Sighing, Kirk’s shoulders slumped slightly. “Well, it’s this cluster, Captain. The cluster in general, and Iad in particular. I don’t mind challenges, that’s for sure. The Borg, the Typhon Pact, the Klingons—you name it, I’ll do everything in my power to get Prometheus ready for battle and to make sure that we survive. But these… inexplicable space phenomena… they’re getting to me. The permanent anger that this being on Iad is whispering to us, the radiation interferences of this cluster, and most of all this chaos zone around Iad itself… it’s wearing me down.” She snorted bleakly. “I looked at the sensor records. That chaos zone defies all known science. Something like that shouldn’t even be possible. But hey, I’m a Kirk. I should know better than anyone that nothing is impossible in this galaxy. My ancestor has undertaken journeys through time into the past, travelled to a parallel universe, and added at least half a dozen god-like entities to Starfleet’s first-contact database. This would probably just be another day in the office for him.”
Gently, Adams put his hand on her shoulder. “That was a different time. Many things were new and hadn’t been encountered before. James Kirk and his crew from the Enterprise matured to heroes during their careers, without a doubt. But even if they cast their larger-than-life shadows on each and every new class of Starfleet cadets, we mustn’t forget that they were all people, just like us. They did their jobs, and they did their best. We’re doing exactly the same. And I wager that even your ancestor had his doubts on occasion, that even he lost the belief in being able to overcome certain challenges. Still, he never gave up. He got up after every setback and pulled through. And that’s what we’re going to do right now, Jenna. At the end of the day, we will triumph, I’m sure of it. You’re one of the best engineers that Starfleet has to offer. Doctor Barai is one of the most renowned doctors, Roaas is an outstanding tactician, and on and on. We have an exceptional crew, and we’re going to prove that to the Son of the Ancient Reds. Trust me.” He patted her on the shoulder, smiling at her reassuringly.
Jenna Kirk smiled back, straightening her shoulders. “I trust you with my life, Captain.”
“Let’s hope I’m worthy of it, Commander.” He nodded at her. “And now, back to work. Get our shield regenerator routines up to scratch.”
“Yes, sir. And forgive my doubts, sir.”
Adams sighed. “Don’t worry, Commander. It happens to the best of us.” Including me.
* * *
Lenissa zh’Thiin didn’t trust the Klingons. She had had her reservations about the Bortas crew right from the beginning, and they had steadily grown every time she had encountered Kromm.
With very few exceptions—namely Ambassador Rozhenko, Commander L’emka, and the engineer Mokbar with whom she had been captured by Renao fanatics—Klingons only ever thought about themselves. They didn’t seem to have any kind of sincere intentions to end this conflict without glorious battles. What’s more, they had severe problems with the chain of command, they were not very keen on any kind of cooperation, and most of all they seemed to keep secrets from the Prometheus crew. The latter had been proven to be the case recently when the two captured Renao had been discovered aboard the Bortas.
Moadas ak Lavoor and Evvyk ak Busal—both sympathizers of the Purifying Flame from Konuhbi on Onferin—had been reported dead to Adams. Instead, Kromm had kept them prisoner under degrading conditions and had tortured them to gain information he could use to show off to Adams.
There was no love lost between zh’Thiin and the Renao—not since her ordeal in the hands of the terrorists—but there were rules civilized people should adhere to, even during a war. On the other hand, it was probably grossly exaggerated to claim that the Klingons were civilized.
Their ship, the Bortas, did not really convey that impression. Looking at her from the outside, the slender, furcated front part and the rear end with the wide curved aft section relayed some sort of martial elegance. On the inside, however, dark metal corridors, heavy support struts along bulkheads, and metal grating on the deck dominated the scene. Everything was dimly lit in red. The Vor’cha-class was undoubtedly sturdy, yet it felt like being in the entrails of a metal dragon.
Apparently this dragon suffered from irritable bowel syndrome. Traces of vandalism were visible everywhere—crushed monitors, bent tubes, grating plates that had been ripped from the walls and floors. In some spots, zh’Thiin’s experienced eye spotted patches of fabric and leather. At a junction, she found an abandoned boot. She saw plenty of splatter-stained conduits, struts, and ceiling panels—dried Klingon blood that hadn’t been wiped down yet.
The internecine battle seemed to have spared the conference room. The Andorian woman didn’t believe for one second that Kromm had had their meeting point cleared up. Just like the rest of the ship, the room was very constricted. She saw no chairs, just a long octagonal table that stood waist-high in the center of the room. Two terminals were embedded in the table’s surface. A screen was mounted at the front wall of the room.
Kromm was already present when zh’Thiin, Adams, Mendon, Spock, and Rozhenko arrived. He was flanked by Rooth and Nuk. The absence of First Officer L’emka was conspicuous. Adams also seemed to notice it, and exchanged a knowing look with Spock and Rozhenko.
“How is your crew, Captain?” asked Adams. “I hope you didn’t have any casualties.”
Kromm frowned. “Let us not discuss that, Captain. This is a dark hour.”
But Adams was insistent. “How many?”
“Fourteen, one of them my comrade of many turns, Toras, our pilot. He wasn’t even supposed to be on the bridge when all hell broke loose, as L’emka had taken over his station during the formation flight with the Prometheus. It was she who killed him…”
“Your people weren’t themselves,” Rozhenko said. “You can’t blame anyone.”
“My head knows that,” the Klingon replied, growling. He hit his chest with his fist. “But tell that to my heart.”
“How is Commander L’emka, if I may ask?” Spock interrupted. “Is she well?”
Kromm glowered at the ambassador. “Yes. She’s on the bridge, coordinating repairs.”
“If you need assistance, the Prometheus crew is at your disposal,” said Adams.
Zh’Thiin assumed that it couldn’t be easy for him to make this offer, considering Kromm’s recent actions, not to mention that their own people were spread thin. But they were still allies, and Starfleet would help anyone who was in need.
“Unnecessary,” Kromm replied. “Doctor Drax and his staff have everything under control, as does Nuk’s engineering staff.”
“Good. Then let’s turn our attention to the main problem.” Adams let his gaze wander across all those present. “What are we going to do to deal with the danger that the Son of the Ancient Reds poses, and to free the Lembatta Cluster?”
“Violence doesn’t seem to be the solution,” said Mendon. “Neither phasers, nor disruptors, nor photon or quantum torpedoes were able to harm the energy life form. Even the attack with the modified deflector dish only resulted in angering the being.”
“Is that your opinion, or do you have hard facts to prove that?” Rooth asked.
The Benzite tilted his head affirmatively. “I studied the sensor recordings earlier. They provided fairly useful information up until the point when the formation flight was abandoned shortly after the energy-dampening impulse. They don’t show any noteworthy signs of the Son weakening. Additionally, I have scrutinized the radiation zone around Iad once more. There are also no significant changes.”
“But we don’t know whether the intensity of the radiation cloud is directly related to the being’s condition,” Rozhenko said. “We can’t even say with any kind of certainty whether he does indeed emit it, or whether it is part of his prison.”
“No, that’s true,” Mendon admitted. “There are a great many coherences we are not aware of. We lack the sensor equipment for such extensive research. A proper research vessel would be helpful.”
“The issue is not merely a lack of equipment, Commander, it’s also the lack of time,” Kromm said. “We cannot watch a space phenomenon for months while fanatics attack our worlds. If we can’t destroy the evil at the source, we need to contain its excesses. If we cannot subdue the Son, we have no other choice but to declare the cluster a no-flight zone, and to put all Renao worlds under quarantine.”
Zh’Thiin hated to admit it, but she had to agree with the Klingon captain.
“Perhaps there is yet another solution.” Spock, who had been listening with a pensive expression, looked up.
The Vulcan still looked slightly pale after the mental assault he had endured at Iad, but his posture was straight and his gaze clear. Zh’Thiin admired him for his mental strength. She wished Geron had Spock’s abilities. Thinking about the doctor who lay in his quarters with a collapsed mind stung. I really must visit him, she thought. Despite having the excuse that things aboard the ship had been frantic since the Son’s attack, in truth she knew that she was afraid of seeing Geron in his diminished condition.
Kromm’s growling brought her back to reality. “Well, let’s hear it then, Ambassador.”
The half-Vulcan folded his hands in front of his stomach. “We have learned much on Xhehenem and Bharatrum about the ancient Renao legend of the Son of the Ancient Reds. Ten thousand years ago, he came to Iad where the ancient Renao lived. We learned how he was responsible for an era of fury and desperation, and that he was finally defeated and bound by a being called the White Guardian, who subsequently resettled the Renao on Onferin.”
Adams frowned. “Are you going to suggest that we chase after that legend? That we search for this White Guardian?”
Spock raised his eyebrows. “Indeed I am, Captain. Consider—we also deemed Iad to be a legend, just as many of the modern Renao do. Yet we discovered the ruins of an ancient civilization there, as well as a being that fits the description of the Son so precisely that we use that name for it. Many details that this legend tells us appear to have a plausible historical background. Thus it is only logical to assume that the White Guardian also exists.”
“But according to the legend he disappeared some nine thousand years ago,” zh’Thiin said. “Even if we assume that he belongs to a similarly long-lived species as the Son does, we have no idea where to search for him. The galaxy is pretty damn big.”
“It pains me to say this, but it might also be conceivable that he—just like the Beta XII-A life form—comes from another dimension,” Mendon added. “Possibly one where radiation zones such as the one around Iad are part of the laws of nature, unlike in our own universe.”
On the other side of the table, Nuk emitted a croaking, cackling noise. “Traveling through dimensions searching for a mythical being? I’d really like to see us try selling that one to the High Council.”
“We won’t,” said Kromm. “The notion is absurd.”
Spock raised a wrinkled hand defensively. “If I may continue?”
“Go on, Ambassador,” Adams said. “How are we supposed to find the Guardian?”
“With the help of the sensor data from the radiation zone that Commander Mendon has collected. We agree that the hyper-physical fluctuation status in that zone is highly unusual, considering the laws of nature that we are familiar with.”
Everyone nodded silently.
“Then our next step would be to turn to Memory Alpha, the largest database in the Federation.”
Mendon, standing next to zh’Thiin, dragged hectically on his respirator, which he usually did when he considered a plan particularly fascinating. “Outstanding idea. If we send all recordings of the entity’s energy patterns and the radiation zone to Memory Alpha, the computers there might find similar recordings in one of the more obscure databases in the library’s memory banks.”
“Precisely,” said Spock. “And that might provide a clue as to the whereabouts of the White Guardian.”
“As long as the Son and the Guardian originate from the same region,” zh’Thiin said.
“I consider that to be highly likely,” the ambassador replied. “The Guardian was not only able to defeat the Son, he also displayed an interest to do so and to effectively imprison the energy life form afterward. The term ‘guardian’ suggests that the second being had been sent deliberately in order to set bounds to the first one.”
The security chief nodded in understanding. “Like a law-enforcement officer catching an escaped prisoner.”
“Correct. In the meantime, I suggest we return to Bharatrum. It was there where we met the majority of Renao believing in Iad and the Son. Perhaps we might uncover more details pertaining to this legend that might be useful.”
“That’s better than sitting around here twiddling our thumbs.” Adams nodded, pleased. “Right, sounds like we have a plan. Kromm, any objections?”
The Klingon shook his head. “Send your data to your archives, for all the good it may do. You have only twenty hours to make considerable progress in the fight against the Purifying Flame and to stop it from being a clear and present threat to the Empire.”
“We, Kromm,” Adams said calmly, “ we have twenty hours. Once the ultimatum has come and gone, we all will have failed. You will have forfeited your opportunity to gain honor through this mission. Or do you seriously believe that the generals waiting at the border with their fleets will share their honor with you once they have invaded the Lembatta Cluster?”
The captain was rewarded for his words with irritated silence. Zh’Thiin almost burst out laughing.
Obviously Kromm had finally figured out that they were all in the same boat. A very small boat in the vastness of space.
8
NOVEMBER 26, 2385
Palais de la Concorde, Paris Earth
Nothing was worse than the nights. Kellessar zh’Tarash had been president of the United Federation of Planets for three weeks, and she had learned more about this office than she had ever expected to learn. But one lesson definitely stood out from the others: nothing was worse than the nights. Outside the windows of the Palais de la Concorde, the seat of the Federation government in Paris, another night was about to conquer Earth—and zh’Tarash’s mind.
19:00. The large city on the Seine was smartening up for the night. Cafés and brasseries were closing, bars and clubs were opening for business. Some night owls were already prowling the quaint streets, and the Tour Eiffel was illuminated in blue artificial light. Night was approaching, zh’Tarash sensed it.
And during the night her concerns weighed down on her even more than during the day.
Not if I can do anything about it, the president vowed to herself. Not this time.
“Your visitors have arrived, Zha President.”
Turning around, zh’Tarash tore herself away from the view. “Thank you, Dimitri,” she said to her deputy chief of staff who had appeared to fetch her. Dimitri Velonov smiled encouragingly, but he was tense. “Has our… special guest also arrived yet?”
Velonov shook his head. “I’m afraid not, Zha President. To be honest… To be honest, we don’t even know whether he received our invitation.”
Zh’Tarash nodded. Velonov was doing his best to conceal his thoughts, albeit not very successfully. He didn’t expect their “special guest” to make his way to Paris. No one here did. Except the president herself.
“He will come,” zh’Tarash said gently but with steadfast conviction—and with the courage she would need to defy the night. “When he does, will you please send him in straight away?”
“Of course, Zha President.” Velonov nodded. “If you’re ready…?”
Together, the two so vastly different government members—the bearded man from Earth and the Andorian woman with blue skin—walked down the corridor. They were heading for the Wescott conference room on the fifteenth floor.
“ Zha President,” Admiral Leonard James Akaar greeted zh’Tarash as soon as she walked through the doorway. The Capellan with silver hair rose behind the
conference table where he had been sitting with his back to the window. “Good evening.”
“The same to you, Admiral,” she replied, walking to the front end of the long table where Velonov had already put down a cup of steaming Andorian katheka and a padd for her. She nodded gratefully at her human staff member, who left the conference room, closing the door behind him. Once he was gone, she turned to her second guest.
Ambassador K’mtok sat across the table from Akaar. While the Starfleet admiral and commander-in-chief appeared polite and calm, the representative of the Klingon Empire seemed to be seething—and apparently he wouldn’t keep it inside for much longer.
“Ambassador,” she addressed him, not shying away from a certain sharp edge in her voice. “How nice of you to make the time. After our last encounter I wasn’t sure whether you would grant us another audience.”
K’mtok snorted. His long hair and beard were both graying, and he wore a warrior’s armor under his long and loose-fitting cassock. He was clearly furious, and all too happy to take the bait. “Spare me the snide remarks, zh’Tarash!” he snapped at the president with a dangerous, not at all diplomatic glint in his dark eyes. “Considering the circumstances I have no choice but to speak with you, whether it’s important to me or not.”
“And these circumstances are…?”
Akaar answered this question, and suddenly zh’Tarash’s night threatened to become even darker: “The ambassador is referring to the Renao shipyard.”
“Damn right I am!” K’mtok hit the conference table with his flat hand so hard that some of the katheka spilled over. His words were like a predator’s low growl, and his broad shoulders twitched belligerently. “General Akbas reported to me about it moments ago, Zha President. And I promise you, my rage is nothing in comparison to that of the High Council back home on Qo’noS!”
Zh’Tarash didn’t hesitate. “I understand your displeasure, Ambassador, but—”
“Displeasure?” he interrupted her. Little drops of saliva sprayed from his mouth, raining onto the table’s surface. “I can assure you we are far beyond displeasure. The High Council has been watching this bizarre conduct for far too long. Not a second longer! Qo’noS will—”
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