by Various
“Leaving your defenses soft!” Gorkon shouted. “Dozens of your capital ships have dropped out of service, vanished into your spacedocks, scrapped for parts.”
Spock’s eyebrows lifted for emphasis: “Now it is you who underestimate your opponent, Gorkon.” Before the Regent could retort and escalate the verbal confrontation, Spock changed its direction. “You now know my intention. What is your proposal?”
Gorkon hesitated, then his grin returned, this time conveying the dark glee of avarice mingled with bloodlust. “An alliance,” he said. “Not just some pathetic cease-fire, a full merging of our power. Together, we can crush the Romulans, the Cardassians, the Tholians, and all the rest of the second-rate powers in the quadrant. United, we could reign supreme!”
It was a notion as crass as it was illogical.
“Only one entity can ‘reign supreme,’ Gorkon, as you are no doubt aware,” Spock said, his tone deliberately rich with condescension. “Need I ask which of us would fulfill that role in our grand alliance?” Gorkon’s ire rose quickly. Spock continued. “And when at last we lament that there are no more worlds left to conquer, should I not expect our Klingon allies to turn against us, after we have spent ourselves on war?…No, Gorkon, an alliance with your empire is not in the best interests of my people. We will come to your aid, but we will not enlist as your accomplices only to become your victims.”
In just a few quick steps, Gorkon was all but nose-to-nose with Spock. The Regent’s fanglike teeth were bared, his sour breath hot and rank in Spock’s face, his eyes blazing with indignation. Their bodyguards tensed to intervene. In a whisper that sounded more like a growl, Gorkon said, “Make no mistake, Spock: You and your empire will bow to Klingon rule in my lifetime. I offered you the chance to correct your empire’s failing course and claim your rightful power. Instead, you chose to grovel and bribe like a petaQ.” He spat at Spock’s feet. “Keep your precious medicines and your fancy devices. If Qo’noS fails, then it is weak and deserves death—just like you and your empire.”
The Regent turned his back on Spock and marched from the room, followed by his bodyguard. Their door closed behind them, and Spock turned his attention back out the window, to the banquet room below. A minute later, Gorkon emerged from a side corridor and bellowed at the assembled Klingons. All of them turned and glared at the Terran Empire’s delegates, then upended their steins of warnog onto the floor. Hurling aside their fully loaded plates, they stormed together out of the conference hall, no doubt heading back to Gorkon’s transport for a swift departure from Khitomer.
Spock had considered it unlikely that Gorkon would accept his offer of a truce, but after a sizable fraction of the Klingons’ new fleet of ships had been lost in the blast at Praxis, it had seemed like a rare opportunity to attempt diplomacy. Had his bid for a permanent cease-fire been successful, Spock reasoned, he might have postponed the final, bitter end of his “great experiment” by a few decades. As it stood now, however, with the Klingons ostensibly committed to waging war with the resources they still had, the destruction of Praxis had only accelerated the coming conflagration. Gorkon, having already declared his intentions, would likely invade Terran space in less than two years.
There was still so much to do, and Spock’s time had just become oppressively short. Many years earlier, his father had warned him that even the most logically constructed agenda could be derailed by the interference of a single “irrational political actor.” In all Spock’s years, he had never met another species that was even remotely so irrational as the Klingons.
Senator Pardek noted the departure of Regent Gorkon and his entourage from the conference center with muted interest. Exactly as Praetor Vrax had predicted upon receiving Spock’s invitation, the Klingons had made a spectacle of themselves by arriving in force and leaving en masse after a theatrical display. Having observed their steady buildup of military resources in recent years, Pardek was not surprised. They did not come here to negotiate, he concluded. They came to defend their pride by trying to intimidate the rest of us.
He picked halfheartedly at his plateful of broiled paszi. It was undercooked and overspiced. Until today, he mused glumly, I had thought there was no such thing as bad paszi . I was wrong. Setting aside the plate on the end of a banquet table, Pardek slipped discreetly away from his fellow senators. To deflect attention and allay suspicion, he kept to the perimeter of the room and feigned interest in the various culinary delicacies on each table he passed. For appearance’s sake, he even sampled a few of the Cardassian appetizers. Suppressing his gag reflex as he swallowed proved extraordinarily difficult.
Minutes later, he was on the far side of the room from the rest of the Romulan delegation, near the door reserved for the Praetor’s use that led upstairs to the meeting chamber. Taking a risk, he strolled nonchalantly through the door, into the corridor on the other side.
A pair of Spock’s elite imperial guards stopped Pardek the moment the door closed behind him. “Identify yourself,” demanded the older of the two Vulcan soldiers.
“I am Senator Pardek, representing the Krocton Segment on Romulus. I seek an audience with Emperor Spock.”
A look of suspicion passed between the guards. Again, the older one spoke for them both. “The Emperor’s invitation was to Praetor Vrax.”
Pardek flashed a grin to mask his impatience. “I did not say that I was invited. Only that I wish an audience with His Majesty, Emperor Spock.”
To the younger guard, the older Vulcan said, “Watch him.” Then he stepped away and spoke into a small communication device embedded in his wristband. His eyes took on a faraway stare as he listened to the response. When he looked back at Pardek, his expression was resigned but still distrustful. “Where is your escort?” he asked.
“I have none,” Pardek said. “And I am not armed.”
“You will be scanned and searched at the top of the stairs,” the guard said as he stepped aside. He nodded to the younger Vulcan, who also stood clear of Pardek’s path.
The senator offered polite nods to both men. “Thank you,” he said, then walked up the stairs. As promised, another quartet of guards searched him there, both manually and with sensitive devices. At last satisfied that he posed no security threat, he was ushered through the door into the meeting chamber.
The large, oval room had a low ceiling that rose to a tentlike apex in its center. In the dimly lit chamber, Emperor Spock was a silhouette in front of the broad window to Pardek’s left. As the senator entered the room, Spock turned away from his observation of the banquet hall to face him. His voice was deep and magnificent in the richly acoustic space. “Senator Pardek,” Spock said. “Welcome.”
“Thank you for seeing me, Your Majesty.”
Spock gestured with an open hand toward a small table set with two chairs. “Please, join me.” Pardek crossed the room in a cautious stride, wary of the sharp-eyed Vulcan woman who was standing in the shadows along the room’s edge, watching him like a raptor eyeing her prey. He stopped at the table, on which rested a tray with a traditional Vulcan tea service. “Sit down,” Spock said, easing himself into his own chair. Pardek sat down and struggled to remember the customs of Vulcan tea.
“Forgive my faulty protocol,” Pardek said. “Is it customary for me to pour your tea?”
The Emperor lifted one eyebrow with apparent curiosity. “It is more a matter of familiarity than of protocol,” he said. “The practice is usually reserved for friends and family members.” Perhaps sensing Pardek’s lingering confusion and hesitation, Spock added, “If you wish to pour my tea, I will take it as a gesture of goodwill.”
Pardek nodded his understanding and picked up the teapot. Taking care not to spill any tea, he filled Spock’s cup. When he set down the teapot, Spock picked it up and reciprocated the courtesy by filling Pardek’s white ceramic cup. “You honor me, Your Majesty,” Pardek said, half bowing his head. “I am humbled by your graciousness.”
After savoring a slow sip of his tea, Spo
ck set down his cup. “Why have you asked for this meeting, Senator?”
Gently setting down his own tea, Pardek replied, “This conversation is strictly unofficial.” He took a moment to compose his thoughts. “I have paid close attention to your reforms, Majesty. In attempting to discern a pattern to your actions, all of my conclusions have seemed…implausible.”
Mild intrigue animated Spock’s expression. “How so?”
“Your promotion of civil liberties has come at the expense of your own executive power,” Pardek said. “And in the face of growing belligerence from the Klingon Empire, you have been reducing Starfleet rather than expanding it. It seems almost as if you are acting with the intention of letting your empire fall.” He picked up his tea to take another sip. “But of course, that’s an outrageous conclusion.”
“Indeed,” Spock replied. He picked up his own tea.
“May I ask you a question, Your Majesty?”
Nodding from behind his tea, Spock said, “You may.”
“Did you, just minutes ago, reject an offer of alliance from Regent Gorkon?”
“I did,” Spock said.
At the risk of being hounded from the Romulan Senate for speaking out of turn, Pardek told Spock, “Praetor Vrax intends to make you a similar offer.” He watched Spock’s face for a reaction but could discern nothing behind that frown-cut visage and gray goatee. “You will reject the Praetor’s offer as well?”
“I shall,” Spock said.
None of it made any sense to Pardek, who set down his teacup a bit more roughly than he’d intended. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” he said. “But I find your actions baffling. You are a wise and learned man—your public addresses and scientific policies have confirmed that. But in strategic and political matters, you seem committed to a suicidal agenda.”
“I disagree,” Spock said.
“Majesty, the Cardassians haven’t come to Khitomer to broker a treaty with your empire; they’re afraid of you, afraid that your democratic reforms will inspire a demand for the same in their own nation. And it’s hardly a coincidence that the Tholians declined your invitation. Even after you disbanded Operation Vanguard, they’ve remained openly hostile toward your empire. I predict that within two decades they will ally with the Gorn to oust your colonies from the Taurus Reach.”
“And with the Breen to seize all territory from Izar to Vega,” Spock said. “We are well aware of the Tholians’ plans.”
Pardek sat stunned for a moment. “Then why do you not act?”
“Because I choose to react,” Spock said. “I plan to renounce preemptive warfare as a tool of foreign policy. I will not incite conflicts based solely upon what might occur.”
The Romulan senator didn’t know whether to think Spock noble or naïve. “A risky policy given the current astropolitical climate,” Pardek said.
“Perhaps,” Spock replied. “But it is the most logical one. The resources of an empire are finite and in great demand. It is foolish and wasteful to expend them against potentials when they can be more effectively deployed against actualities.”
Allowing himself a moment to absorb Spock’s argument, Pardek leaned back in his chair and idly stroked his chin. “If I might be permitted to inquire, Your Majesty…what did you expect would be the outcome of this summit?”
“An alliance between the Klingons and the Cardassians,” Spock said. “Now that Gorkon lacks sufficient fleet power to conquer my empire alone, he and Legate Renar of Cardassia will negotiate a pact predicated on the goal of destroying the Terran Empire. The Tholian Assembly and the Romulan Star Empire will declare themselves neutral even as they seize several remote systems. The Breen and the Gorn, being consummate opportunists, will work as mercenaries; they will aid the Cardassians and the Klingons in their conquest of Terran space. This will all transpire within approximately two years of this conference’s end.”
What horrified Pardek most about Spock’s prediction wasn’t its specificity but rather that the Vulcan Emperor had delivered it with such tranquility. “If you know all this is coming to pass,” Pardek replied, “why do you plan to refuse the Praetor’s offer of alliance? Why let your empire be conquered when we could help you defend it?”
Spock replied with terrifying certainty. “Because the fall of my empire will mean the end of all of yours.”
13
The Ashes of Empire
N ine years had passed since Doctor Carol Marcus had last met with Emperor Spock. It had been one of the most demanding and all-consuming periods of her life. There had been so few people whom she could trust, so few who were actually cleared to know the true scope of the project that Spock had code-named Memory Omega. Only her son, Doctor David Marcus, had she entrusted with the whole truth, shortly after he’d joined her on the project.
Memory Omega was the most ambitious project of its kind that she had ever seen. It was a repository of the collected knowledge of the Empire—all its peoples, all its worlds. Science, history, music, art, literature, medicine, philosophy—the preservation of all these endeavors and more was its mission. Multiple redundant sites were linked through a secret, real-time communications network unlike any other known in the galaxy: quantum transceivers, composed of subatomic particles vibrating in perfect sympathy even across interstellar distances, perhaps even across any distance. A frequency provoked in one linked particle vibrated its simpatico partner perfectly. Marcus had hypothesized that each pair of sympathetic particles was actually just one particle occupying two points in space-time simultaneously, but so far she had been unable to prove or disprove her supposition. What mattered was that the system worked, and its transmissions were undetectable and completely beyond interception. And what she found most amazing about it was that it had been invented by her own beloved son.
She wished that David could be at her side now. A trio of Vulcan imperial guards—one leading her, two following her—escorted her through the deserted, cordoned-off corridors of the I.S.S. Enterprise, which was now under the command of Captain Saavik. Acting on confidential orders from the Emperor, Marcus had booked passage on a civilian luxury liner to Garulon. Less than ten minutes ago, the Enterprise had intercepted the liner, though on what pretense Marcus had no idea. As soon as the luxury ship had dropped out of warp, a transporter beam had snared Marcus from her stateroom and rematerialized her aboard Spock’s imperial flagship. This, she surmised, was to be a meeting with no official record and no unnecessary witnesses.
She was led to a door that glided open before her. The guard who had been walking in front of her stepped aside at the threshold and signaled with an outstretched arm that she should continue inside alone. Marcus walked through the open doorway and recognized the telltale signs of a Vulcan habitation: the artificial gravity was slightly stronger, the temperature a little higher, the humidity and the illumination significantly lower. The door closed behind her. Her eyes adjusted to the dimness, and she recognized Emperor Spock on the far side of the room. He nodded to her. “Come in, Doctor.”
Marcus crossed the room, honored her host with a nimble curtsey, then replied, “Your Majesty.”
Spock acknowledged her with a curt nod. “For a number of reasons,” he said, “this meeting must be very brief. Recent developments have made it necessary for us to hasten the completion of the project.”
Alarmed, she asked, “Developments, Your Majesty?”
“A Klingon-Cardassian alliance will soon move against us,” Spock said. “In less than two years they will launch a massive, coordinated attack that will destroy Starfleet.”
Shaking her head, she said, “I don’t think that’s enough time, Your Majesty. Too many sites are still off-line.”
“The Imperial Corps of Engineers is at your disposal, Doctor,” Spock said. “Memory Omega must be completed before the invasion begins.”
Marcus replied, “I don’t think we can finish the project in two years without compromising its secrecy.”
Spock sat and steepled his fingers
in front of him while he pondered the situation. “Can the last six sites be automated?”
She thought about that, then tilted her head and shrugged. “Yes, but they’d be little more than data-backup nodes.”
“Precisely,” Spock said. “We could halt the terraforming at those sites and relocate their teams to the existing ones.”
Marcus shook her head. “That would overpopulate the current sites, Your Majesty. With fewer than one hundred fifty personnel, the sites can be sustained indefinitely. If we exceed that, then resource depletion becomes inevitable.”
“Over what time period?” Spock asked.
It took her a few moments to do the math in her head—which was embarrassing, since she knew that Spock had probably already completed his own mental calculations with greater accuracy than she was capable of emulating. “Doubling the populations,” she said, “reduces the sustainability period to just less than ninety-one years.”
He considered that, then frowned. “Unfortunate, but it will have to suffice. I will make the necessary adjustments to the other aspects of the operation.”
All the secrecy in which Spock had shrouded this grand project still worried Marcus. She, her son, and several dozen of the foremost scientific thinkers in the Empire—as well as forty-seven previously suppressed dissidents, artists, and progressive political philosophers—had been sequestered inside the Genesis Cave deep within the Regula I planetoid for close to nine years. From there, they had directed the creation of several more hidden redoubts just like it, in various remote sectors of the Empire, always in unpopulated star systems that were as devoid of exploitable resources as they were empty of life-forms. Though it had seemed at first like an intellectuals’ paradise, it had soon come to seem increasingly like a prison.
“Your Majesty, I have a question about the project.”
In a surprisingly candid tone, the Emperor said, “Ask.”
Mustering her courage, she said, “Why are all the people who most strongly support you being hidden away? It’s obvious that you’re working to turn the Empire into a republic. We could help ease that transition. Why sequester us?”
