again with an intimation of mockery. “You were incapable of killing one man, but you’re prepared to declare war on half your own fleet?”

  “Ambushing Spock is extremely difficult, Your Majesty,” Decker said. “After today, he’ll be even more cautious. It’ll take time to prepare another trap.”

  Her tone became one of dark menace. “We’re long past the time for clever ploys, Admiral. Spock is poised to launch a coup for control of Starfleet. He must be put down immediately. Assemble a fleet and destroy the Enterprise . Act with extreme prejudice; kill Admiral Spock. Is that understood?”

  “Explicitly,” Decker said.

  As she closed the channel, she said simply, “Good hunting.”

  Decker deactivated the viewscreen and turned his chair to face Takeshewada. He was so alive with purpose that he looked reborn. “Commander, send on a secure channel to all confirmed-loyal ships, ‘Rendezvous at Terra Nova, await further orders.’ And start running battle drills.” He stood and straightened his posture into one of defiant pride. “When we catch up to the Enterprise, I want to be ready to blast her to kingdom come.”

  A soft hum coursed through the deck of the Enterprise’s bridge. The ship was cruising at warp six toward Xyrillia, having made an unharried departure from Deneva. By now, word had certainly reached Starfleet Command regarding the outcome of Grand Admiral Decker’s trap and the fate of his son. Though it was possible that Matt Decker and the Empress might choose to regroup following such a setback, Spock doubted that they would afford him or his crew such a reprieve.

  Spock leaned forward in the center seat while reviewing a short list of candidates to succeed the late Will Decker as first officer. He had narrowed the roster to three names since his last sip of bitter tea, and much careful consideration now reduced it to two: either Lieutenant Commander Winston Kyle or Lieutenant Commander Kevin Riley.

  He looked up from the display tablet in his hand and made an effort to shift his focus to points at different distances around the bridge, as a relaxing exercise for his fatigued ocular muscles. The bridge of the Enterprise seemed darker to him since its 2271 refit—its curves more pronounced, its shadows deeper. Overall, the more somber ambience suited Spock, who had always found its two previous
incarnations garishly bright. Another definite improvement of the refit was that the chairs had been securely fastened to the deck and equipped with optional safety braces. Though little more than a half-measure in a pitched battle, they nonetheless represented progress.

  As his gaze passed the communications station, Lieutenant Elizabeth Palmer turned toward him. “Admiral,” she said. “I’m picking up encrypted signal traffic on multiple Starfleet channels. None of the regular decryption protocols are working.” She thought for half a second, then added, “It appears that the message is intended for all Starfleet ships except us, sir.”

  Turning toward the opposite side of the bridge, Spock looked to his science officer. “Lieutenant Xon,” he said. “Tie in to Lieutenant Palmer’s station and help her decrypt the signal from Starfleet.”

  “Aye, sir,” Xon replied, then he went to work on the task.

  Tense minutes passed while Xon and Palmer worked to decipher the fleet’s urgent communiqués. Finally, Xon moved away from his station and stepped down from the upper level to stand beside Spock’s chair. He spoke softly. “Admiral, we have decrypted the signals. The message is audio only, and is available for your review at my station.”

  In a normal speaking voice, Spock said, “Put it on the speaker, Lieutenant.”

  Xon remained calm and replied simply, “Aye, sir,” then he returned to his post. From there, he relayed the message to the bridge’s main overhead speaker. A recorded male voice spoke calmly and plainly. “Attention all Starfleet ships, this is a direct order from Grand Admiral Matt Decker, commanding the fleet from aboard the Starship Constellation . All vessels in sectors one through seven are to rendezvous at once in the Terra Nova system. Under no circumstances is any vessel to exchange communications with the Starship Enterprise. This is an imperial directive issued by Empress Sato III. Further orders will be forthcoming at the rendezvous. Constellation out.”

  Spock arched one eyebrow with curiosity at this turn of events. Glancing to his right, he saw his expression mirrored on Xon’s young, clean-shaven face. Nervous looks were volleyed between the non-Vulcans on the bridge. Before idle speculation could take root, Spock seized the initiative. “Helm. Increase speed to warp nine, and set course for Terra Nova.”

  Ensign Saavik began punching in the coordinates for the course change, then she paused and turned her chair to face Spock. “Admiral, please confirm: You wish to rendezvous with Grand Admiral Decker’s attack fleet?”

  “Affirmative, Ensign,” Spock said.

  Even Xon seemed perplexed by Spock’s order. “Sir, the fact that Grand Admiral Decker excluded us from the initial transmission, and barred the rest of the fleet from communicating with us, would seem to suggest—”

  “I am well aware of what it suggests, Lieutenant. Grand Admiral Decker has been ordered to destroy this ship. First, however, he hopes to intimidate us into retreat, so that he may frame the conflict as one of loyal soldiers versus deserters.” Steepling his fingers against his chest, Spock finished, “I will force him to accept a different narrative—one of my choosing.”

  Saavik continued to press the debate. “Admiral, would it not be prudent to seek reinforcements before confronting an entire fleet of hostile ships? As the ancient Terrans might have said, ‘Discretion is the better part of valor.’”

  “True enough, Ensign. But the ancient Terrans were also fond of a different maxim: ‘Fortune favors the bold.’…Set course for Terra Nova and increase speed to warp factor nine.”

  The Enterprise was still more than a light-year from the outer boundary of the Terra Nova system when Grand Admiral Decker’s attack fleet intercepted it. Less than ten minutes after Spock’s ship had registered on the Constellation’s sensors, it had been met and surrounded, all without a shot being fired. Enterprise hadn’t attempted a single evasive maneuver, nor had it fired a shot. Every scan that Decker’s crew performed showed that the Enterprise’s shields were down, and its weapons were not charged. The only thing that had postponed Decker’s order for its immediate destruction had been the signal of surrender transmitted by Admiral Spock himself, along with a formal request for parley.

  Decker didn’t like this at all. It smelled like a trap.

  Lieutenant Ponor, the communications officer, looked up to report, “I have Admiral Spock on channel one, sir.”

  “On-screen,” Decker snapped. The main viewer wavered and rippled for a moment, then the visage of Admiral Spock appeared, larger than life. Decker scowled at the Vulcan. “Admiral Spock, by the authority of Empress Sato III, I order you to surrender your command and relinquish control of your vessel.”

  “I have already surrendered,” Spock replied. “Forcing you to destroy the Enterprise would serve no purpose when it can still be of service to the Empire.”

  If Spock had a strategy here, Decker wasn’t seeing it.

  “Very well,” Decker said. “Prepare to be boarded.”

  “Hardly necessary,” Spock said. “I am prepared to allow myself to be transported to your ship.”

  It took a moment for Decker to formulate his response. “Who said any of this was up to you? You’re in no position to—”

  “I merely suggest,” Spock interrupted, “the most logical and least time-consuming alternative.”

  Decker was literally now on the edge of his chair, tensed to spring to his feet at the slightest provocation. “You’re not dictating the terms here, you Vulcan sonofabitch.”

  “My apologies, Grand Admiral,” Spock said, lowering his head slightly. “Do you wish to accept my surrender in person?”

  “What?” He didn’t know why Spock even had to ask. The protocol for a formal surrender demanded that Decker receive it face-to-face. “Yes, of course.”

  “Shall I then arrange to have myself transported into custody aboard your vessel?”

  Only belatedly did Decker realize what Spock was doing. Though Spock had framed his statements as interrogatives he still was directing the process of the surrender, usurping Decker’s own authority. “A security detail from my ship will beam aboard your vessel immediately,” he said, then continued quickly to keep Spock quiet. “If they meet with any resistance, Admiral Spock—any resistance whatsoever—I will not hesitate to destroy your ship and its crew.” Before Spock could even acknowledge Decker’s statement, the grand admiral forged on. “My guards will escort you back here, to my bridge, where I will accept your surrender and pass sentence for your treason against the Empress Sato III. Decker out.” He made a slashing motion in Ponor’s direction, and the communications officer closed the channel before Spock could sneak in another word.

  Commander Takeshewada stepped down from one of the aft consoles and stood beside Decker’s chair. “The boarding party has just beamed over, sir,” she said. “They’ll notify us the moment they have Admiral Spock in custody.”

  “Good,” Decker said. “Have extra security guards meet them in the transporter room when they get back. I don’t want to take any chances with Spock.” He heaved a tired sigh. “The sooner we get this over with, the better.”

  As Spock had pledged, no member of his crew interfered with the Constellation’s boarding party, and he himself gave no resistance when the six-man team placed him under arrest and ushered him at phaser-point off the bridge of the Enterprise.

  Now they were aboard the I.S.S. Constellation, Grand Admiral Decker’s flagship, crowded together in the turbolift. Deck after deck blurred past as they ascended toward the bridge.

  The doors opened with a gasp and swish, and the soft chirps and hums of the bridge, all but identical to those aboard the Enterprise, met Spock as he was prodded forward out of the turbolift. The Constellation was a refit Constitution-class vessel, just like the Enterprise, and only a handful of tiny differences in console layout distinguished the two ships’ command centers.

  On the main viewer was the image of Empress Sato III. A string of symbols beneath the bottom edge of the screen alerted Spock to the fact that this was a two-wa
y transmission being broadcast in real time on an open subspace frequency.

  Decker stood beside his chair, facing the turbolift, as Spock and the security detail filed out. The bridge officers also stood, each next to his or her station, observing Spock as he was led in and guided to within a meter of Grand Admiral Decker. When the procession came to a stop, boot heels clapped together as the guards snapped to attention and thrust out their arms in salute to Decker. Spock saluted the grand admiral, more out of respect for the rank than for the man. While keeping eye contact with Spock, Decker returned the salute to one and all.

  Hands pressed down roughly on Spock’s shoulders. “Kneel,” said one of his guards. He was forced to his knees in front of Decker, who glared fiercely down at him.

  “You killed my son,” Decker said.

  Raising one eyebrow, Spock replied, “No, sir. My operatives slew your son. I merely sanctioned it.”

  “Spare me your Vulcan semantics,” Decker said. “You ordered it. You’re responsible. Hand me your agonizer, Admiral.”

  Spock calmly answered, “I no longer carry it. Nor does any member of my crew.”

  “That’s a court-martial offense,” Decker said.

  Unfazed, Spock said, “If you wish to convene a court-martial, I am more than willing to defend my decision.”

  Decker practically quaked with rage. “I’ve heard enough,” he said, his disgust evident. “Admiral Spock, I order you, as a Starfleet officer and subject of the Terran Empire, to profess your loyalty to Empress Sato III before you are put to death, so that you may die with some measure of honor.”

  Emboldening his voice for the benefit of those watching via the subspace channel, Spock answered, “I pledge my loyalty and my life to the Empire.” He noticed, at the edge of his vision, the Empress on the viewscreen, casting a poisonous glare at Decker. He waited for Decker’s reaction. It took only a moment.