Rise of the Federation: Live by the Code Read online

  The man called Vabion looked unimpressed. “I have no interest in their annihilation. Now that they are no longer an impediment, they are of no further concern to me.”

  “We came here to assist you! You owe us gratitude, surely.”

  Those bright eyes sized him up. “I take it you expect compensation of some sort.”

  “Well . . . I meant that you should join us in the glory of the kill, as a gesture of thanks. But . . . if you wish to discuss compensation afterward . . .”

  “I only kill when it benefits me, Captain Lokog. And I only offer compensation to those who have earned it.” He paused, thinking. “However, you could be of use to me in the future. The vessel I control employs a proprietary technology of Worldwide Automatics, known as the Ware. The organization called Starfleet—of which I see you are aware—recently launched an attack on this technology, incapacitating it on worlds throughout the sector and disrupting commerce and industry on a massive scale.”

  “Why would those Starfleet do-gooders want to destroy your technology?”

  “They found certain . . . necessary compromises in its method of operation to be incompatible with their ethics. They have been allowing me to assist in the rescue of various crews stranded by the Ware shutdown by bringing their ships up to a minimum level of operation. However, by working clandestinely, I was able to replace certain . . . key components of the system and restore this vessel to full operation. My goal is to do the same with other Ware systems and exploit the technology to its full potential.”

  “To what end? Conquest?”

  “In a sense. I am a businessman. I was once the most powerful and influential individual on Vanot, and I seek to rebuild what I have lost, only on a far more cosmic scale. Any who align themselves with me will profit greatly.”

  “Profit interests me,” Lokog said. “But I also seek battle and glory. I wish to strike at my enemies.” He leaned forward. “I have seen what your ship can do. Its weapons, its ability to repair itself. And there are only a few of you aboard. This Ware is automated?”

  “Indeed—the most advanced automation in the known galaxy. Ware drones can operate with no crew aboard at all.” The man of Vanot furrowed his brow. “Are there other Klingons in this space? And do they share your interest in acquiring powerful weapons and ships?”

  “In exchange for providing you with some service?” Lokog countered.

  “Indeed. While these ships are powerful, Starfleet has the means to shut them down. I have managed to circumvent that with this ship, but it is difficult and time-consuming. It would be useful to supplement them with vessels and weapons that Starfleet could not so easily overcome.” He paused. “Of course, if Starfleet is your enemy, Ware ships would be of no use to you. But you cited enemies in the plural . . . ?”

  Vhelis’s dying words echoed in Lokog’s mind. The QuchHa’ people had many enemies on the High Council. Lokog had no hope of taking on those enemies with SuD Qav, or even with an alliance of all the privateers in unclaimed space. But with a powerful new technology, with drones that could repair themselves and be controlled in large numbers by a single Klingon . . . perhaps one running man could slit a few thousand throats after all.

  Still, he had some unresolved bloodlust to address. “We can do business, Mister Vabion. Let us commemorate our pact by destroying the Starfleeters together.” At Vabion’s impatient look, he went on. “This kill would benefit you, Vabion. Consider it a product demonstration for your customer. Show me what your weapons can do.”

  “When you put it that way, I’d be happy to comply. Unfortunately, that vessel is only one member of a Starfleet task force, and it sent a distress signal to its companions some time ago. Two more Starfleet vessels, one of them significantly larger than this one, are on an intercept course as we speak.”

  Lokog turned to Ghopmoq, murder in his eyes. The young sensor officer worked his controls frantically. “I detect nothing on approach, Captain! I swear!”

  “Will that demonstration satisfy you, Captain? Ware sensors are clearly far superior to yours.”

  Lokog wondered if Vabion could be bluffing, but he wasn’t about to take the chance. Boldly facing danger was all well and good, but only if he could be reasonably sure of surviving to boast of his courage afterward. He had really wanted to prolong the pleasurable sense of power he’d gained from killing Vhelis, but he grudgingly admitted he’d have to let his bloodlust go unsatisfied until some other day. (He contemplated shooting Ghopmoq as a token gesture, but it would be too much of an anticlimax. And he was short on sensor officers as it was.)

  Besides, if this Ware lived up to Vabion’s promises, he would have plenty of enemies to destroy before long.

  2

  Pheniot V, Orion-Klingon Borderland

  GYRAI DID NOT GENERALLY MIND when one of her male slaves intruded on her in the bath without permission. The Orion merchant princess rather enjoyed the pretense that the muscular, emerald-skinned giants were the masters and herself merely one of their playthings; it was quite pleasurable to be dominated, knowing that in fact she had the absolute power to assert command over the situation if any aspect of it displeased her. What she did not enjoy about the intrusion this time, however, was that Korem-Gaas had come with other than amorous intentions. “My lady,” he began, his honest submission a sign that he was not here to play. “We are being raided! The slave pens are open—the merchandise is in open revolt!”

  “What?” Gyrai erupted from the pool, scattering the three junior Orion women who had been tending to her ablutions. “How did this happen without warning?” she asked as a fourth slave woman, this one a lavender-haired Boslic, hurried over to help her into her robe.

  “I’m sorry, mistress,” Gaas cried, nearly panicking. “But they had a valid identification code. It wasn’t until the raid started that we scanned their ship, and—”

  “Who? Who are you talking about?”

  Whoever they were, they had exceptional dramatic timing, for at just that moment, the doors burst open and four women entered. But these were not slave women, Orion or otherwise. They strode into the room with commanding confidence, they were fully clothed (Gyrai could not imagine how that could be comfortable), and they were armed. The woman in the lead was tan-skinned and black-haired, human by appearance and scent, wearing black trousers and a gray tunic with a gold arrowhead patch on the breast. She felled Korem-Gaas with an energy beam as he charged—­although, since there was no aroma of burned flesh, Gyrai concluded he had merely been stunned. But that woman then stepped aside, her body language deferring to the other three. Two of those, lighter-skinned human women with shoulder-length dark hair and blue tunics of the same design, flanked a longer-haired Vulcan in a tunic of brownish green. Gyrai realized they were officers of a Federation starship, and the Vulcan was clearly their commander.

  Gyrai had instinctively fallen back and adopted a deferential pose, expecting the intruders to accept Gaas’s public role as the master, but the Vulcan focused her gaze directly on Gyrai and strode toward her. She realized she should have shed her robe as well; as the only female wearing a garment, however abbreviated, she stood out from the pack. “I am Captain T’Pol of the Federation vessel Endeavour,” the Vulcan said. “Where is V’Las?”

  Gyrai blinked innocently. “Who?”

  “V’Las. Former administrator of the Vulcan High Command and suspected Romulan collaborator. Orchestrator of the recent coup attempt on Vulcan. Last reported aboard the renegade Vulcan battleship Karik-tor, which was sighted entering the Borderland four days ago.”

  “Many ships come to the Borderland for many reasons,” Gyrai lilted. “We offer pleasures undreamed of here.”

  “It is unlikely that Vulcans would come here seeking pleasure.”

  “Oh, it’s always the quiet ones you have to watch out for—hey, what are you doing?” The two blue-clad women had discovered her data terminal and
were attempting to access its systems. “That material is private. And even if you could breach the encryption, it would offer nothing of use to you. We Orions have no interest in Vulcan politics.”

  “That is a lie,” T’Pol replied coolly. “The Orion Syndicate has been attempting to undermine Federation institutions for the past several years.”

  “I know nothing of that,” she said, fingering the jeweled choker she wore. “I’m just a businesswoman. I’m not privy to the Sisters’ plans.”

  The Vulcan loomed closer. “You are Gyrai, one of the most prominent racketeers within the Borderland. No Syndicate business occurs here without you getting a share.”

  “You’ll never be able to prove that.”

  “I’m in!” called the daintier of the two women in blue, a black-haired woman with dark eyes and delicate lips that could fetch a fortune on the slave market.

  “Good work, Hoshi,” the captain said.

  Gyrai shook her head. “Impossible. You can’t have penetrated my security files.”

  “Oh, not your security files,” said the woman called Hoshi. “Your bank account.” She turned to the taller, fairer-haired woman. “Elizabeth? It’s all yours.”

  “Okay, now, let’s see . . . Whoa, that’s a lot of digits. I bet the Interspecies Medical Exchange could do wonders with this kind of funding.”

  “So let’s give them some.”

  “Why not?” Elizabeth smiled as she bent to the console.

  “What are you doing?” Gyrai cried. “It’s not enough that you raid my livestock, you now resort to rank thievery?”

  “Oh, I’m sure you entirely outrank us,” Hoshi told her.

  “I will ask again,” T’Pol said. If she were not a Vulcan, Gyrai would swear she was coolly amused. “Where is V’Las?”

  “I know nothing of him.” Her fingers closed around a large green gem on her choker.

  But T’Pol’s fingers closed around her wrist, pulled her hand away from her neck with a grip of steel, and relieved her of the poison gas pellet before she could throw it. “Your behavior is uncooperative. Lieutenant Cutler?”

  “Yes, Captain. I was thinking the Rigelian Children’s Fund next.”

  “Excellent choice. May I also suggest the Vegan Choriomeningitis Society?”

  “And there’s Habitat for Humanoids,” Hoshi put in.

  “Why not?” said Cutler. “After all, there’s plenty of money to go around.”

  “Stop!” Gyrai demanded. “Just stop, please! All right! V’Las came here seeking allies. I was instructed by the Sisters to turn him away. The Syndicate has no wish to provoke the Federation again.” For the moment.

  “Are you quite positive?” Hoshi asked. “Because I’m seeing a stock portfolio here that would do wonders for relief efforts on Coridan.”

  “Good call,” Cutler said. “Here it goes!”

  “I swear! Please, I’m telling you the truth! The last I saw of his ship, it was heading out of the sector on a course through the outskirts of Klach D’Kel Brakt. Of course no one could track him beyond that morass.”

  T’Pol held her gaze, studying her. Finally she looked away with a faint sigh. “Then we are done here. Move out.”

  Gyrai’s eyes widened as Cutler and Hoshi stepped away from her console. “What about my money? Aren’t you going to put it back?”

  “Why?” Cutler asked, her jovial tone undiminished. “Those others need it a lot more than you do.”

  “I need it now that you’ve set my slaves free!”

  “Okay, you’re really not earning any sympathy points there.”

  Gyrai winced and took a deep breath, hoping to hold on to what little wealth and dignity she had left. But as the Starfleet women headed for the door, the Boslic slave stepped forward. “Wait. Can I come with you?”

  “Certainly,” T’Pol said. Looking over the golden-skinned girl, the Vulcan turned back to Gyrai and brandished her weapon at her once more. “Would you be so kind as to give this young woman your robe?”

  U.S.S. Endeavour NCC-06

  Doctor Phlox had always admired Captain T’Pol’s timing. She came through sickbay’s frosted doors just as he was wrapping up his examination of the last of the liberated slaves from Pheniot V. “Just remember, now: Consume one vghlar beetle with each meal until the supply runs out,” he told the emaciated Nuvian woman. “There’s nothing better for a vitamin deficiency, and they taste good, too!”

  The young lady thanked him and allowed the gray-shirted security guard outside to escort her to her guest quarters. “Ah, Captain!” Phlox said, turning to his new arrival. “She’s the last of them. And just as well, too, for my supply of beetles is running dangerously low. Aside from their use as vitamin supplements, they’re a vital part of my Altarian marsupial’s diet. I’ll simply have to restock once we reach Denobula.” He tried his best not to make it sound like a leading question, though he doubted he succeeded.

  Indeed not. “I know you have been concerned about reaching home in time for your daughter’s wedding, Phlox,” the captain said.

  “Oh, don’t worry about me, Captain. I quite understand the needs of duty. The hunt for V’Las is a vital task.” The defrocked administrator had proven himself willing to inflict violence on a massive scale—first eleven years ago when he had attempted to foment a war with Andoria and bomb his political opposition to extinction, then more recently when he had organized an attempt at a military coup to retake power on Vulcan, nearly destroying Endeavour in the process.

  “Unfortunately, the trail has gone cold. The supernova remnants, metaphasic radiation, and quantum fluctuations in the Klach D’Kel Brakt region make it effectively impossible to track a warp trail through it.”

  “What was it that Arik Soong called it?” Phlox asked. “The Briar Patch?”

  “An apt analogy,” the captain granted, “particularly given that the nearest Vulcan equivalents to Terran briar plants are carnivorous.”

  Phlox chuckled. “I sense frustration, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

  T’Pol gave him a knowing look. “It would be illogical to deny it. The only reason Karik-tor would have entered the Briar Patch is to elude pursuit. We may take it as a given that they altered course upon entry. Lieutenant Cutler is scanning the periphery of the patch intently, but I do not expect her to find anything.” She eased a bit closer. “Therefore, unless another lead presents itself within the next few days, I see no impediment to reaching Denobula in time for Vaneel’s wedding.”

  Phlox smiled. “Thank you, T’Pol. If necessary, I would have arranged alternate transport, but I can’t tell you how much it will mean to me to have you and Hoshi and my other dear friends by my side.”

  T’Pol showed typical Vulcan unease toward his sentiment, but she was spared the need to respond by the intercom. “Bridge to Captain T’Pol,” came the crisp voice of Thanien ch’Revash, Endeavour’s first officer.

  The captain strode to the console near the door and opened the channel. “T’Pol here.”

  “Captain, a Klingon battle cruiser, D-Five class, is closing rapidly on our position.”

  T’Pol’s shoulders tensed, and Phlox could understand why. The Klingons had kept to themselves for the past few years, dealing with internal matters that Phlox was more intimately familiar with than he would have liked. But the proud, bellicose beings had never been kindly disposed toward Starfleet, and if something had provoked them to action, the consequences could be dangerous indeed. “I’m on my way,” the captain said. She turned to Phlox. “Doctor, I suggest you ready sickbay as a precaution.”

  “Of course, Captain.”

  Thanien’s voice sounded again. “Captain, the Klingons are hailing us.”

  “I’ll take it when I arrive.”

  “Captain—they are asking to speak to Doctor Phlox.”

  “Me?” Phlox was so surprised
that he feared his face would puff up as a defensive reflex. He cleared his throat. “Why ever would the Klingons wish to speak to me?” he asked, not looking forward to the answer.

  “I suggest we ask them,” T’Pol said. “With me, Doctor.”

  Endeavour’s efficient turbolift soon deposited them both on the starship’s bridge, on whose forward screen the angular green battle cruiser loomed like a Berengarian dragon preparing to stoop on its prey. T’Pol took her command chair, gestured to Phlox to stand beside her, then nodded to Lieutenant Commander Sato at the communications station. “Open a channel.”

  A swarthy Klingon with heavy brow ridges and an ornate beard appeared on the viewer. “I am Nevokh, commander of the Imperial Klingon Cruiser Haj. I am seeking Doctor Phlox of the Interspecies Medical Exchange.”

  “I am Captain T’Pol of Endeavour. Doctor Phlox is here with me. What is your business with him?”

  “That business is solely with him, Captain. It is . . . a medical matter. Does the Federation not believe that such things are private?”

  Normally Phlox would agree, but T’Pol read his reservations on his face. “With all due respect, Commander Nevokh, the last time the Klingon Empire wished Phlox’s assistance with a medical matter, they abducted him by force and threatened his life.”

  Nevokh squirmed. “I am aware of this. That is why I have been tasked by Fleet Admiral Krell . . . to ask Doctor Phlox to accompany us back to Qo’noS. I am not authorized to explain more to any but the doctor himself.”

  Phlox stepped forward. “If a member of your crew is ill, you are welcome to bring them aboard Endeavour. I’m sure I can treat them best in my own sickbay.” Surrounded by Starfleet security’s finest.

  “That is not why we need you, Doctor. Admiral Krell has sworn that you will not be harmed if you accompany us to the homeworld.”

  “I cannot permit you to take him without some explanation,” T’Pol said.