Star Trek

by John Jackson Miller

  “Oh, my. You see right through me.” Georgiou rolled her eyes. “You should go see Finnegan next and read the bumps on his head. That ought to keep you busy.”

  “Make jokes if you want. It proves my point. I think you’re afraid.”

  “Nonsense. There’s nothing I can’t do.”

  “Confidence is good. I sure didn’t have it afterward. But you’re not afraid you won’t succeed. You’re afraid it won’t be worth the effort.”

  Georgiou looked back into space. “Oh?”

  “I could have kept competing, but it wasn’t worth it to me to beat children. My sport was mostly for the young. I mean, I had as much right to be there as anyone—but I’d done it.”

  “And you wept, like Alexander, ‘Because there were no worlds left to conquer.’ That’s what you say here, isn’t it?” Georgiou asked, turning toward her. “But nobody says that in my realm. Nobody would ever say that. They say ‘Alexander cheered, for there were always worlds left to conquer.’ ”

  Dax lowered her head in sadness. From outside in the hall, the two heard the sound of a human, coughing. “I should see to Finnegan.”

  Before she could leave, Georgiou grabbed Dax by the wrist—and jabbed a finger at her own chest. “I wasn’t done yet. There were star systems we hadn’t found—to say nothing of other galaxies. So don’t tell me about the pain of starting over, little Trill!”

  She stared long at Dax before releasing her.

  Dax stepped away—only to pause. She looked back, guarded. “My people know more about starting over than you could imagine,” she said. “There’s no pain in it. Only excitement. Adventure. The chance to live life again, as someone else. But you’re not living it as someone else. You’re trying to be the same person you were in a place that’s not meant for her—and it’s going to eat you up.”

  I’ll be the judge of that, Georgiou thought.

  37

  Moon One

  DROMAX SYSTEM

  Burnham had once joked that the emperor had hailed from a place that was upside down. If that was the case, it was no wonder Georgiou had found herself at home in the realm of the Dromax: the place they considered heaven was a hell.

  Georgiou had come to that conclusion earlier, while looking down on the Dromax’s largest satellite from the Double Crescent invasion fleet. Tidally locked to the gas giant but not to its sun, Moon One still experienced phases of night and day—but other conditions had rendered its weather hellish. It spent a good deal of time in Dromax’s shadow—and sat constantly under bombardment by its magnetosphere. Then there was the ground, which heaved and churned under tidal pressures from so many large neighbors. It still had a breathable atmosphere, but only just: it was like living in a house on fire.

  As for the magnificent waterfall the general had talked so much about, it had proved to be a similar disappointment. Given the barely existent aesthetic standards of the Dromax, she’d never figured on it being towering falls. But a shallow lake spilling over a thirty-meter-high cliff only half a kilometer wide paled in comparison to a number of sites on her homeworld, which itself wasn’t known for its topographical extremes when compared to other planets.

  The site had, however, mesmerized Finnegan, who had been much relieved to realize this assault called for his skills as a pilot and not as a soldier. Georgiou had decided to go against the history of all previous assaults on the formation, which uniformly had taken land routes to either side; instead, she’d deployed Agamalon’s hovertanks directly on the ocean for a naval approach.

  “Feels like I’m running a Higgins boat on D-Day—only we’re attacking a waterfall,” he said. “And they had better weather and fewer aliens.”

  Georgiou didn’t bother to ask him to explain his reference. She had only so much room in her head—and patience—for two sets of histories. And she had plenty to focus on.

  The assaulting Double Crescents had been forced to operate their hovertanks from topside; the waves were far too high for occupants inside to see anything. Georgiou had designed a way to command the vehicles from atop their platforms. A simple innovation; the fact that nobody had yet considered it explained why no Dromax had attacked from the sea before. Amid roiling currents and raucous lightning, four-fifths of her flotilla advanced toward the lower southern approach to the falls from the sea, while the remainder had landed as a feint on the more placid lake to assault the higher shore.

  The Dromax on deck were in awe of the falls, including Sergeant Garph. The officer she’d saved after her arrival on Thirty had become her principal liaison with the scar-bellied dunderheads she called troops. “The Cascade is magical,” Garph called out over the engines. “Do you know why the lake is so small and the ocean so big?”

  “I haven’t a clue,” she replied.

  “More water leaves the Cascade than enters it.”

  She sighed. I thought you were one of the smart ones.

  The aerial assault began on schedule, as she’d planned it. The Jagged Spikes under General Skove held the southern approach; the fifth tribe to do so this year, she understood. The Spikes fully expected an assault from the stormy skies, and had turned their cannons upward—

  —which proved a great mistake as her hovertanks, screened by spray and foam, erupted onto the shores, firing forward and disgorging Dromax warriors on either side.

  Georgiou’s craft would be the last to beach. “Dax, check in!” she yelled over her Starfleet comm.

  Inside the hovertank, the Trill responded, reporting the various landings as the news came in. On top of the deck, Georgiou’s gunners provided cover fire for the forces that had already landed.

  The emperor did the math. Even with the element of surprise, she’d barely have enough forces to do the job. She’d need far more grunts to hold the place—and wondered where they could be found.

  Georgiou had paid more attention to the Dromax life cycle since what she witnessed in the general’s quarters. Something hadn’t added up. Dax had been right; the emperor had also never seen any of the grunts replicating in the way that Agamalon had. The officers, yes. Even Sergeant Garph had been forced to remain aboard the transport to give birth during one of the operations. But she now perceived the officer reproduction rates to be at no more than replacement level, and probably less. How did any Dromax tribe keep its numbers high, when by all accounts nobody ever changed sides?

  She dismissed the thoughts as the hovercraft bumped onto the shore. She promptly found something to shoot at—a pursuit that kept her busy for the better part of ten minutes, until she found a new sort of target.

  It was a Jagged Spike vehicle like the others she’d shot at—but the different thing was where it was headed. It was in retreat, headed southward. And it wasn’t alone. Surprise had been complete; no Dromax had indeed ever considered a naval assault from the ocean side. If the Dromax ever had their own book of stratagems, perhaps she would be remembered as the author of a few of those as well.

  “Captain, we’ve done it!” Garph called out, jubilant.

  Her hovertank grumbled to a stop and settled with a splat on the muddy surface. Georgiou stepped off the platform and surveyed the field of the brief battle. There were Jagged Spike vehicles ablaze, their black clouds adding to the angry mess above. And strewn all around were Dromax. Many with armor were dead; many without oozed from burst abdomens. Alarmingly, she noted a large number of her own forces among the fallen.

  Dax climbed out of the hovertank hatch. On seeing the carnage, she fell to her knees, faint.

  “Daxie!” Finnegan called out.

  Georgiou looked up at them. “Now what?”

  “I’m okay.” Tears in her eyes, the Trill panted. “I just never thought—I never thought it would lead to this.”

  “Well, you’re the one that wanted to find Jadama Rohn.”

  “She knows that, Georgie!” Finnegan snapped. He comforted the young woman. “It’s okay,” he said to Dax. “We’ll make sure it’s worth it.”

  “How
?”

  Finnegan was at a loss for words, for a change. “We just will.”

  Georgiou knew that not just the Spikes, but all the other tribes, had forces somewhere on or above the moon. They might not have long to work. She turned to Sergeant Garph. “Where’s the entrance to this tunnel?”

  “Up there,” he said, pointing to a black hole in the escarpment, about halfway up the side of the adjacent falls.

  Seeing that Dax and Finnegan had joined her on the ground, Georgiou nodded. “Sergeant, post the full force on the surface below the entrance. Guns arrayed in every direction—including the sea. We’ll barely have enough troops to hold the position.”

  Garph laughed. “That won’t be a problem.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t you know where we’re at? The Cascade is inside!”

  “I thought the falls were the Cascade.”

  “You’ll see. You want more troops? Lead me in.”

  38

  Moon One

  DROMAX SYSTEM

  The suggestion had made no sense to her—but she had soon realized that not just Garph, but nearly every officer intended to go inside. When a delighted Agamalon had landed in his shuttle, she’d protested. Yet he had fully supported his officers, overruling her and ordering only minimal supervision for the few grunts left behind.

  It was foolish, she thought as she clambered up a well-worn pathway to the tunnel. Such a risk, just for some kind of religious pilgrimage? The Dromax would be picked off the southern approach in a hurry. Then again, she’d never seen their officers move so fast. None of them seemed built for climbing, but Agamalon was making marvelous time up the hill.

  Inside, she understood even less.

  The “tunnel” behind the cataract was only bounded by rock above, below, and to the left; water streaming over the falls shrouded its right-hand side. Spray from it made it hard to see far. Puddles were everywhere. The passage was wide and high, with no light coming from the other side; she couldn’t tell if that was because the entrance was blocked or if the tunnel just arced out of sight.

  “This is what you wanted,” she said to Agamalon. “Now tell me where Jadama Rohn is.”

  “After.”

  “After what?”

  Agamalon ignored her. “Break out the lights.” Garph distributed handheld beacons, including to her and her companions. “Wait here. Once we’ve got things started, I’ll tell you where to go. Don’t worry, it’s close.”

  Georgiou watched Agamalon turn away, wondering when the betrayal was coming. There was always a betrayal in her world. Yet the general had seemed in earnest, his light-bearing pilgrims beginning to make their way into a void to the left.

  Instead, the surprise came from Finnegan. “Where’s the magic?”

  Agamalon stopped. “What?”

  “The magic. I want to see the magic.”

  Dax looked at him. “Sean, he didn’t ask us—”

  “Look,” he said, “I’ve been through bloody blessed hell since I got here. And if there’s magic around, then Sean Jacob Finnegan is going to see it!”

  The general laughed. “Follow us!”

  Georgiou watched as the Dromax headed to the left, farther away from the sheet of water representing the falls. Finnegan followed—and Dax, shrugging, seemed compelled to join him. At last, Georgiou threw up her hands and followed them into a side tunnel.

  The other side opened onto a grotto. Lights weren’t necessary here, she saw. Against the sweating far wall was a large shimmering pool, lit by the tall natural edifice that rose from it. Several meters across and enshrouded in luminescent crystals, the column was polished by shrouds of water pouring onto it from seams in the ceiling, high above.

  Onto it—and into it, she realized as she listened.

  “It’s a lava pillar,” she said. “Hollow inside.”

  “I’ve seen some tall mugs before, but that’s the winner,” Finnegan said, looking up. “Why doesn’t it fill up?”

  Georgiou squinted at a darkened area beneath where the base of the pillar met the surface. “Looks like one wall of it’s given out, underwater. It’s draining into the pool—then out to the waterfall and the sea.” Looking up, she saw a ledge running along the cavern’s rear wall, above it. Someone had placed a metal plank up there, bridging the gap to the shining tube.

  “What are those crystals?” Dax asked.

  “I’m not sure.” Georgiou whipped out her tricorder. “This whole region was probably underwater once. Vulcanism plus erosion can do some strange things, but I’ve never—”

  “Your kind would take the magic out of anything,” Agamalon said. “Watch—and learn.”

  Garph remained behind as the group of Dromax officers parted into two groups, each bound for ramps hewn into the walls on either side. Like monks, the Dromax chanted until they reached the top. Finnegan followed, to the objection of no one.

  Finnegan called down from the makeshift bridge. “It’s hollow, all right. Fed by water coming in from the lake, I’d guess. Big enough for a fellow to dive right in.”

  Agamalon did exactly that. Georgiou heard a splash within the column, about two-thirds of the way down. Moments later, the Dromax appeared in the pool, having escaped through the column’s underwater gap.

  Garph helped the general out. “I’ve got the blade ready.”

  “Excellent, Sergeant. The miracle begins anew.”

  Georgiou stared at the dripping Agamalon. “Was that it? You took a dip?”

  “Two-legs, for once, just shut up. And listen.”

  She turned her attention back to the column—and heard another splash. She looked up to Finnegan. “Who jumped that time?”

  “Nobody.”

  That was plainly wrong, because a Dromax appeared from within the pool, water streaming off its hide. It looked just like Agamalon, to the extent that anyone could tell Dromax apart. Garph stepped toward it—

  —and slashed it, cutting across the double crescent on the dripping creature’s abdomen. “You serve Agamalon of the Double Crescent,” Garph said. “Go out and join your troops.”

  Above, another Dromax lieutenant jumped in. And emerged. Twenty seconds later, a second Dromax emerged, once again to be scarred and addressed by Garph.

  Then it happened a third time.

  Dax called up. “Sean, you’re sure just three have jumped in?”

  “You can see them up here, can’t you? I can count!”

  Georgiou stared at the gleaming column—and adjusted her tricorder. Something was fishy inside, for sure.

  A fourth diver—and for the fourth time, a second Dromax emerged. “Where are these other ones coming from?” Dax asked. “They’ve got to be swimming in from somewhere.”

  Agamalon laughed. “We don’t swim unless we can help it. But this we’ll gladly do. Don’t you get it?”

  Finnegan was running out of companions on the upper level. “I’ll dive in myself and take a look.”

  “No!” Georgiou yelled.

  Above, Finnegan recovered his balance just in time. “Why not?”

  She stared at the results on the tricorder. “There’s a time warp in this column.” She reconsidered. “No, not a warp. But a fracture.”

  “Call it what you want,” Agamalon said. “It’s our miracle. Our savior.”

  She ran the scan again and gawked at the results. “It’s a plane of fractured time, cutting laterally through the column.” Another Dromax jumped in; X-rays saw the creature plunge into the water within. Twenty seconds later, another Dromax appeared in midfall.

  “Throw something in, Finnegan.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know. Your disruptor!”

  “I’ll be glad to be rid of the damn thing.” He made a show of chucking the weapon in, and a tiny splash followed. It could be seen moments later sinking into the glowing pool.

  Dax looked to Agamalon. “Is it safe to reach in?”

  “Of course.”

  “The war
ped space is in the column. Not the pool,” Georgiou said.

  Dax fished out the weapon—even as another splash could be heard. A second disruptor appeared below. She offered both weapons to Georgiou, who studied them with her tricorder. “It’s amazing,” she said. “The objects that pass through the temporal fissure are perfect replicas,” she said. “All the experimentation that’s been done with replicators? They’ve never created anything this accurate. The samples are equivalent to six decimal places.” She looked up. “It’s not really a duplicate. It’s a time traveler, one whose existence here doesn’t impact the original.”

  The emperor’s mind raced. The portal seemed tied to the planet’s geology, but it had something else at work—perhaps the crystals. Could there actually be something like a mineral with time-altering properties? It seemed too much to be believed. But if Defiant could pass through a temporal rift in space—and if Discovery could create its own passage sailing some interdimensional mushroom highway—was it too much to believe that time could be invested in crystals?

  “The fracture is where your soldiers come from,” she said to Agamalon. “They’re replicas of you, arriving through the portal out of sync with time. That’s why everyone wants to control the waterfall.”

  “ ‘Who holds the Cascade, holds the future,’ ” Agamalon replied, speaking as reverently as she’d ever heard him. “That’s what the legend says—the only legend that matters. Those falls outside aren’t the Cascade. This is. An endless shower of warriors, driving our tribe into tomorrow and beyond.”

  “More water leaves the falls than enters,” Georgiou said, looking up at what was spilling in from above. “Of course.”

  “I’ve always wanted a twin brother,” Finnegan called out. “Let me at it!”

  “No!” It was Dax who shouted this time.

  Finnegan again stopped and stood back. “What now? I could use a spare to send to work when I want to sleep.”

  “She’s saying one of you is more than enough,” Georgiou said. “Get down here.”

  As he descended, the processional continued. Dax stepped over to the pool’s edge and brought forth her medical tricorder as a Dromax lieutenant emerged. “May I?” she asked.