After the smuggler took off into the red nebulae that engulfed the asteroid base, ak Bhedal regarded ak Joulid with annoyance. “I hope we won’t receive any more bad news today.”
The pair of them marched down the base’s corridors toward the command level. They were met by a frenzy of activity. In the training area, ak Bhedal saw young people sitting in front of old flight simulators that had been decommissioned by the Romulan military. Others knelt in rows on the floor, listening to the lectures of a teacher who prepped them for the battle against the powers of the Alpha Quadrant.
From the dockyard halls in the lower levels of the asteroid, the screeching and hammering of machines reached his ear. They were churning out ever more attack fighters. Workers shouted advice or orders at each other. And very quietly, the driving rhythms of traditional Bharatrum music lingered in the air.
It was slightly more quiet on the command level. Men and women sat at computer terminals, watching the environment controls for the asteroid and the sensor grid that would warn them of unexpected visitors. When ak Bhedal appeared, everyone jumped to their feet, saluting him smartly. Walking past them, he made a dismissive gesture.
Ak Mahda, who was in charge of communications between the various Purifying Flame cells, stepped in front of him. “Forgive me, Honorable Commander, but I have news that…” She hesitated, before handing a padd to ak Bhedal. “Perhaps you should see for yourself.”
Frowning, ak Bhedal grabbed the reader, scanning the collection of the latest news from all over the cluster. The members of the Purifying Flame on Xhehenem had started to punish the ditherers and laggards. That was good, because there were only two factions in war: those on your side and those against. On Bharatrum, support for the Flame had been steadily increasing. Even the planetary custodian, Goraal ak Behruun, openly sympathized with ak Bhedal’s movement.
But then his gaze fell upon the next two news items, and he cried out, “No!”
“What happened?” ak Joulid asked.
“We have lost one of our solar-jumpers, the Coumatha. She was intercepted while she was on her way to one of the sphere defilers’ colony worlds by ships of the depraved. According to the distress call, Captain ak Lovaal saw no chance to escape. He intended to destroy the ship so it wouldn’t fall into the hands of our enemies, but was stymied.”
Ak Joulid looked shocked. “Now we only have two active solar-jumpers left.”
“We need to convert other ships, and quickly. Without the jumpers we’re unable to carry our deadly seed into space.” The commander turned to his communications officer. “Ak Mahda, summon the Inner Circle to the briefing room. We need to hold a war council!”
“Yes, Honorable.” The woman hurried off.
“It gets worse,” ak Bhedal said to ak Joulid as they continued their walk. “We have lost our base on the moon Calidhu. Our brothers and sisters had to flee when the sphere defilers’ attention focused on the Bharatrum system.”
They entered the briefing room. A large circular table dominated the room that had been carved into the rock. The walls were bare, save for a two-dimensional paper map of the Alpha Quadrant attached to the north wall. Seven chairs stood around the table—one for each inhabited Renao world.
Ak Bhedal took his place. With a furious growl, he threw the padd onto the table. “These wretched strangers! May Iad devour them!”
Picking up the padd, ak Joulid read the news for himself. “At least it would seem that some of them died when ak Lhamad sacrificed himself and blew up the Calidhu base.”
“Yes, let’s have a celebration,” ak Bhedal snapped. “We killed a small handful of sphere defilers—and it only cost us our best listening post.”
The remaining five members of the Inner Circle appeared at the entrance. Ak Bhedal motioned for them to sit down. He quickly informed them about the recent setbacks and defeats.
“We need to strike again immediately,” he finished, full of anger. “These attacks on our people mustn’t remain unpunished. We need to hit them where it hurts, more painful than ever before.”
“Let’s attack the homeworld of these humans, and strike into the heart of the Federation,” ak Sahoon from Catoumni suggested.
“No,” ak Bhedal said with a dismissive gesture. “We won’t be able to do that. The humans’ home system is far too well protected.”
“How about a place where no one even considers war?” said ak Joulid. “A world where even seasoned veterans let their guard down?”
“Ah, now that sounds like an idea.” The commander got up and walked over to the map. The borders of the large empires as well as hundreds of inhabited star systems were charted here. Several pins in different colors showed the locations of the latest victories of the Flame and marked future targets.
“Isn’t there a world somewhere where they pursue their leisure activities the whole year round?” he mumbled, glancing at the map. “The sphere defilers meet there and relax after their expansion raids. Yes! Here it is.” His finger poked at the map. “Risa.” He whirled around, facing the members of the circle. “Risa is our next target.”
“That all sounds fair and well,” said Yssab’s representative, “but with an attack here and an attack there we won’t get very far. And what if the solar-jumper we send to Risa gets intercepted like the Coumatha was?”
“What are you getting at?” ak Bhedal asked.
“We need to think bigger!” the other Renao replied. “The next attack has to shake these tainted empires of the sphere defilers to their very core. And just how do we achieve that?” His glowing eyes wandered from one man to the other. “By not just attacking one planet, but seven simultaneously. One world of theirs for every world of ours!”
His words were followed by nervous murmurs. The plan was certainly ambitious—dangerous, but bold. Ak Bhedal liked it.
“We won’t make it,” Golaah ak Partam said. He was Xhehenem’s representative and the shipyard’s leading engineer. “We don’t have enough ships.”
“Well, let’s build more ships then,” ak Bhedal said. “We will speed up our workflow. And we capture two more freighters and convert them into solar-jumpers. With the three already in our shipyard, and the two active ships, we would have exactly seven.”
Ak Partam stared at ak Bhedal incredulously. “That’s absurd. We don’t have enough workers. The ones I have are already being taxed beyond their abilities. I’d need twice as many people, maybe more.”
Resting both his hands on the table’s surface, ak Bhedal stared at ak Partam with burning eyes. “We will simply have to recruit more! There are enough people within the arcologies of Xhehenem, Lhoeel or Acina III. Let’s strike there and take whomever we need.”
Eyes widening, ak Partam asked, “You want to turn against our own people, Honorable Commander?”
“Not against our people,” ak Bhedal said. “Not against those who are truly loyal sons and daughters of the Home Spheres. Only the cowards and ditherers who are not willing to participate in the holy mission should be our targets. Because whoever doesn’t want to fight, whoever submits voluntarily to these sphere defilers, might as well be our slave.”
15
NOVEMBER 28, 2385
U.S.S. Prometheus, in slipstream
Isabelle Courmont had been aware that things would be radically different for her when she gave up her successful practice in San Francisco and signed up with Starfleet. She was, after all, a civilian who had only left Earth’s solar system once during the previous forty years of her life, that being a trip to Vulcan.
She had been driven by two different motivations. Since her separation from her husband two years ago, she had finally felt the old familiar wanderlust again that she had experienced as an adolescent and as a young woman. Back then, she had satiated that hunger with journeys all over Earth, to the moon, to Mars, and finally to Vulcan. Living with Max, a holoartist who was entirely satisfied with living in San Francisco, this wanderlust had dwindled and had been replaced by journeys in
to the world of virtual arts.
But then he had left her for a terribly dumb ginger-haired Orion starlet, and throughout the following months, Isabelle had realized that the biggest part of her life on the west coast of North America had been Max’s life, and not her own. Without him, she had only her work as a psychiatrist with neurotic members of the arts and entertainment industry, and an apartment that was far too big for her with empty walls and an amazing view of the San Francisco Bay and the grounds of Starfleet Academy.
After the Borg attack in 2381, the heartfelt urge to help others added to her wish to change her life around and to get away from the confines of San Francisco. She had followed the news and learned about the suffering of both the devastated planet populations and the uprooted refugees. She had also learned about the numerous war traumas that men and women aboard Starfleet ships had suffered while fighting against the relentless Collective.
One thing had led to another, and Courmont found herself on Starbase 22, where she initially helped station counselor Brian Ellis with tending to the Prometheus crew after their battle for Vulcan. That was how she had met Captain Richard Adams, who had been a broken man at the time. Not only had he lost a quarter of his crew, but also his wife Rhea. She had been the captain of the U.S.S. Red Cloud and had also fought above Vulcan.
Courmont had helped Adams—who had been an ill-tempered and difficult patient to say the least—to accept the gap in his life, and to continue in spite of it. One year later, after the Prometheus had undergone a complete overhaul, she had been surprised to receive Adams’s invitation to transfer to his ship.
Her travel lust had been sufficiently satiated by then. She had visited Betazed, New France, and Denobula Prime; she had spent her shore leave on about a dozen unknown worlds on the Tzenkethi border, and finally, she had been allowed to see Bajor for herself and to marvel at the famous wormhole from the Promenade on Deep Space 9.
But helping others had become increasingly difficult. Starfleet officers were trained to be professionals. They had been indoctrinated with command structures and efficient thinking. It was extremely difficult for many of them to admit to individual weaknesses, let alone seek professional help. Right after the Borg invasion, horror had been widespread, and consultations with therapists of all kinds had been commonplace aboard ships. But as the crisis moved further into the past, the willingness to speak about fears and problems had lessened. Too many people felt that being haunted by past problems was a knock against their professionalism, and so they would not admit to such issues. It was foolish, but not unusual.
So Courmont was more than a little surprised when Lenissa zh’Thiin of all people suddenly stood in the doorway to her office. If anyone aboard the Prometheus was almost overzealous in her attempt to appear professional and her refusal to admit to weakness, it was the young Andorian woman.
“Commander… Lenissa—please, come in.” Usually, Courmont didn’t turn to first name terms with someone she had hardly had more than two conversations with in the past. But something told her that zh’Thiin would never open up to a ship’s counselor, but rather to a friend—even if her intimacy was just pretense.
Hesitantly, zh’Thiin entered the room, glancing around as if to make sure that Courmont was alone. The counselor had set up her office to convey relaxation and comfort. A desk with a terminal stood by one wall, but the majority of the room was taken up by a comfortable seating area with a sofa, two armchairs, a low glass table, and a replicator. The windowsills, walls, and a shelf were decorated with exquisite pieces of art from Earth, Andor, Tellar, Vulcan, Bolarus IX, and other homeworlds of crewmembers. Her collection was not yet complete—she had yet to locate works of art from Delta IV, Trill, and Cait that she liked—but there was enough to see or comment on for every visitor, should they require an opener to their conversation.
Courmont stood up from her seat by the desk. “Please, Lenissa, come in, sit down. I was just about to make some tea. Would you like some?” She walked to the replicator. The skirt of her civilian clothing rustled. She had always refused to wear a uniform, as she didn’t want to be perceived as a senior officer or as a female soldier but as the civilian that she was, even though she had been granted the rank of lieutenant when she enlisted. Besides, she had found that her casual dressing style sometimes helped withdrawn crewmembers connect with her more easily.
Zh’Thiin’s antennae wavered. “No, thank you, Counselor. I… Are you sure that I’m not intruding?” She sounded like she was desperate for an excuse to escape. Courmont could tell that the young Andorian woman was in dire need of a counseling session.
“Absolutely not, Lenissa,” she replied, touching zh’Thiin’s shoulder gently and gingerly steering her towards the seating area. “I’m glad you’re paying me a visit. And please, call me Isabelle.” Gently but firmly she pushed zh’Thiin down onto the sofa before stepping to the replicator. “If you don’t want tea, how about a katheka for you?”
“Sounds good,” said zh’Thiin, stroking the soft cushions with her hands.
Courmont gave her a genuine smile. “In that case, I’ll have one myself. I heard it’s almost like coffee from Earth but with its very own taste.”
“ Katheka is much more tart than coffee,” zh’Thiin said. “You should dilute it with milk.”
“Thanks for the tip.” Courmont ordered the two hot drinks, placed one of them in front of zh’Thiin and settled into one of the armchairs. “May I ask you something, before you tell me why you’re here?”
Zh’Thiin nodded. “Of course.”
Crossing her legs and leaning forward, Courmont held the cup of katheka in both hands in her lap. “I heard that you have received lessons in Caitian motion meditation from Commander Roaas recently.”
“That’s correct. Why?”
“Would you recommend that meditation method to a human? A crew member has sought my advice because they are suffering from increasing insomnia since we entered the cluster. Now, I know some relaxation exercises but I had an inkling that this person might prefer ritual movements, rather than focusing on themselves in silence and motionlessness.”
Zh’Thiin shrugged. “I can’t speak for others. The routines are not too difficult for people with standard fitness if that’s what you’re asking.”
“And do they work?”
“They do for me—for the most part.” The Andorian grimaced.
Courmont took a sip from her katheka. She had to agree with zh’Thiin—the drink was fairly bitter. She should have ordered three units of milk instead of just two. But she concealed her discomfort. “For the most part? That sounds as if you have a lot on your mind. Is that why you’re here, Lenissa?”
“Yes. No. Perhaps. I think.” Nervously, zh’Thiin tucked her chin-long white hair behind her ear. She stared into her cup of katheka. A crease appeared above the ridge of her nose while she seemed to contemplate how to put her problem into words.
Finally, she looked up, and Courmont saw a deep insecurity in her blue and gray eyes.
“I’m concerned about the telepaths aboard the ship,” zh’Thiin finally said after a long pause. “I paid Geron—Doctor Barai—a visit earlier today. He might be medically monitored, but there doesn’t seem to be anything else happening. He’s just lying there, haunted by inner demons, and I don’t even see the tiniest attempt at therapy. Sedatives will only suppress the symptoms but they won’t do any healing. Isn’t there anything else we can do for the doctor and the others? Isn’t it our duty to do more?”
Courmont thought about it and nodded. “You’re right. I—like Doctor Calloway—think that the healing process of an overloaded mind can only begin with calmness and silence. However, we should probably take a more active approach, even if it’s only for those who are still in full command of their faculties. Idly standing by while someone who means a lot to us is suffering is the most difficult thing to do.” She paused, searching Lenissa’s face. “He does mean a lot to you, doesn’t he?”
“The
doctor?”
“Geron.”
Zh’Thiin’s antennae raised defensively. “What gives you that idea?”
“It’s my duty to look closely at people aboard the Prometheus, Lenissa. That’s something we have in common. You look after the physical well-being of our crew, while I take care of the mental side of things. And I haven’t missed the way you two look at each other.” Courmont smiled again.
The blue hue of the young Andorian woman’s cheeks darkened in a blush. “That wasn’t supposed to be obvious to anyone.”
“Don’t worry, Lenissa. You’ve been very discreet. I doubt that anyone else but me would have noticed it.” Courmont leant back in her chair, taking another sip of katheka. She decided that she could get used to this drink. “Don’t fret over it, Lenissa. You are both adults, and you’re not violating any Starfleet regulations as you both work in different departments and hold virtually the same rank. Nobody would hold your relationship against you.”
Zh’Thiin snorted. “If only it were that easy.”
“What do you mean?” Courmont raised her eyebrows.
The Andorian jumped to her feet. Clutching the katheka cup with both hands, she started pacing. “It’s not a relationship. At least, it’s not supposed to be. I wasn’t after that, I just wanted a friendship—with certain benefits, so to speak. But no emotional strings. Now, though, there are emotions. Suddenly, he falls in love with me.” Zh’Thiin steadily raised her voice, and her antennae pointed forward like belligerent snakes.
Courmont leaned back and let zh’Thiin continue at her own pace.
“I never wanted that,” she continued. “I never wanted a relationship, just a bit of fun. All the other men understood that. But Geron didn’t, Geron of all people. He’s a Betazoid; he should understand me better than anyone else.”
“Maybe he understands you all too well,” Courmont suggested gently.
Zh’Thiin stopped dead in her tracks, staring at her. “What do you mean?”
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