Star Trek: Typhon Pact: The Struggle Within Read online

  “Oh!” she finally said, struggling to remember her cover story. “Oh, I’m just . . . well, I’m fascinated by what lies beyond our borders. I want to learn about other worlds, other cultures. So I like the idea of unification. Not just with Vulcans—I mean, sure, Vulcans are great, I’m all about the Vulcans—” Jasminder kicked her in the ankle. “But with our new brethren in the Typhon Pact as well. If we can bring the cause to the Kinshaya, then that’ll help make us more . . . unified. I’m very fond of . . . uniting,” she went on as she gazed into Lorrav’s eyes.

  Once they were finally alone aboard the Unificationists’ ship bound for Kinshaya space, Choudhury grinned and teased, “Fond of uniting? I just bet.”

  “I couldn’t help it! He had puppy-dog eyes! Or, what’s the Romulan equivalent of a puppy dog? He had that.”

  “And what about Mister Taurik? I thought there was something going on between you two.”

  T’Ryssa fidgeted at the reminder of the Enterprise’s assistant chief engineer. “I don’t know about that. We’re friends.” Jasminder’s gaze simply held hers, and Trys suddenly understood just what a good interrogator she was. “Okay, maybe I’ve been feeling a little . . . curious about him. Maybe a lot curious. But I don’t know, Jazz. He’s just so . . . Vulcan. I’m not sure it would work out, me with someone that unemotional and sedate. It’s not my style.”

  Jasminder pondered for a moment. “Maybe,” she finally said, her voice soft. “But there’s virtue in serenity.”

  JANALWA, HOLY ORDER OF THE KINSHAYA STARDATE 59906.3

  Janalwa had been one of the Kinshaya’s oldest colony worlds before the Klingons had razed their home planet two years ago in retaliation for the Holy Order’s renewed campaign of aggression against them (though the Episcopate, the ruling council of bishops, had painted it as the unprovoked savagery of a race of “demons”). The colony’s age and large population had given it enough clout within the Order to maintain a certain independence, allowing long-held traditions of devotional mysticism and intensely individual spirituality to maintain a foothold among the common people even as the Episcopate had imposed its stringent orthodoxy upon the homeworld and the institutions of their interstellar state. But now, as the most populous surviving Kinshaya world after the Klingon assault, Janalwa had been chosen as the new capital, and the apparatus of church and state—which here were one and the same—had descended upon it in full force. The Devotionalists had fallen victim to a series of sudden purges and been driven underground, but that had backfired by inspiring a populist resistance among the masses, bringing new sympathy and support to the Devotionalist cause.

  “This was their mistake,” Vranien told the assembly of Devotionalists and Unificationists who had met in the catacombs beneath an old church, abandoned and left to deteriorate since its diocese’s teachings had been declared heretical by the Pontifex Maxima, leader of the church and thus of the nation. “The Order claims to act in defense of the people against demons, of the righteous against evil,” the tattooed Romulan elder intoned, his words echoing about the hemispherical amphitheater. “But now they strike against members of their own community, Kinshaya such as yourselves who are known to the common people for their decency and kindness. It goes against their own claims of service to the people and the people’s ideals.”

  It had been more of a challenge to arrange this meeting, Jasminder Choudhury reflected, than it had been to reach the planet in the first place. All members of the Typhon Pact had been obligated to liberalize their immigration policies where fellow signatories were concerned, and Praetor Kamemor’s tolerance of the Unificationists compelled the Holy Order to treat them gingerly lest they offend Romulus, now one of the most powerful Typhon Pact members since it had reabsorbed the schismatic Imperial Romulan State at the end of 2381. However, the Devotionalists’ protests were defined as heretical acts, assemblies such as this illegal, so the Unificationists who had arrived openly on Janalwa now had to elude the Inquisitorial enforcers to attend this clandestine meeting. Just as well that the Unificationists had far longer—though less recent—experience as an underground movement.

  Vranien’s words prompted angry grumbling in the Kinshaya audience, though to Choudhury’s ears it sounded more like a cross between the cawing of crows and the snarls of bobcats, accompanied by the batlike flutter of vestigial wings. T’Ryssa had called the Kinshaya griffins, and that was a reasonable analogy for their overall shape, but they lacked the eagle-like qualities of that mythical breed; their wings were leathery and gargoylesque, their bodies furred in reddish or brown hues, their heads bearing carnivorous muzzles rather than beaks, their forelegs ending in sharp-nailed, four-digited hands rather than talons. A crowd of them in a surly mood was an intimidating sight, and Trys was visibly fidgeting beside her. Choudhury was disturbed by the intensity of her own reaction, though she managed to maintain her surface calm.

  “ ’Aya,” came a Kinshaya voice, placid but commanding enough to draw the crowd’s attention. This was Yeffir, leader of the Devotionalists, an aged, pale-furred Kinshaya female whose gaunt frame bespoke a life of asceticism. “Be glad of the Episcopate’s calls for righteousness and decency,” she said. “For it is those very things within themselves that we seek to remind them of. By giving them no cause to doubt our own decency, we challenge them to respond in kind and prove they genuinely believe their words—and if they do not, they shame themselves in their own eyes.”

  “ ’Aya, Teacher,” replied Nagrom, a burlier, scarlet-furred male who led a more aggressive faction of dissidents. Kinshaya commoners were not as segregated in their social roles as the priestly classes, which restricted males to military leadership and diplomacy and females to civil government, but their males still tended to be more contentious. “When they do not, we must be prepared to defend ourselves. What good is the moral high ground if it merely allows our blood to run downhill?”

  “Then it will spread more widely, and all who watch will be bathed in it, and know what they have done. They will have to live with whatever choices they make. By not resisting, we show them that it is their choices that lead to bloodshed, not ours. No being can compel another to change. We must help them to recognize their own need to change.”

  “And how long will that take, Teacher? A generation? Four? Eight? Who will teach those future generations if we merely sit and allow ourselves to be killed?”

  “Who will teach them if we send them off to die in our battles?”

  “‘With time and persistence, even a gentle trickle of water can erode a mountain,’” said Vranien. “Those were the words of Surak of Vulcan. He did not live to see his cause succeed. But over the generations that followed, it transformed his entire world.”

  Vranien’s backing helped tip the scales in Yeffir’s favor. Nagrom recognized that he would not win the day and agreed that his faction would, for now, go along with the nonviolent protests planned to begin the next day.

  Choudhury spent the remainder of the evening in meditation with the Unificationists, trying to draw on their calm and control. But T’Ryssa had no interest in such sedentary activities. She spent the evening speaking with the Kinshaya, trying to learn more about their culture, history, and behavior—as much for her own fascination with the alien as for the benefit of the Federation. Lorrav, he of the puppy-dog eyes, soon slipped from the meditation circle to join “Janil” in her griffinological studies. But before long, their attention shifted away from the Kinshaya and toward each other, and not long after that, they wandered off together.

  Jasminder wished them well. It wasn’t her place to judge T’Ryssa’s relationship choices . . . and given what they would all face at the protest rally tomorrow, she couldn’t begrudge them the need to take comfort where they could.

  “Does it scare you?” T’Ryssa asked Lorrav as they walked hand-in-hand through the catacombs. “Knowing you’re going to go up against armed government troops and have no way to defend yourself?”

  Lorrav took a moment
before replying. “Spock teaches us that fear is just a tool. It advises us to consider the consequences of our actions. But it is our tool to wield, and to set aside when it has served its purpose.”

  “Yes, but are you scared?”

  He smiled. “Yes. I suppose I don’t quite have the spiritual conviction of Vranien or Yeffir. I draw courage from their example. By myself, I don’t know if I could go out there tomorrow and face the Kinshaya enforcers. But I trust Vranien completely. I have no doubt about his wisdom, his strength, his commitment. So as long as he leads, I will be able to follow and face the danger.”

  “Yeah,” T’Ryssa said, thinking of Captain Picard. “I know someone like that.”

  “Your friend Del’oda?”

  “Oh. Yes, her too. At her best. Though it seems she’s been less sure of herself lately than I realized. Still, she came here, despite the danger. And I still can’t believe I let her talk me into it. So yes,” she went on after another moment of reflection. “Her too.”

  They walked in warm silence for a few moments. “So what do you do?” she went on. “When you know you’re about to do something dangerous in the morning. Do you meditate? Read Surak’s Analects or the Kir’Shara?”

  He gave her a sheepish grin. “I eat. I get very hungry when I’m nervous.”

  Trys chuckled. “We could do that. I guess.” She hesitated for a moment, then took the plunge. “You know what I usually like to do the night before doing something dangerous?”

  “What?”

  She kissed him. It went on for a while. “Does that give you a clue?” she concluded breathlessly.

  “I, um, I think I’m getting the idea,” Lorrav replied. He was smiling, but at the same time he seemed even more nervous than he’d been before. The innocent puppy look evidently wasn’t so far from the truth. But then he added, “I think maybe I’ve had enough food today already.”

  T’Ryssa grinned. “Oh, I think we can work up an appetite.”

  • • •

  The Devotionalist rally the next morning was held in the main square of the Janalwan capital city, Rashtag—or rather, its main circle, T’Ryssa corrected. Virtually all Kinshaya architecture and city planning was based on the circle, which their scripture taught was the most perfect, holy shape. Trys wondered how much that assumption had slowed down their development of Kepler’s laws and orbital mechanics, but none of the Kinshaya she’d spoken to here seemed to be versed in science history. Apparently such mysteries were the privilege of the noble classes—the priests and bishops. Indeed, it seemed the theocracy suppressed a lot of scientific truths that would undermine their dogmas. That was one of the things the Devotionalist movement sought to change. They felt the common people had the right to pursue understanding of the Divine by studying Its creation, the physical universe, for themselves.

  Niamlar Circle, fittingly, was at the geometric center of Rashtag and always would be; all new construction in the city was carefully planned to expand the circle symmetrically to preserve its purity. Curving around its eastern quadrant (the holiest direction since it pointed toward that great orb, the rising sun) was the Cathedral of State, once a simple large dome, now expanded into a massive, ornate, multidomed complex trumpeting the majesty of the Pontifex Maxima and her Episcopate. The cathedral gleamed and grew while elsewhere in the city, businesses closed down, buildings fell into decay, and Kinshaya lived in poverty. It was both the seat of the government the Devotionalists opposed and the symbol of its abuses of power. This made Niamlar Circle the natural place for a protest, as did its geography; it was open enough that the Inquisitors could not prevent a crowd from gathering if they had no warning.

  And it was a respectable-sized crowd that assembled this morning. Hundreds of Kinshaya commoners had come out to stand with Yeffir and the Devotionalists—maybe not a sea of bodies, Trys thought, but at least a small lake. Their mood was surprisingly festive, even playful. Whole creche groups had come out together—adults, children, and elder caregivers alike—to help show that this was a peaceful assembly and one with widespread support. Children soared through the air over their creche elders’ heads, their bodies light enough to let them glide short distances in Janalwa’s relatively light gravity and dense air.

  The Romulan group stayed at the rear of the crowd, here simply as observers. This was a Kinshaya movement, and Vranien wished to respect that and leave no doubt of it in the eyes of watchers. Trys wished she could be a bit deeper in the crowd, though, for it was a chilly morning in Rashtag, at least by Vulcan standards. Most of the Unificationists were huddling close or rubbing their hands together. Her half-human metabolism, or perhaps her lifetime of acclimation to Starfleet-standard environmental settings, made her less sensitive to the chill than the Romulans, but she felt it enough that it was easy to fake a more pronounced reaction. But Trys noticed that Choudhury didn’t seem aware of the temperature. “Whoo! Brisk, isn’t it, hey, Del’oda?” she said to get the human woman’s attention. Jasminder caught the cue and wrapped her arms around herself, grinning in feigned agreement. Still, it surprised Trys that the reminder had been needed. Jasminder was usually such a keen observer.

  She began to sidle closer to the disguised security chief, but she was intercepted by Senis, a young Romulan woman with whom she’d struck up a friendly acquaintance on the trip here. “Janil! So I heard you and Lorrav continued your discussion of ‘unity’ last night,” Senis said with a giggle. “I was wondering why your bunk was unused.”

  “It wasn’t what you’re thinking,” Trys insisted. “We talked for hours.” She fidgeted. “And . . . then we did some other stuff for a while. But we didn’t quite get around to actual . . . unity.”

  “Oh, what a shame,” Senis replied. “These ascetics and their reserve. Or is he really as shy as he seems? I always figured he’d be quite a reonmet once he loosened up a bit,” she tittered.

  T’Ryssa didn’t bother to tell her that it had been her choice to hold back, not Lorrav’s. He’d been very understanding and patient about it, yet she could sense his disappointment. But she hadn’t wanted to risk getting too carried away and crying out in Standard, say. And Lorrav was just so innocent and guileless that she’d felt a little bad about seducing him under false pretenses. Okay, so maybe she’d found herself thinking about Taurik just a bit, but surely that hadn’t been the deciding factor. Of course it hadn’t.

  She distracted herself by focusing on what was distracting Choudhury. “Are you okay?” she asked once Senis had moved on.

  Jasminder gave a small sigh. “I’m still struggling to find my center. Meditating with Vranien and the others was helpful, but . . . I couldn’t help dwelling on the risks of this. The fear of being attacked or captured. I’m still too preoccupied with my fears.”

  “You’d never know it to look at you.”

  The taller woman shrugged. “I have the training to cope with threats. My response to fear is readiness, not panic. But that doesn’t mean that those threats don’t preoccupy my thoughts, make it hard for me to find peace. Without that stillness giving me an anchor, I can be driven away from where I want to be in my mind.” Trys heard what went unspoken: Like ch’Lhren drove me away from my post.

  “That’s what this is about, my friend,” Jasminder went on, gesturing to the great steps where Yeffir was now speaking. “They choose to stand in a place of peace, a place of conscience, resisting all pressures to drive them away from that ideal. They refuse to stand by and tolerate the state’s cruelty and violence any longer, but they will not let themselves be brought down to the same level. Instead they combat it by providing a better example and challenging the state to rise to it.”

  Yeffir spoke softly but with undeniable energy, calling on Pontifex Ykredna to stand down and allow reformers to step in. She acknowledged the virtue of forgiveness and second chances, but pointed out that the current regime had clung to power too long, crippled the Kinshaya economy too badly with its diversion of revenues to unnecessary warfare and self-glor
ification, and created too much bad blood both within the Holy Order and beyond, so that the only truly constructive step they could take anymore would be a step away from the reins of power. Their party, or sect, or denomination, or whatever it was called, could continue to have a voice in the coalition to follow, but preferably under new leadership; Ykredna and her Matriarchs should step aside as a gesture of good faith.

  The Devotionalist teacher went on to chastise the Episcopate for its persecution of those Kinshaya they considered heretics, citing the passages from the holy writ on altash, or tolerance, which the state used to justify membership in the Typhon Pact, and urging them to extend the same principle to their own people. “The circle is holy because its every point is equal. None are closer to the center, none are higher or lower than any other. The Pontifex all but declares herself the center of the circle, which is the true heresy. Only the Divine resides in that place of perfection. It is time to recognize that we mortals all stand beside one another upon the same circle, equidistant from the Divine and equally defined by it.”

  But it wasn’t long before the Inquisitors, marked by the wing tattoos of the priestly classes, began to move in, declaring the assembly an act of sacrilege and commanding the crowd to disperse. “We will not be moved,” Yeffir intoned. “A circle has no sides. We belong here as much as you.”

  But the Inquisitors didn’t see it that way. They came forth rampant, balancing on their hind legs and throwing their wings back for counterbalance as they advanced with clubs in their forelegs, striking at the protesters. Others manned directional force field projectors that fired into the crowd, forcing Kinshaya back by the dozens. Yeffir urged her followers not to retaliate, but that didn’t deter the Inquisitors.