Star Trek: Fearless 01 - Wide Black Yonder

Introduction

This story came about from a combination of re-reading the first two Honour Harrington novels 'On Basilisk Station' and 'The Honor of the Queen' by David Weber, the rather excellent Star Trek The Lost Era tale 'Serpents Among the Ruins' by David R. George III, and regaining contact with my good friend Adrian Jones over at Star Trek: The Interim Years / USS Sheffield NCC-1976 where he writes about the change in attitudes and technology from Kirk-Trek to Picard-Trek.

The former made me want to tell the tale – any tale – about a Starfleet ship called Fearless the name of Honor Harrington's first command. Lo and behold I remembered that Trek does indeed have its own Fearless, and she's a ship class I want to tell a story about, with a registry number low enough that I could place her adventures anywhere in the 24th century.

The latter made me want to tell a story around these Interim Years, when the Fearless would be one of the prime ships of the Star Fleet, one that people would scramble to get noticed in order to become their crew. At first I thought of a story set after the Tomed Incident and concurrent with the missions of the U.S.S. Sheffield, but with that I still had no clue about what story I wanted to tell.

Then I re-read 'Serpents Among the Ruins', which describes the Tomed Incident of 2311 in precise detail, and starts off the book with a sense of foreboding that war with the Romulans had been coming for years.

Suddenly, I had it. I'd write the backstory for this book. Fearless would deal with the gradual encroachment into ordinary life that an seemingly inevitable conflict would bring. How a conflict could become "seemingly inevitable" in the first place.

Many thanks to Adrian for suggesting a crossover/joint venture. You'll find many of his creations in the following stories, such as Supply Station Aljetarius/Starbase 77, planet Nirophia and the self-named Corridor, the astropolitical scenery on its far side, amongst others. Deftly woven into this tapestry are my own crew for Aljetarius and its revised history, and our joint history and culture of the planet Niropha and her inhabitants as well.

So, here we go. A voyage into the unknown, in true Kirk-to-Picard style. Let me know if you like it. Have fun with this, because we certainly did.

Chapter One

“Lieutenant Murdoch, a moment of your time,” Commander L’Trell called out from his office in Engineering, sounding distracted.

The slender, strawberry-blonde assistant chief engineer clapped Specialist Aziz on his shoulder and strode over to her boss’ office, wondering what was up.

“Just give me a moment, Steph… finishing something up here…”

“Fair enough, Boss,” she replied from the other side of his desk, and turned to gaze at the contained annihilation that was their warp reactor.

“Ah-HA! Tharrr’s the little hairrrball!” Chief Engineer L’Trell cried triumphantly, trilling his ‘r’s enough to make any Scot feel at home.

Lieutenant Stephanie Murdoch started, surprised despite herself. Swinging back around to face him, she queried, “What little hairball is that, Sir?”

“That damned illegal still we’ve been chasing all over the ship for so long. They set it back up in an area we’d just swept a tenday ago.” He swung his monitor around and pointed at the scan results with a claw. “And there we have them.”

Stephanie took in the details on the screen. All it showed was a red dot on the ship schematics; there was no indication of the search parameters. “Sir, are you sure? I mean, look where it is! They’d have to be completely off their heads to set it up there!”

Korta L’Trell’s gold-flecked amber eyes narrowed as he focussed on the scan display. “Where better to hide something than the last place anyone would look, Lieutenant?” the big Caitian engineer murmured, half admiring, half annoyed. “Yes, it is dangerous, but only if something goes wrong. The way this is apparently set up indicates considerable thought was put into not compromising the safety of the ship, so it’s unlikely the still would cause anything. But if something does go wrong there, they’re not really going to be worrying about getting caught.”

Yeah, ‘cause the ship could disappear in a flash of liberated atoms, Stephanie thought as she appeared to mull it over. “I suppose so, Sir. But what makes you sure it’s there?”

L’Tell was tempted to reply “Because we’ve already spent a year looking everywhere else for it”, but that wouldn’t have been very conducive to his department’s morale or his own self image. Stifling that thought and the sigh that accompanied it, he told his assistant, “It’s all in the details, Lieutenant. You Humans say God and the Devil are in there, and it is there that our very clever, very sneaky individual slipped up.”

Stephanie’s pheromonal output changed ever so slightly, but Korta was scenting for it and so caught it. Without missing a beat, he told her, “Congratulations, Steph, you hid it well.”

“Tha— Sir?” His second-in-command stumbled over her reply, then realised the jig was up and relaxed. “Awww Hell. When, ah, did ye find oot, Sir?”

Korta cleared his scan results and turned to face her, wagging a long, claw-tipped finger at her. “Never taunt a king in his own realm, Steph. You may have a good laugh tugging his tail, but you need to know just when to let go to prevent him sinking his teeth into you in the end. And big cats have big teeth,” he admonished her, only half playfully, while baring his own fangs.

“With respect, Sir, that’s not an answer,” his assistant replied impudently.

“You are correct, soon-to-be Tech 3rd-class Murdoch!” L’Trell rumbled mightily, scowling at the brazen Scots’ lass. “What I don’t tell you can’t be used against me later. Now! You know that the operation of a ‘hooch still’ is strictly against Regulations and punishable by many, many horrible means at my disposal, and many, many more in the claws of the XO.” He looked at her meaningfully. “That will be decided upon later. For now, I go to claim my prize.”

Damn, Stephanie thought with an internal grimace. There goes my chance of distracting you and having Norampac break the still down and spirit away the evidence! Ah well, she thought philosophically, it’s a fair cop, and I did lead him on a merry chase for a year. Or rather, a game of hide and seek.

“Come along then, Lieutenant, and stop thinking of scheming your way out of this.”

Stephanie essayed a bright grin. “To the victor go the spoils, Sir. And you won fair and square.”

As they headed to the turbolift, L’Trell queried, “A lesson learned, Mr. Murdoch? Or are you a lost cause?”

“Oh, I learned something, Sir, no mistake there,” Stephanie responded cheerfully.

The turbolift doors closed on her grin and his frown.

“The far aft end of the port nacelle catwalk?” Commander Faris asked incredulously. “Did I hear you correctly?”

“You heard correctly, Commander,” Security Chief Daquillon confirmed bemusedly for the XO. “I wouldn’t have believed it had I not seen it for myself, Sir, but there it was, with Chief L’Trell looking like the cat who’d gotten the cream and holding tightly on to his assistant.”

“Lieutenant Murdoch is a most ingenious person,” Khaleel commented in admiring tones. “It is not surprising that Korta wishes to hold onto her services despite her extra-curricular activities. However, disciplinary action will have to be taken. We just cannot have real ‘hooch’ being brewed on the ship!”

“Especially for the newbies and youngsters who have no idea that this isn’t their daddy’s scotch,” Frédéric opined wryly.

Khaleel shot his friend a look. An edge entered his voice as he said, “I hope we’re not taking the ‘my, don’t we admire her for being so clever’ routine too far, Daq. This is a serious breach of Regulations.”

“Oh, but of course, mon ami,” the Frenchman replied reassuringly. “Miss Murdoch is currently off duty and confined to quarters pending your decision on whether to take this further or not, Sir.”

“What does L’Trell say?”

“Our estimable Chief Engineer thinks that deterrence has not worked before and will not work again so he wants to assign her double shifts for two months to soak up her extra energy. If she’s consumed by her work, she’ll not have any energy for her extra curricular activities. Either that, or she must go to the Captain’s Mast.”

Khaleel mulled this one over. “Hmmm. I’m not sure I agree with L’Trell. Her previous offences were all minor—”

“L’Trell thinks that the leniency we showed her in the past merely encouraged her to ‘greater things’,” Daquillon broke in. “He thinks it’s come down to either working off her excess energy or a formal reprimand. However, two months’ double shifts are more than he’s allowed to hand out so he wants your approval.”

“Bah.” Khaleel exhaled. “And why isn’t he here instead of you? I would rather have heard this directly from him.”

Frédéric grinned as he answered that. “He is ‘reclaiming his territory’ and ‘reinstating his rule’ there.” At Faris’ uncomprehending expression, Frédéric chuckled. “Yes, yes, I had to ask also. He says he has to show his people that he is in control and doesn’t need to come running to you to prop up his own authority.”

Khaleel nodded thoughtfully. “That makes sense, I guess. I don’t think our crew would see him that way, but no one wants to appear ineffectual and having Murdoch – his own second in command – be the culprit and elude him for so long has obviously wounded his pride.”

“He knew it had to be her running the still – ‘hunter’s instincts’, he says, but just knowing the woman is enough,” Daquillon grinned. “But he had no proof and thus no right to monitor her private activities.”

“And so the Great Illegal Distillery Hunt ends,” Faris commented dryly. “Very well, I’ll authorise the punishment detail but make it clear to Murdoch that this is her last chance. After this, any infractions, no matter how minor, go straight to the captain. And that because of her past history it’ll be formal charges. I’d hate to lose so talented an engineer, but her actions must have consequences that are real to her. If she values her career, she’ll rein in her wild side.”

Daquillon disputed that. “If she values her career. A talented engineer is not left hanging for long. The freelance, commercial, or smuggling sector will snap up someone with her skills.”

Khaleel sat back and gestured expansively. “We’ll just have to hope that exploring strange new worlds and playing with such wondrous toys as a brand new Excelsior-class starship can offer is enough to keep her interested.”

“Incoming message from Starbase 59, an Admiral Juan Manuel Barragàn for you Captain,” Lieutenant Paochinda announced from the comm. station.

Hiding a sudden burst of unexpected pleasure, Captain Sheltarah zh’Corithan shifted her attention from the PADD in her hands to the front of the bridge and instructed, “On the main viewer please, Anupong.” The sharp, aristocratic features of Rear Admiral Barragàn coalesced on the viewscreen, showing the man behind his desk on Starbase 59.

“Ah, Captain Tarah, it is good to see you again,” the admiral greeted her warmly. “It’s been some time.”

“Good to see you also, Sir,” the Andorian zhen returned with equal warmth for her old captain. “I hadn’t realised that you’d been assigned to this sector as well.”

“You know the Starfleet Brass; we go where they tell us,” he commented wryly, sharing an old joke despite that he was now one of “the Brass” himself. “I got here about a week before you did. A new sector has been opened up so a few old hands get thrown in amongst all the young ‘uns to make sure they don’t get in over their heads.”

Tarah felt her face heat slightly even as she grinned; she’d been one of those “young ‘uns” herself when she’d heard the then-Commander Barragàn first use it within earshot of and while referring to then-Lieutenant JG Tarah. “As you say, Sir. To what do I owe the honour?”

“Well, apart from gracing you with my inestimable good looks and raffish charm, I’m here to hand you your first assignment as your new sector commander.”

That drew a few rustles from the bridge crew. While several of them were experienced hands, none had served with her at the same time as she’d served with and then under Barragàn. They didn’t know of Tarah’s shared history with him, and quite likely they’d never met such an irreverent flag officer as the irrepressible Argentine. Tarah was glad herself that Juan hadn’t let the Admiralty stultify him. It occurred to her then that it was entirely likely Juan had himself arranged to get this command through a combination of backroom wrangling and the “real” Brass wanting to get him out of their collective hair.

However, if he wasn’t willing to respect decorum and make her blush on the bridge of her own command then turnabout was fair play. Cocking her head off to the left and narrowing her eyes with mischievous enjoyment, she replied, “Well, while you’re not bad-looking for an aging pink-skin, the… distance… between us suggests that such charm, raffish though indeed it may be, is wasted on me. Admiral.”

Someone snickered behind her and it took immense willpower on Tarah’s part not to turn to them. She managed it, though, and smirked at her old captain with a raised eyebrow.

Barragàn’s eyes gleamed with heightened amusement and he grinned. “I don’t know what you could possibly mean by those comments. And I’m sure your bridge crew doesn’t either.”

“Quite. You mentioned something about an assignment for us, Admiral?” Tarah reminded him, getting the conversation back on topic.

“Ahem, yes,” he returned, shooting her a brief look as if to say “you’re no fun” before changing gears himself. “Have you heard of the Nirophian Corridor?”

“That’s the new route they’ve opened up to the far side of Klingon and Romulan space, Sir. By setting up this patrolled route, the Federation will finally gain a major spacelane to the vicinity of Hydran and Sha’Kurian space.”

Barragàn nodded approvingly. “That’s right, Captain. It’s still a long route, but it’s better than what we have now for civilian traffic. As such, the Corridor is going to be come a major trade route into the Beta Quadrant, if – if – we can secure it against belligerence from the Klingons, Romulans, Mirak, Lyrans, Orions, and other pirate-types out there. Basically, against all comers.” Juan gave her a wintry smile. “Which is why we chose you and the Fearless, Captain.”

“Excelsior-class starships never get the easy jobs, Admiral, we all understand that,” she replied with more than a touch of pride.

The Excelsior herself may have been commissioned twenty-four years ago but the class hadn’t been in front-line Fleet service for even tweny years yet. There were less than twenty-five of her sister ships in service and such were the dangers of space that a few of them had already come close to destruction. Only the other major powers had comparable designs in service and those too were few and far between, especially after the regional wars that had engulfed space outside of the Federation’s sphere of influence a decade ago. And the minor players on the galactic stage had no hope of equalling the capability of the Federation’s finest.

Which meant assigning one of the few Queens of the Fleet to the Corridor was a message to all, a statement that the Federation saw this venture as a serious one, and one worth protecting.

“Indeed,” Barragàn replied seriously, for once. “Don’t think that we’re expecting to send you into a war zone or siege situation, Captain. There are no indications of trouble or direct threats in the Corridor or to its expected travellers; but the bigger the pot of honey, the more bears are likely to show up.”

Tarah found she liked the admiral’s metaphor. Especially when she considered that honey was guarded by bees, and bees can sting when threatened.

“Can I expect any support, Sir? The Corridor stretches the entire length of the Klingon-Romulan border. Even with our speed, that’s too much territory for one ship to patrol effectively.”

“Full details are in the briefing I’ll be sending you; we’re putting the finishing touches on it now, but I wanted you to get underway as soon as possible,” Barragàn informed her. “Currently, a few specialist ships are transiting the Corridor to start exploring the new sector opened up to us on the far side. I’ll be assigning you a squadron of cruisers to assist you in your endeavours; it has just been taking a little time to shake loose the people I want for this.”

Tarah’s eyebrows rose in surprise. For a rear admiral that’s a lot of influence. If my suppositions are correct, he got himself this sector commander’s position, arranged to have me and the Fearless assigned to the area, and now he’s selecting cruiser captains as well? She knew that the presence of several powerful, capable, and fast starships would be very beneficial to the region’s stability. Maybe I’m giving him too much credit and it’s just good timing that brings us together.

“Understood, Admiral, thank you,” she replied, ending her ruminations.

Barragàn nodded and continued. “Proceed to supply station Aljetarius, which will be your new home port for the duration of your mission in the Corridor, for some short shore leave for your crew, Captain. This has the likelihood of developing into a long patrol and I want you and your people alert and rested. I’ll be briefing the outpost’s CO, a Commander Skallash, on the situation and that you are the new senior officer for this duty station. Once there, organise a meeting of your staffs and outline a plan of operations.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to wait for the other ship captains to arrive before doing that, Sir?” Tarah enquired, mentally suppressing the urge to ironically correct the admiral with “Don’t you mean ‘Starbase 77’, Sir?”

“Normally, yes,” Barragàn agreed. “But it will take time for the other ships to arrive on station from their previous assignments and I don’t want Fearless standing idly by for a couple of weeks while they all get there.”

“Understood, Admiral. I can assume that you have an immediate first mission for us upon our arrival, then?”

“You can so assume, Captain,” Juan replied with another show of his brilliant white teeth, which contrasted sharply with his olive complexion. “Starfleet Command wants you to pay a diplomatic courtesy call to Nirophia, to let them know which way the wind is now blowing.”

Tarah’s long exposure to Humans and their kin still had not revealed to her that particular turn of phrase, but she correctly deduced its meaning from the context it was used in. “Do you want me to impress upon them the benefits of having the Federation around in place of the Klingons?” she asked.

A look of mild distaste flashed over her friend’s face. “Actually, that is of secondary importance, Captain. The Nirophians are sufficiently lacking in modern infrastructure to make constructing a base in their system of limited value, despite their planet’s strategic location in the Corridor; we could just as easily build it in a neighbouring star system or even deep space. And quite frankly, Captain, their world comes nowhere close to meeting UFP member status.”

Tarah looked at him oddly, a little taken aback by her old friend’s attitude.

He shook his head and added, “Their full details are in the supplementary briefing materials we’ll send you. But your mission there is just to show the flag, be seen, and let them know that they are not alone in this neck of the woods anymore – unless they want to be.”

Still puzzled at the admiral’s behaviour, Tarah decided to go through those materials with a molecular sifter for whatever it was that bothered her friend. To the admiral, she merely nodded and acknowledged her orders. “Very well, Admiral. We’ll get under way immediately.”

“Good. Inform me of your arrival at Aljetarius and let me know your operational plan once you’re happy with it. Beyond that, you’re free to be about your duties. Godspeed, Tarah; it was good to see you again.” Juan’s smile was full of friendship and warmth. “It’ll be just as good to work with you again. Starbase 59, out.”

Tarah felt herself respond in kind to the admiral’s bonhomie, but when the viewscreen switched back to its rendition of Sector 16 at warp she let a frown crumple her powder-blue features. “Set course for Aljetarius, Helm, and give me an ETA at warp eight.”

“At warp eight, we will reach the Aljetarius system in approximately seven-point-three-four hours, Captain,” the soft, even voice of Lieutenant T’Serris announced from the Helm.

“Acceptable,” Tarah commented briefly, distracted by her internal musings. “Warp speed, Mr. T’Serris.”

“Acknowledged,” the willowy Vulcan woman replied and turned the great ship towards her new destination with a sure and practiced touch on the controls.

Tarah felt the vibrations in the deck increase in pitch as the massive warp reactor that was the beating heart of her ship cycled up from a leisurely warp five to a more brisk pace. She allowed that sensation to fade from her awareness as she pondered her orders.

Juan, old friend, I know you too well. You find the Nirophians personally objectionable, that much is obvious. But you’re too much of a Starfleet officer to broadcast to my whole bridge crew in the way you did, unless…

The more she gnawed at it, the more unsettled she became. It had been many years since the two of them had seen each other but they’d dropped right back into their old way of relating to each other.

And if that is so, his reactions to my Nirophian mission was… low-level anger… at the Nirophians but on my behalf… He’s being protective of me, she realised suddenly, unfamiliar with the concept after so long in its absence.

She inwardly cursed and grumbled, her hackles and curiosity raised. You’d better hurry up with those ‘supplementary briefing materials’, Juan.

Chapter Two

Several hours later Sheltarah was taking a quick power nap in her quarters when her desk com chimed for attention. Smoothly transitioning to full wakefulness, she rose from her bed to hang over the desk terminal screen.

“This is the captain,” she announced on opening an audio only channel.

The handsome visage of Christopher Jamieson appeared on the one-way video. “Captain, transmission received from Starbase 59 for you. No message or comm. link, just a file packet,” the Beta shift comm. officer reported.

“Queue it to my ready room terminal please, Mr. Jamieson. I’ll be there momentarily. Captain, out.”

She straightened and swept her long dark auburn hair behind her ears then performed a few light callisthenics to work out any muscle kinks and get her blood moving. A quick sonic shower and fresh uniform later and she was on her way to the bridge.

“Log me back on duty, Mr. Jamieson,” she instructed the JG as she crossed the bridge on her way to her ready room.

“Aye, Sir,” the lean African-American responded in his slightly reedy voice.

Settling into her comfortable desk chair, Sheltarah accessed her personal file queue and brought up Starbase 59’s data packet. The files weren’t very large, but there were a lot if them on a broad range of topics.

Going to be here for a while, she realised. Tapping her combadge, Sheltarah announced “Captain to Yeoman McTavish.”

“McTavish here, Capt’n,” the response came back almost instantly. “Whit can Ah do ye fur, Sir?”

“Alec, could you bring up my usual, please?”

“Nae tother a ba’, Capt’n,” the cheerful Scot replied. “Be right up.”

“Thank you, Alec. Captain out.”

After a year of this, Tarah had long ago stopped feeling guilty or even uncomfortable about having a steward bring her food and drink she could easily have gotten herself. The fact that Petty Officer 1st Class Alexander McTavish readily accepted such as part of his everyday duties and didn’t see himself – or, more importantly, let himself be treated – as a menial went a long way towards making his captain comfortable with it.

Sheltarah, however, thought it would be a good idea for starships with a surplus of power like the Excelsior class to have a personal food synthesiser installed into their captains’ workspace, which would allow her to get her own food without carrying it the length and breadth of the ship. She had already put a recommendation to that effect in to Starfleet Command for their consideration, but didn’t expect to get a reply anytime soon.

Sheltarah was deep into her familiarisation with the region’s cartography when McTavish arrived with her ‘usual’. Giving the black-haired Scot a warm look and a friendly, Human-style smile, she thanked the Neo Caledonian sincerely and returned to her studies as he left.

The locations of the inhabited star systems, navigational hazards, and other places of note now firmly entrenched in her head, Tarah turned to the ‘supplementary briefing materials’ Juan had mentioned on the Nirophians, unable to restrain her curiosity any longer. She saw to her surprise that all of the Nirophian data was of non-Federation origin; specifically, it came from the Klingons. No Federation personnel had yet been to Nirophia. They would be the first.

Sipping on her Alphan mochaccino, she took in the dry statistics of landmasses, water coverage, gravity, population, tech level, and such, and found nothing noteworthy. The recent historical section revealed that the opening of the Nirophian Corridor was preceded by the withdrawal of a Klingon garrison on the planet, which had been emplaced with a team of technicians to monitor the sensor tracking array that had been set up just outside of the star system, outside of planetary interference. An old Bird of Prey had been stationed here as well for any of the array’s maintenance needs and for local defence.

This species fell within the standard humanoid range for bodyform and intelligence, had two sexes, and currently rated around a broad ‘F’ on the Richter Scale of Culture. They had apparently fared better than most under a Klingon occupation, but this was entirely due to the Klingons’ own complete lack of interest in anything the planet or its people had to offer, apart from its location as an outer sensor picket.

The level of interaction the Klingon garrison had maintained with the Nirophians was actually less than what they’d had with the inhabitants of their conquered Hydran worlds, where the Klingons needed environment suits to visit the planet and vice versa for Hydrans visiting the orbital stations because the Hydrans were methane breathers.

Referring back to the planetary statistics, she could see why this was; despite having a surface area around a half larger than Andor, the local gravity was only 0.77g. Which indicates a metal-poor planet, Sheltarah knew. No resources worth mining to speak of, so no interest in the planet itself. That’s Klingon magnanimity in action: You don’t have anything we want, we won’t waste our time raping your planet.

Even a decade into this new era of rapprochement with the Federation’s long-time enemies, some of the older guard of Starfleet still found it hard to view the Klingons as anything other than a barbarian horde equipped with starships and particle-beam weaponry. Sheltarah was one of these, having come up through the ranks on the Klingon border in the tumultuous last quarter of the 23rd century.

The Andorian captain chided herself for letting her mind wander, and dragged her attention back to the sparse material of the briefing. Reading through the report and looking more closely at the cultural data on the Nirophians themselves, Tarah instantly found the reason for Juan’s fit of protectiveness.

“Ah, Hell,” she swore softly to herself. “Religious technophobes.” She carefully read though all the information the Starbase 59 staff had managed to prise out of the Klingons and compile from any other sources on Nirophians’ culture and society. Even exercising this caution it still took her barely five minutes to read through it all.

Sheltarah leaned back in her chair and massaged her jaw muscles with both hands, offering relief from her bad habit of clenching her jaw in absent-minded concentration.

Absolutely fabulous, she thought disgustedly. A first contact situation with a planet full of fervently religious nature worshippers who hate technology. No wonder the Klingons avoided them! Not only that, but also a class system that has people without spots on their foreheads being treated as vassals by people with spots on their foreheads!

The enticing smell of her mochaccino suddenly re-registered in her awareness and she gratefully distracted herself by sipping the hot, sweet beverage. She stared out of her viewport and considered her mission.

This is all we have on them beyond close-range orbital scans of the planet itself, and the Klingons supplied even that! My ship will be the first Federation presence and people these Nirophians will have seen, and we’re literally arriving in a boat-load of technology!

The Klingons just showed up and set up camp. We have to ask to be allowed down. Why in the worlds would people who eschew technology even want to talk with a high-technology society? Sheltarah sighed in frustration. This world is a classic example of a Prime Directive-protected society. If the Klingons hadn’t already occupied their planet they still would be. But as the only inhabitable planet in Sector 16334 they are a fishing hole in the ice sheet of space. We’re likely going to need them at some point or another for something.

“Hell!” she cursed again, more loudly. Sheltarah liked using alien swear words. They weren’t her swear words so she didn’t feel as guilty using them as her own Andorii curses, and swearing helped relieve her frustration somewhat.

She swung back around to face her terminal screen again and took another satisfying swig of her mochaccino.

Let’s finish this and see how we can complete this mission.

“Now entering standard orbit around Aljetarius, Captain,” T’Serris announced quietly.

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Sheltarah acknowledged her helmsman. “Hail the base, Mr. Paochinda. I want to speak to Commander Skallash.”

“Hailing him now, Sir,” the diminutive Thai man responded as he operated his controls. A few moments later he announced, “Commander Skallash is responding. On main viewer,” he finished, nodding to the front of the bridge.

Sheltarah turned back in time to see the coarsely-furred visage of a Tellarite male replace the image of the blue and green world he was stationed on.

“Captain Tara, I presume?” he asked without preamble.

Sheltarah fought the urge to correct him on the pronunciation of her name, not wanting to get into an argument right away if she could help it, but her XO immediately stepped in to resolve the faux pas.

From his position at the helmsman’s left, he looked up and stated, “I am Commander Faris Khaleel, Commander; First Officer of the Fearless. This—”

He indicated his CO, sitting in the centre seat with a tilt of his head.

“—is Captain Tarah.”

Skallash glared myopically at the XO. “That’s who I was talking to, Commander,” he managed not to snarl back.

Stepping in with a nod of thanks to Khaleel, Tarah got everyone back on track. “Commander Skallash, you have been briefed on our purpose here by Starfleet Command?”

“Yes, Captain,” was the Tellarite’s short answer. Despite its brevity, Tarah could tell that Skallash wasn’t happy about that briefing. Most likely due to him being replaced as senior officer on this duty station, she mused, and how he’d hoped his career would advance along with the Federation’s expansion in this region. ‘Starbase 77’ here doesn’t exactly have a reputation as a cutting-edge facility, so I’ll have to keep that in mind when dealing with him, she mentally noted.

“Good. I and my staff would like to meet with yours at the earliest convenient moment to draw up a plan of operations for the resources being assigned to this base.”

Tarah thought she detected surprise from him at her not simply ordering such a meeting, but no trace of it was evident in his reply.

“We can meet immediately, Captain. Everything has been made ready for your arrival.”

Taking him at his word spoke well of his leadership style. However, it did not mesh with the widely-held opinion that this base was poorly run; after all, it was supposed to have been on-line as a fully functional starbase over ten years ago. “Very good, Commander. Send us your beam-down coordinates and we will be with you momentarily.

“Understood, Sir.”

“I am authorising shore leave for my crew also. Where is an appropriate location for their arrival?”

“This planet is uninhabited, Captain, and there are no large predators for hundreds of kilometres around the base. They can beam down wherever they please,” Skallash stated bluntly. “However, if they want to visit my base, there is an assembly area twenty metres north of the colony hub that is used for arrivals. We don’t expect your crew to check in with us as long as someone knows where they are.”

My, being replaced as SO is really cooling his mud, isn’t it? she noted wryly. Ignoring it for now, she merely acknowledged his words. “Very well. Beam-downs will commence shortly. We look forward to working with you. Fearless, out.”

Paochinda cut the comm. channel and the planet reappeared on the viewscreen.

Khaleel commented dryly, “Who shall we be taking into this warm welcome?”

Shooting her XO a warning look, Tarah ignored his comment and answered his question. “The XO, Commander Stanhope, and Lieutenants T’Serris, Paochinda, and Frunzeti will accompany me to the surface to meet Commander Skallash and his people. Commander kar-Tachek, you have the conn.”

“Aye-aye, Captain, I have the conn,” the Fearless’ chief science officer answered dutifully.

“Mr. Paochinda, put me on all-call, please,” she ordered next.

“Aye Captain. You’re on,” the comm. officer responded.

“This is the Captain,” she announced. “We have arrived at Aljetarius and so shore leave is now authorised on the schedule drawn up by the XO. I want you all to take full advantage of this opportunity and have some fun. Go feel the sun on your face. Captain out.”

Getting up from the command chair, Sheltarah stated, “Let’s go.”

“Aye-aye, Sir,” Khaleel replied for all of them, whereupon the other enumerated personnel called their reliefs in and secured their consoles, then joined their senior officers in the turbolift.

Narumba took her place in the captain’s chair and sat primly upright in it. Gazing at the orbital image of Aljetarius, the Arkenite’s expressionless face hid her fantasising about ordering warp speed in the direction of the unknown.

Tarah and her party rematerialised at the co-ordinates that Skallash had specified and found that they were apparently the assembly area he’d mentioned as a beam-down point for shore leave parties. Tarah had decided to give the surly Tellarite enough rope to either pull himself up or hang himself, but with this event – which seemed like a calculated insult – the line was paying out fast.

Taking in the expanse of the base, with its thermocrete aprons and assortment of buildings, the tall Andorian noted and approved of the layout of the myriad structures she could see from in front of the stage two colony hub. Whatever issues the Tellarite had, he was apparently good at his job. So why the bad rep for this base? Tarah was left wondering, becoming more and more curious about it. From his personnel file, Skallash has been base CO since ’94. Something’s just not right here.

“Nice planet,” a deep baritone commented briefly, and Sheltarah recognised the mournful tones of Teodor Frunzeti, her tactical officer.

“Looks like it,” Khaleel agreed. “Reminds me of home.”

“Your pardon, Commander,” T’Serris stated in her usual quiet tones. “I thought you came from a desert region?”

“Oh, indeed I do, Lieutenant,” Khaleel nodded. “But over a hundred years ago new irrigation techniques were introduced and now Iraq has parks and boulevards to rival any European nation.”

“Except mine,” Teodor commented, again mournfully. He rarely spoke in any other way.

“Yes, Lieutenant, except yours,” Khaleel agreed with a grin, recognising the Romanian’s ‘deadpan-plus’ style of humour.

Taking in the sweep of distant forests, jagged mountain ranges, and the hardy-looking scrub grass, Lieutenant Commander Mark Stanhope disagreed. “This place resembles the moors of northern England more than a lush European forest, Commander.”

“That’s what I was thinking, Commander,” Teodor returned.

Tarah couldn’t help but be struck by how Mark Stanhope’s chipper English accent contrasted with the Romanian’s dourness and how she got almost exactly the same effect from their physical appearance. When the tall, swarthy, black-haired, and dark brown-eyed tactical officer stood next to the average height, pale skin, sandy-brown hair, and blue eyes of the Chief of Ship Operations, they almost looked like negative images of each other.

“Let’s go meet our hosts,” she announced, and the chatter died as they walked two-by-two into the colony hub in search of the recalcitrant base commander. Having to do so further rubbed Tarah up the wrong way as Skallash and/or one of his staff should have been out here to at least greet her party. This was just another not-so-subtle means of disrespecting her and she’d had enough of it. Unless a sudden emergency has revealed itself, I’m giving the surly little cur some new skin.

Finding their way into the hub’s command centre through sheer familiarity with the sixty-year-old design’s standardised layout, her eyes were flinty chips of violet ice when they finally lit on the base’s CO sitting in his command chair at the centre of the room. The colony hub’s operations centre was designed like a starship’s bridge because of the sheer efficiency and functionality of the layout.

On hearing the doors swish open and still without turning to face them, Skallash commented gruffly, “Good, you’re here. Follow me to the conference room, Captain. My staff have assembled their briefing materials there.”

His actions infuriated her even as his words mollified her. It occurred to her then that this might be the reason Skallash had been assigned to this remote posting in the first place, and why the base got its decade-plus bad reputation as a poor joke and model of incompetent administration. Perhaps he wasn’t slighting her at all and this was merely who he really was, and it had cut off too many people’s antennae. Deciding to hold off on hauling off at him, she merely nodded and followed him out of a second set of doors, her team trailing her like ducklings after their mother. Casually, she asked, “Any particular reason we had to find our own way here, Commander?”

Skallash’s shoulders twitched slightly and he released a short breath. Turning to face her at last, he asked, “Captain, don’t tell me you need the same type of hand-holding that Humans do?”

Tarah resisted the urge to both chuckle and snap at the stout Tellarite for his attitude. Allowing an edge to creep into her voice, she retorted, “Hand-holding is not required, Skallash, but courtesy is usually at least extended.”

He turned away and resumed his walk. Her sensitive hearing easily picked up his muttered, “Hand-holding it is, then.”

Tarah kept her peace, but for some odd reason a smirk kept tugging at her lips.

Moments later they all trooped into the conference room, whereupon Skallash, with a dangerous gleam in his eyes, introduced his half-dozen staff.

“Captain, officers of the Fearless, allow me to present my senior crew,” he began, his gruffness replaced by an almost Human cheerfulness. “Lieutenant Commander Sarok, my chief of operations.”

Tarah’s group nodded or otherwise acknowledged the small-framed Vulcan male, who inclined his homely-featured, sandy brown-haired head at them in return.

Tarah got the impression that Sarok’s Vulcan genes had some Human elements among them.

“Lieutenant Tor’la’feng, my logistics officer,” Skallash stated next, indicating the Saurian female to Sarok’s left. Tor’la bobbed her head in a bird-like motion and blinked her large lidless yellow eyes in welcome.

“Lieutenant Httee’uza Oojo’af, my science officer.”

“Captain,” the large, imposing Betelgeusian stated in a surprisingly mild voice, then nodded in the Human manner to the rest of her party to acknowledge them.

“Lieutenant Llyr Jones, my tactical officer,” Skallash continued down the table.

The lanky, brown-haired, brown-eyed Human offered her an open, friendly grin and after acknowledging her officers said, “Hello, Captain. Starfleet’s finally sending in the big boys, eh?”

That earned him a nasty glare from the Tellarite, which the JG seemed blithely unaware of. Tarah couldn’t place the man’s lyrical, almost sing-song accent with its rolling vowels, but his name sounded vaguely Romulan. Maybe he’s from one of the Terran colonies, she thought idly while returning his smile but offering no more than a nod in response to his to his apparently contentious question.

“My chief medical officer, Lieutenant Kimberly Madsen.” The Human woman with butter-blonde hair and startling grey eyes nodded curtly at Tarah, her arms folded in front of her in a classic Human stance of defensiveness. Expressionless, Tarah offered her a small nod of her own as she momentarily locked gazes with the apparently discombobulated American.

“And Lieutenant Bruce Foster, my engineer,” Skallash said finally, rounding off the introductions.

“G’day, Capt’n Taarah,” the deeply tanned Human boomed in a voice that filled the room with its boisterous good cheer. “Glad t’have you with us, Sir,” he added with a wink for her benefit as he grasped her hand in a firm but controlled grip.

Momentarily confused, Sheltarah wasn’t sure if the man was initiating a courting ritual or just trying to get a reaction from his CO based on the Tellarite’s reaction to Jones’ words.

Even after such a reaction materialised, Tarah still wasn’t sure. As Skallash glowered at his engineer in overt disapproval, the Andorian captain took in Bruce’s broad chest and biceps, short, artfully tousled, sandy-blonde hair, twinkling sky-blue eyes, and chiselled good looks. Not bad at all – for a young Human, Tarah mentally assessed him with an internal smirk. She disengaged her hand from Bruce’s with a restrained display of Andorian strength and a minutely raised gossamer eyebrow, and caught the slight deepening of the Australian’s wide grin, his perfectly even white teeth very much in evidence.

She swept her eyes over the base crew. “It’s good to meet you all, and I and my officers look forward to working with you,” she stated diplomatically.

Turning to face her own crew, she did the rounds there and the meeting finally got down to business.

“The Fearless and her soon-to-arrive cohorts have been assigned to this region to patrol the Nirophian Corridor and ensure the safety of all Federation shipping, offer aid to any who request it, assist in the complete and in-depth mapping of the Corridor’s sectors, perform preliminary studies of Sector 16447, and the defence of this base,” Sheltarah began after everyone was seated. “To facilitate this, in the first few weeks Fearless will be deploying subspace booster relays down the length of the Corridor. Not only will this help us maintain contact with this base, it will be invaluable as a lifeline for the less powerful transmitters aboard civilian shipping in the event they do fall into trouble. The frequencies and other technical specifications for these relays will be supplied by Lieutenant Paochinda.”

Tarah again noticed Skallash’s unsubtle glower at her mention of “maintaining contact”. Him and I will have words shortly, the Andorian vowed in concealed irritation.

“That’s the ‘what’ of it. Here is how we’re going to do it,” she moved on. “We’re here to gain your local knowledge of spatial conditions and features, and your knowledge and insight into the civilisations in this region and that of the Corridor and its far side, Sector 16447. From this we can map out task dependencies, and patrol routes and schedules that maximise our availability and minimise response times in case of an emergency or hostile action. Though the other ships have yet to arrive, I want a framework that those captains can modify if need be but that they can slot their ships right into as soon as they arrive if not.

“Let’s get to it, then.”

Heads nodded around the table, and the planning began in earnest.

Several hours later, Sheltarah sat in Skallash’s office after securing a private meeting with him. Adopting an approach more in line with Tellarite social conventions, the highly irritated Andorian bluntly fired off her opening barrage.

“You complain and whine worse than any petulant Terran child,” she barked frostily at him. “I am now the senior officer on this duty station. You may not like it, but you will accept it and my direct authority over you. Are you tracking that?”

Skallash glowered and beetled his brows at her, but muttered, “Yes, Captain.”

Tarah glared at him. “I gave you plenty of opportunities to shape this event in a way most suited to you, but instead you chose to sulk. Now you reap your reward,” she grated out. “Aljetarius is yours to command as you see fit and I never intended that any other way. Just make sure you have whatever I ask for, when I ask for it.”

She expected him to bluster and offer useless objections such as “You have no right!” – which, quite obviously, she did – but instead he merely nodded angrily and continued to be flayed by his own personal ice-storm.

Now more puzzled than annoyed, Tarah felt she wasn’t reaching him. Giving him a last chance to state his case, she told him, “Unless you have something you want or need to say, we’re done here.”

Sheltarah waited but nothing was forthcoming. The disrespectful little shax didn’t even seem to be listening to her.

Fine, she snarled inwardly and launched herself up from her chair.

The motion finally shook a reaction loose from Skallash. “Captain,” he rumbled.

Halfway to his door already, Tarah spun and impaled him on a flinty glare and waited.

Elbows on his desk and staring down at its surface, he joined the tips of his fingers and looked up to meet her eyes. “I… apologise. I have no quarrel with you personally.”

It was Tarah’s turn to stay silent and wait.

“I now accept what I cannot change. You’ll have my full co-operation.”

Taking a measured pause to gauge his sincerity, she finally replied, “Thank you, Commander.”

Reading the message in her silence, Skallash nodded again.

Still speaking firmly but now with a hint of warmth, she added, “I will be available to you should you need to speak with me. I will not be perched on your shoulder observing your every action; I have my own duties and I expect you to continue doing yours without interference from me.

“Are we clear?”

“We’re clear, Captain,” Skallash returned in a more naturally gruff tone. “Are you able to find your own way back out, or do you need me to hold your hand again?”

Tarah surprised herself by chuckling at the irascible base commander. She also sensed him relax more as she did.

“No hand-holding will be needed, Commander,” she told him with a hint of a smile in her otherwise even voice.

“Are you sure, Sir? I’m sure my engineer would be more than happy to help you in that regard. He seemed very fond of your hand when he met you,” Skallash commented archly.

Tarah laughed aloud this time, and replied, “Yes, he did rather.” She shook her head, retaining her amused smile, then exited the office feeling considerably more satisfied and at ease with the situation than she had on going in. Maybe working with the painful little nerf-herder won’t be so bad after all.

Chapter Three

“It looks like play-time is over,” Frédéric Daquillon observed cheerfully to his second in command.

“Sir?” Lieutenant Eitan Ben-Eliyatin asked from the chair across the security chief’s office, looking up from his data slate.

“The captain has scheduled a department heads’ meeting for 0830 tomorrow,” Daquillon elaborated. “Looks like it’ll be a briefing on the Nirophians.”

Eitan rolled his eyes at his superior. “This means you’ll be scheduling a meeting for us to attend around, let’s say, 1000 hours, Sir?”

Frédéric grinned at his assistant. “How well you know me already, Lieutenant. It shall indeed be so. Arrange that for me, will you please? I have many other pressing duties that require my direct attention.”

Such as making sure our newly puffed-up ChEng doesn’t discover your home wine-brewing kit? the Israeli didn’t say, smothering a grin at the thought. Displaying instead a sufficiently put-upon expression, he replied long-sufferingly, “But of course, monsieur, as the ‘Assistant’ in my job title means only that I do your paperwork and not that I’m your ever-valuable second-in-command. Sir.”

Perfect! Eitan thought happily. With these extra moves I’ve learned, you’re going down hard this time, Boss! Assuming a confident pose, he replied airily, “If you want to subject yourself to that much exercise, who is this lowly personal assistant to deny you, Sir?”

Grinning predatorily, Frédéric stood up. “After you, Lieutenant,” he instructed, gesturing courteously towards the door.

“You boys play too hard, you know that?” Doctor Cao complained. “I get nothing but sprains, torn ligaments, wrenched joints, and blunt-force trauma from you. Shouldn’t you grow up a bit and learn when to quit?”

Eitan and Frédéric rolled their eyes at each other behind the CMO’s back at the familiar litany – which she gave without fail when both of them showed up on her doorstep like this – but then Daquillon varied from their usual routine.

“Oh, I agree wholeheartedly, Doctor, but, well, some people just don’t have the maturity and wisdom they really need,” Frédéric replied, then snorted in laughter at Eitan’s mixed expression of outrage and embarrassment.

Min-Hua sighed like a teacher at recalcitrant pupils as she ran the deep tissue regenerator over Ben-Eliyatin’s multiple but minor injuries. “That’s you all patched up again, Lieutenant, but you will be stiff and a little sore for several more hours so take it easy until the stiffness fades.”

“Doc, can’t you heal it completely, or even just mask the pain?” Eitan asked, puzzled. “It doesn’t really hurt as such, it’s just a little distracting,” he qualified as he carefully worked the affected joints to test his freedom of movement.

“Normally I would, Lieutenant, but not this time,” she replied.

“What?! Why not?” the Israeli exclaimed indignantly.

“But, Doc…” he protested weakly.

“You heard the lady, Mr. Ben-Eliyatin. Let’s go.”

Eitan blew out a frustrated sigh, but he hopped off the diagnostic bed as ordered.

“Don’t worry, Doctor, I’m sure he’s learned his lesson. Again. At least for a short while,” Daquillon stated with bitingly dry humour.

Eitan winced, but not from any of his injuries.

Shepherding him out of Sickbay, the lithe, wiry Frenchman told him, “Let’s get you all tucked in with a warm chocolate, Lieutenant. Then maybe I can call your mother on subspace and get her to read you a bedtime story, yes?”

It took great willpower on Eitan’s part not to rise to the bait, and he mostly succeeded but his boss could easily tell the effort it cost him.

“Just remember, Lieutenant. You may know everything I’ve taught you, but I still haven’t taught you everything I know!”

His second in command winced again and squeezed his eyes tightly shut for a moment before continuing. The Frenchman’s chuckle in his ear was like salt in the wound. He took it like a man though. I set myself up for this fall, he admitted to himself ruefully. I was so sure I had him this time! Oh well. Next time, I will make absolutely sure, and then I’ll help him to Sickbay!

“Everyone all rested and fresh?” Commander Faris asked cheerfully, his customary smile in evidence and looking thoroughly refreshed himself. “Yes? Then let’s begin. I assume you all had a chance to read through the briefing materials on Nirophia, such as they are?”

Heads nodded around the conference table and more sips were taken from various morning beverages.

“That very dearth of information is something Starfleet is hoping our visit will help alleviate,” Faris continued, “but our primary objective is merely to let the Nirophians know that the Federation is now the major player in the region. We will do this by asking to visit with the Nirophian government’s officials and invite them aboard the Fearless in a standard series of formal ‘meet-and-greet’ affairs. During those events, which could be either behind closed doors meetings or public receptions, we hope to gain access for our cultural assessment teams to visit various regions across their planet.

“Due to the apparently technophobic nature of the Nirophians, this latter request could be flat-out denied. Indeed, all our requests may be denied or subject to severe restrictions. However, we must try.” Again, he smiled, though somewhat ruefully this time.

“Commander, can these cultural briefing materials even be relied upon?” Lieutenant Lin Jianchao asked immediately. Fearless’ head of social sciences continued, “These observations were taken by the Klingons, and Klingon warriors and technical specialists at that. These Klingons’ view of apparently soft-hearted, weak-kneed, anti-technology hippies was never going to be objective, and going in to meet the Nirophians with Klingon preconceptions loaded into us is probably going to turn out worse than going in with no data at all.”

Someone certainly came prepared, Faris thought even as he realised Lieutenant Lin was correct. He hadn’t even considered the built-in prejudice he himself had toward technophobes, but he couldn’t see anything wrong with properly applied technology. It had turned his home nation into a garden, after all.

Sheltarah spoke up to answer Jianchao’s concerns. Addressing the group at large, she stated, “Lieutenant Lin’s points are very good ones and I want you all to be aware of them, and cognisant of any anti-technophobe attitudes and opinions you may hold. They may end up affecting your judgement subtly and influence any observations you make. This is one of the reasons I decided to share these briefing materials instead of going in knowing nothing. So please take note of the tone and language of the Klingon reports. While they are a product of their environment, this kind of reporting should be avoided.”

Sheltarah noted several faces around the table twist slightly into indignant expressions that all but shouted “I know how to be more objective than a Klingon!” The Andorian knew of the Terran phrase “It goes without saying”, but her own culture had no equivalent. To communicate and operate effectively, all assumptions must be stated.

“Commander?” she prompted, and Khaleel resumed the briefing.

“Since the Klingon presence on this world was apparently so minimal, we have high hopes that the Nirophians will not be traumatised into xenophobia as so many less advanced former Klingon subject worlds have been. The shock of learning intelligent alien life exists should be long gone as the Klingons occupied this world almost one hundred years ago. However, it is also possible that – due to it being such a small detachment in only one area of the planet – the majority of the population might believe the Klingons were an invention by their own government to force through contentious policies.”

Khaleel swept his blue eyes across the assembled staff and was pleased, taking in their thoughtful expressions.

“We cannot rule anything out,” he further drove home the point. “While the government and population near the Klingon base will be aware of alien life, it is highly probable that any other areas we may want to visit will be unprepared for aliens to show up. Indeed, this may be used as actual reasoning to keep our visits limited.”

Security Chief Daquillon spoke up. “I was wondering if you had any further information on about the threat environment on the ground? The Klingons cited no examples of attacks on their contingent, but that alleged ‘report’ doesn’t say if this was because they’d instilled fear of reprisals in their normal way or that the population was mostly peaceful, totally pacifistic, or utterly disinterested.”

Faris responded apologetically. “I don’t have that information, Commander, I’m sorry. However, the Klingon report does specifically state that they never scanned or saw any personal weaponry on the Nirophians when they were encountered.”

“That report also specifically states weapons were banned even for personal bodyguards of high government officials and religious figures, Sir,” Daquillon countered. “What I’m trying to say is this: do we have a population with access to weapons who don’t want any aliens on their world?”

“Again, we have insufficient information to answer that question,” Faris replied.

Then why are we even having this alleged “briefing”? Frédéric wondered somewhat grumpily.

Someone else obviously held the same opinion, as Lin spoke up again. “Commander, if our information is so limited that you cannot answer any questions we may have—”

“That’s an incorrect assumption,” Khaleel interrupted smoothly, and the sociologist fell silent. “While it is true that we have no further data on the Nirophians themselves, we are here to plan for contingencies and emergencies. We may find them all useless on finally contacting the Nirophians, but perhaps not, or perhaps our plans can be adapted. So, if you have no further objections, Lieutenant…?”

Jianchao sat back and grimaced. “My apologies, Commander. I… dislike having unreliable and limited data.”

As the meeting broke up, Khaleel turned to Sheltarah and gave her a pointed look at the good-natured griping of their department heads just before the conference room doors slid shut on their chatter.

“Well, everyone seems to think that this was a worthwhile and highly productive…” He exaggeratedly checked his wrist chrono and continued, “…seventy-six minutes.”

His captain quirked an irritated look back at him. “My officers are such…” She groped for an appropriate Human term, found one. “Such cry-babies. You’d think none of them had been on a true exploratory mission before.”

“Some of them haven’t, coming straight from interior patrols or the Academy,” Faris pointed out what she already knew. “I just think that none of them have been party to a meeting where we sat down and discussed how little we know,” he informed her tartly.

“Then apparently none of them have served under an Andorian captain in an exploratory capacity before, either,” she shot back, snapping her eyes around to lock gazes with her exec. “You Humans, you’re so sure you can handle whatever you blunder into, where just a single hour of making sure we all know what each other is thinking and preparing contingencies can sometimes prevent any blundering at all!”

“Captain, Humans practically invented bureaucracy, red tape, and focus groups all on our own, which we then exported throughout the galaxy. I’m just making the point that meetings which involve nothing but unanswered questions and common-sense contingency planning are regarded as a waste of time and as such subtly affects crew morale,” Faris explained placatingly.

“Then that attitude will change,” Sheltarah stated flatly. “I’ve seen too many instances in my career to date where a briefing such as this would have prevented a crisis from developing or needless casualties being incurred. I vowed that when I got my own command I’d make sure that those preventable casualties and crises would be prevented. And so they shall, Commander!”

Khaleel backed down and nodded his acceptance. “Understood, Captain. Thank you for explaining your reasoning; the crew will find it easier to adapt knowing this.”

Sheltarah gave him a wintry smile. “I trust I won’t need to continually explain my reasons throughout my whole captaincy just because I don’t do things the Human way?”

Khaleel wisely left that one alone.

Sheltarah noted it and her smile turned wry. “Dismissed, Commander.”

Khaleel nodded respectfully and left the room. She’s somewhat touchy on the dominance of the Human way of doing things. Which is a bit funny considering how the Federation began, he mused on his way back to the bridge, feeling slightly concerned. I may have to keep an eye on this. She might just be having an off day, after all. He shook his head to set aside those thoughts and stepped onto the turbolift.

“Now approaching Nirophia, Captain,” T’Serris announced to an intensely interested bridge crew.

“Establish high orbit please, T’Serris,” Sheltarah instructed. “I don’t want to advertise our arrival just yet. Tactical scan, Mr. Frunzeti?”

“No hostile signatures detected, Captain,” Teodor’s deep voice issued from behind her. “Nothing recognisable as a weapon system, and we are not being scanned. It is unknown, however, if we are being tracked by passive means such as optically.”

Sheltarah almost felt surprised by such a verbose report from her normally tight-lipped tactical officer. Perhaps our briefing did have the intended effect after all, she considered. “Commander kar-Tachek, sensor sweep. What can you tell us about local space?” she asked next.

“From the Klingon presence?” Sheltarah asked, drawing the obvious conclusion.

The ever-literal Arkenite replied, “It is possible that the debris is due to the Klingons’ presence, Captain, but the materials indicate non-Klingon origins.”

Faris’ eyebrows shot up and Sheltarah nodded thoughtfully, but avoided early speculation by further asking, “And the planet itself?”

“Scanning now, Captain,” Narumba responded.

“Well, this should take a few hours,” Faris commented to his captain. “Care to grab some lunch while we wait?”

“A stellar idea, Commander,” Sheltarah approved, “but let’s not remain completely idle in the mean time. Mr. Paochinda, have your department begin data acquisition and build a language database from their intercepted transmissions.”

“Aye-aye, Captain,” the compact Thai man responded.

“A wise decision, Captain,” Khaleel commented. “There is no point relying on the Klingons’ limited translation algorithms if the rest of their data is this incomplete or faulty.”

“Yes,” Sheltarah nodded. “I don’t want to hail their leaders to request their permission to land on their planet and sound like I’m demanding their unconditional surrender,” she stated wryly.

Anupong swung back around from his console. “I should disregard the Klingon data sources for our analysis then, Captain?” he asked.

“Yes, Anu. I want an independent database completely free from Klingon speech patterns and underlying concepts. We can compare them again after your people have gained their own understanding of how the Nirophians speak their own languages.”

Paochinda nodded crisply. “Understood, Captain. This may take several additional hours to complete, though, as we are starting from nothing.”

“I realise that, Lieutenant,” she responded equably. “I prefer having an accurate translation matrix and floating in space for a few extra hours to rushing down and having these people see us as no different from the Klingons because of how we speak. As you Humans say, ‘first impressions are important’.”

Paochinda returned to his task of capturing the Nirophians’ transmissions as Sheltarah and Khaleel headed for the port turbolift.

Five hours later kar-Tachek had a preliminary report and summoned her superior officers back to the bridge.

“Brief us in, Commander,” Sheltarah ordered as she assumed her place in the command chair.

“Aye, Captain. We’re reading approximately four billion inhabitants planet-wide. 99.99% spread across four of the five temperate continents with the remainder scattered in small settlements in both polar regions. Of major note, Captain, is the fifth continent in the temperate zone. It appears completely barren of higher life-forms. Sensors are detecting trace amounts of radiation from its south-west coast. Levels are too low to immediately classify. I’ll require more time to identify it.”

“Interesting,” Sheltarah commented, sharing a look with her XO. “I doubt the presence of that radiation and the lack of inhabitants will turn out to be coincidental,” she opined.

Khaleel nodded his agreement. “Too many possible causes and combinations of events to speculate usefully at this time, though,” he thought aloud.

Sheltarah’s violet eyes narrowed minutely at his comment but decided to let it pass after detecting no hidden meaning or message there. Damnit, getting paranoid now, she realised, annoyed at herself. Shaking it off, she looked back to her science officer and enquired, “Observable technology?”

“No high technology detected Captain, but the night side across the terminator shows widespread and extensive lighting in use. Tracing the power lines now…” Within a few moments she’d localised the nearest night-side city’s power source and put it up on the main viewer. “Hydroelectric power, Sir.”

“So they do have electricity,” Faris observed, puzzled. “How does a technophobic, nature-worshipping culture develop electricity in the first place?”

“I assume you mean, ‘how did they get beyond the wooden waterwheel and sails for their sea vessels’, Commander?” Sheltarah asked.

Faris nodded briefly.

“Isn’t your own world replete with civilisations which rose and fell from various levels of development?” his captain asked. “Civilisations that died out and their technology, art, literature all lost to the ravages of time, so that other completely removed civilisations had to redevelop these exact same concepts at their own pace?”

“True, true,” Faris commented thoughtfully. “But those were always far more primitive societies that did not reach their industrial revolution.” He looked set to continue, but fell silent at correctly interpreting his captain’s wish to speak.

“The obvious alternative is a technological stagnation and regression. The Federation has encountered many of these civilisations over the years. Just look at planet C-111 Beta, for example,” she stated firmly, before turning to kar-Tachek again. “Commander, do you have any more information for us to aid in our speculations?”

Kar-Tachek shook off the somewhat ramshackle reporting style now that she actually had a firm query to respond to. “Captain, we are detecting hundreds of population centres of half-a-million people or more and thousands of smaller habitations. Mass transit systems have been detected, but some appear long abandoned. Major transportation networks exist in and between these population centres in the form of roads of varying capacity, and all of them are showing extensive usage,” the Arkenite began her recital, her oddly echoing electronic voice crisp and clear. “Readings indicate hundreds of hydroelectric power stations as well as several first-stage geothermal power taps, extensive use of second-stage solar collector fields and second-stage wind turbine farms. Many pastoral areas show evidence of extensive farming and advanced irrigation methods, and primitive windmills are in widespread use.

“Cities show evidence of extensive infrastructure, including communications systems such as wired telephone lines and wireless cell phone towers, electricity to apparently every household, residential, commercial, industrial and administrative zones, as well as parks and other recreational facilities. We are also detecting radio transmissions across the oceans between the various continental masses. No aircraft have been detected thus far.

“Finally, the uninhabited continent is not completely lifeless. Many low-order flora and fauna are present, with the largest concentrations extending from the continent’s north-east coast. Further, several hundred Nirophians are present around the irradiated zone, though no structures are in evidence there. They appear to have arrived on a large ocean-going vessel.”

She brought the ship up on the main viewscreen and the scale of the orbital view put the ship at about the same length as a Miranda-class.

“This concludes my preliminary report, Sirs.”

“Thank you, Commander,” Sheltarah acknowledged her science officer’s efforts, but kar-Tachek spoke up again.

“Captain, should I begin high-intensity close-in scans for cultural analysis?”

Sheltarah sighed. “No Commander, you should not,” she replied regretfully.

Though kar-Tachek’s electronically-produced voice held little in the way of emotion, her captain had no trouble reading her disappointment as the scientist turned back to her scanners.

Khaleel and Sheltarah shared a look of mutual commiseration. Federation law and Starfleet regulations were quite specific in this regard. Since they were approaching the Nirophians as equals – and not, for example, as covert cultural observers who wished not to reveal themselves as aliens – such close observation constituted an invasion of privacy and an activity that must have permission granted from the planetary leaders before it commenced. In line with the Federation’s ideals and policies, just because the Fearless could scan the Nirophians in exacting detail and the Nirophians couldn’t stop them, it didn’t mean that they should. It was the difference between someone looking at you in the street and having that someone enter your home and rifle through your personal possessions while you weren’t there.

“Mr. Faris, call a department heads’ meeting with the same attendance as previously, and we’ll examine what information we now have.”

Chapter Four

The meeting was more lively and far more enthusiastic than the last one, Sheltarah would later note to herself. This was no doubt due to having some actual information on which to base their discussion.

“I assume that everyone has availed themselves of the opportunity to read over our science officer’s findings?” she asked after everyone had settled in.

Heads nodded and other signals of agreement were given from around the table.

“As we had previously discovered, the Klingon data is massively incomplete. We now know that much of what is there is just plain incorrect,” she began seriously. “Or perhaps ‘misleading’ is a better term. Without the context of the rest of their world, we had imagined an agrarian society like Andor’s thirty-first century Old Calendar or Earth’s twelfth century Common Era. The radio contact maintained by the Klingons was an anomaly we’d put down to the Klingons supplying them with primitive technology they could operate. Now we have hydro-electric and geothermal power generation, ongoing indigenous global radio communications, remnants of orbital satellites, and so on.

“With Communications working on an independent translation of the Nirophian languages, we are here to re-evaluate our approach based on this new data. Commander Faris?” she prompted, handing over the direction of the discussion to her XO.

“We all understand that any reports and opinions given here will be preliminary in nature. That being said, we want to hear what you have to say about the apparent opposites of a nature-worshipping technophobic culture developing the technology needed to place geothermal power taps and create cellphones,” Khaleel stated. “So, Sociology. Let’s hear your views first.”

Lieutenant Lin Jianchao had obviously expected to be addressed first as his response was ready on his lips. “I’m afraid there is no ‘specifically sociological’ answer, Sirs. This planet must be taken as a whole integrated picture. As such, three distinct scenarios suggest themselves.

“Two: while the planet’s inhabitants may be nature worshippers, it does not necessarily follow that they are technologically undeveloped. The guiding influence of a nature-worshipper philosophy may have directed this world’s scientists to invest heavily in environmentally friendly technologies such as the observed hydro-electric, geothermal, wind, solar, and tidal power generation instead of fossil-fuel and isotope-based power generation. This would have been the prime model for this planet had it not been for the devastated continent, especially when the metal-poor nature of the planet itself is taken into account.”

“Excellent summary, Lieutenanton,” Faris praised the scientist. “Cultural analysis?” he asked next.

“Incomplete and rudimentary because of lack of data,” Jianchao responded evenly. “However, the unusual mix of technologies present shows that only nature-friendly and environmentally-benign processes have been retained. There is no trace of chemical refineries, air transport, or massive use of polluting energy generation such as fusion reactors, fossil-fuelled transport or power-generation of any kind, or orbital launch facilities.

“We surmise that any new technology that might be developed is subject to strict regulation. The Nirophians themselves seem to be a moderately advanced society, perhaps on the cusp of their own Information Age, or approximately Richter FD.”

“So, not as backward as the Klingons would have us believe,” Frédéric commented. “A rough security assessment based on the development of Stage One geothermal power taps indicates advanced smart projectile weaponry and early, energy-intensive lasers which are just barely man-portable.” At the looks he got from the others around the table, he gave his famous Gallic shrug. “Nature-loving does not necessarily mean non-violent. If they are against unbridled technological advancement, some might take offence at having such people as ourselves even setting foot on their precious planet.”

The light sarcasm in the security chief’s tone made several of the assembled crew squirm somewhat. They both shared his viewpoint to varying degrees while simultaneously wanting to chastise the Frenchman for being so cynical.

“That being said,” Khaleel stated with a look at his friend, “How do we go about approaching their government?”

“Captain, we’ve completed our translation of the dominant Nirophian language,” Anupong finally announced to an expectant bridge.

“Excellent!” Sheltarah exclaimed, her antennae perking alertly forward. “Open a channel to their capital city on the frequency used by the Klingons, Lieutenant.”

This had been debated at their recent meeting; while Sheltarah was not sanguine about approaching the Nirophians in any way or means similar to the Klingons, she’d agreed it wise not to let the entire city in on her conversation with the planetary leaders and have anyone with a radio receiver pick up the broadcast.

“Channel open, Captain,” Anupong told her.

Standing up and addressing the planet on the viewscreen, the Andorian zhen announced in a crisp, clear, friendly voice, “This is Captain Sheltarah of the United Federation of Planets starship Fearless, respectfully addressing the Rukah and Council of Guardians of the planet Nirophia. We come in peace and in the spirit of mutual co-operation and understanding, and request an audience with Nirophia’s planetary leader or leaders at your convenience. Please respond.”

Khaleel caught her eye and nodded approvingly, to which she smiled fleetingly before turning back to her communications officer, gesturing for him to mute her audio. Anupong did so while remaining in an attentive posture, absently rubbing his Feinberg receiver as he waited on a response. After a minute nothing was forthcoming, so Sheltarah instructed, “Keep listening for their reply, Lieutenant. If you haven’t heard anything from them in ten minutes, transmit that greeting again, and do so every ten minutes until we do get a response.”

“Aye-aye, Sir,” the diminutive Thai man acknowledged his orders.

“And so we wait again,” Khaleel said with a sigh. “Waiting is always the hardest – or most boring – part.”

“Really, Commander?” Sheltarah asked, doubt colouring her tone. “I’ve always found otherwise.” At his raised eyebrows she elaborated. “Being in the middle of a battle, fighting for your life, being attacked in some manner has always been harder to bear that for me than mere sitting around doing nothing,” she stated with heavy sarcasm.

“Ah, but at least even in those moments of fear and danger you are doing something,” Faris countered. “Being out of control of the situation, being at someone else’s whim or mercy as they dictate the pace of events, is what can drive a Human to distraction.”

“’Distraction’?” she asked in return, puzzled.

“The Human mind will come up with all sorts of worst-case scenarios to torture itself with. When it doesn’t know what will happen, it seizes on what might happen. It is why Humans have always been more fearful of the unknown. Such is the power of Human imagination, in the vast majority of cases what actually happens is far less worrying, horrible, intense, etc. than what we'd concocted ourselves.”

“Ah,” Sheltarah exclaimed in dawning comprehension. “So, what you’re saying is that, while we Andorians are a species of warriors, you Humans are a species of worriers.”

Khaleel’s eyes widened comically and Teodor chuckled throatily from behind her. She also caught sight of Mark Stanhope smiling beneath his hand and spun around slowly to see Anupong grinning down at his console. More than happy with herself for taking that shot, she refocused her attention on her XO and affected an innocent, enquiring expression for his benefit and prodded, “Wouldn’t you say so, Commander?”

Pushing past his surprise, Faris sputtered, “Well, now, Captain, of course, I—”

“I’m glad you agree, XO,” Sheltarah interrupted with faux innocence. “I will indulge your expression of your humanity. I’ll be in my ready room reading up on Anu’s translation matrix. You have the bridge, Commander.”

With a wry grin, Khaleel acknowledged the transfer of command. “Aye Captain. Enjoy your reading. I’m going to sit here and worry. Maybe I’ll take up knitting to calm my poor Human nerves.”

Sheltarah grinned toothily at him before getting up and heading for the back of the bridge.

“Rukah! Rukah Mohad! An alien spacecraft is transmitting to us on the offworlder frequency!”

The panicked, tremulous voice of a Council aide as she burst into the private office of the most powerful person on Nirophia said it all, and far more viscerally than the words she spoke. The normally unflappable senior assistant took great pride in being able to keep a level head in a crisis but Mohad clearly heard the naked terror in her voice.

“Peace, my child,” he managed to reply evenly, though his own stomach felt as though it had dropped through the soles of his feet at the news she brought. “I appreciate the urgency of the moment your words describe, but remember that this is the office of Kishar’s Steward of Her Chosen People, and a certain dignity must be maintained.”

Isatar accepted the mild rebuke abashedly and visibly pulled herself together as Kishar’s Steward for the People of The Faith rose from behind his desk to meet her at the doors. “My most humble apologies, Your Holiness—” she began but was waved into silence as the leader of her planet stepped past her.

“Peace, my child," he repeated gently. "We will greet the offworlders. Signal the Council to stand ready for our latest Trial.”

Isatar breathed a sigh of relief and blessed the Rukah for his serenity as she drew strength from it herself. “It shall be done!” she exclaimed and strode off to the main radio room with a more confident gait.

Mohad saw this and wished it were that easy for him even as his stomach flipped again. More aliens, using the same frequency as the Invader Infidels did. Will these aliens also being death and destruction to my world as the others did? the planetary leader worried.

He arrived in the private Leadership Communications Room slightly out of breath, and only part of that was the speed of his walk from his office.

Akhel stood to greet him. The tall, gangly youth immediately sought out his eyes for the same reassurance as Isatar had, and likewise found it. Relaxing slightly, Akhel nodded his respect and deference before stating, “Your Holiness, we received the entire message in plain – if oddly configured – Nirophian Common some three minutes ago, and nothing since. Shall I replay it for you or—”

“Play it now please, Akhel,” he commanded mildly, then listened at first with surprise and shock, then with growing confidence to the words of the alien ship captain. The Federation! The hated enemy of our ex-overlords has finally moved close enough to see us.

Isatar returned at that moment and informed him, “The Councillors are assembling in the Debating Chamber, Your Holiness.”

He nodded to her before instructing, “Akhel, have your junior replace you here and accompany me to the Chamber.”

A quick head tilt and hand gesture sufficed to obey his leader and moments later all three of them were on their way to the seat of their planetary government. The twelve councillors stood in respect as he entered, and Mohad could see he various looks of concern and apprehension on some of their faces. “Sit, my friends,” Mohad bade them. “We stand at another node of history which requires our careful deliberation.” To Akhel, who’d taken his position at the room’s elaborate radio transceiver, he instructed, “Play the message.” As the alien’s words were heard again, he watched his colleagues’ reactions and saw many of them look around to gauge their fellows’ reactions as well as his own.

There were no exclamations of the obvious from these old and learned men and women. Thaetan, the Councillor for Public Safety and head of the planetary police force, asked, “Holiness, how can we be assured that this is not a hoax of some type? Many of our private citizens have limited radio sets and one might have discovered this frequency,” he stated, even though his own voice lacked conviction. Mohad could tell the man believed the transmission to be genuine.

“There is no way to be certain without a second transmission to triangulate on,” he told Thaetan. “But consider just how likely it is that a private citizen would discover the significance of this frequency, speak our language in a manner different from both ourselves and the Invader Infidels, and be brazen enough to even try such a thing on the planetary leadership.”

The councillor considered his words. “All true, Your Holiness, but many would like to see us embarrassed to further their own agendas. What would look more foolish than all of us turning out to meet these alleged aliens and nothing happen? Someone with a camera could make us look like bumbling, fearful idiots.”

Mohad frowned. Thaetan’s persistence even in the face of scant evidence or reason was one of his most useful attributes in his role as head of planetary security, but this was mere time-wasting. “We will take precautions, but these aliens want a face-to-face meeting. Also, if you would remember the extreme politeness of the request? It is almost as if we could refuse them access to our planet. I doubt that hoaxers would think to execute so convoluted a ruse,” he countered.

“If we proceed from the assumption that this is genuine, how should we take their words?” Councillor Kokra asked. The statuesque blonde grandmother elaborated, “Should we believe their words are merely polite and we dare not refuse, or can we take them for what they are and attempt to converse from a position of strength?”

“Thank you, Kokra, this is exactly what I wanted to discuss,” he acknowledged the head of the justice department. “We will be as careful as possible, but if this is the ‘weakling Federation’ the Invaders cursed often, I believe we should accept their words as they are presented to us. You will note that they do not speak to us as the Invaders did.”

Heads nodded around the table at this, and Goron spoke up. The Councillor for Education asked, “Can we then tell them to leave us alone with a reasonable expectation of them actually heeding our wishes?”

“A very good point, my colleague,” Mohad replied, “and something I have been seriously considering since hearing their message. However, consider that knowledge is power. We know nothing of this Federation beyond overheard snippets of conversation and the various curses of their enemy. An enemy that is still around,” he stated warningly, sweeping his gaze around the assembled councillors. “Think: if this Federation could grant us its protection while leaving our planet to us, a Federation that apparently is strong enough to directly rival the Invaders, we need not fear any further occupations.”

This food for thought struck a deep chord with his colleagues, he could see. As expected, Thaetan spoke again.

“What if by gaining this protection or merely bringing ourselves back into the Invaders’ awareness our planet becomes another scrap for these two enemies to fight over? What if this attention actually brings back the Invaders and we don’t gain this Federation’s protection?” he demanded.

Kokra added her voice to the opposition, as Mohad was already beginning to think of them. “Your Holiness, with all due deference, what if as an alternative to Councillor Thaetan’s scenarios coming to pass, we regain the Invaders’ attention and are granted Federation protection, but also that Federation values – whatever they might be – either must be appeased, adopted, or come to contaminate our own culture?”

The Councillor for the Control of Technology added his voice as well. “Even their arrival will cause disruption and speculation in all who see it. The Invaders used both flying vehicles and matter teleportation devices,” Terin reminded them. “Once here, we saw particle-beam weapons, translation devices, computers—”

“Most of which we would use ourselves as they do not harm Nature, Terin,” Councillor Mahrata interjected. “Oh, we would not let out citizens have access, but computers would bring greater efficiency in bureaucracy, and in the quantities we would use their heat output would not harm Nature. While we have no need of translation devices among ourselves, having them to deal with offworlders would be useful for the government to possess. Not to mention the obvious security advantages of beam weapons.”

“You speak out of context, Mahrata!” Terin snapped at his usual ally. “The devices themselves do not affect Nature, but the industry needed to produce them and the mindset that comes with their manufacture and use would corrupt the soul and subvert The Faith.”

“Peace, old friend. I do not speak of producing such devices ourselves,” she returned mildly. “We would not be making them available to the populace either, but retaining them in limited numbers for government use only. As the Guardians of The Faith, we could use such devices to more easily and effectively guide our citizens along the Path of the Righteous.”

Terin’s features relaxed and he smiled an apology to her.

“Speaking of the Path,” Goron spoke up again, “it is wise to never forget that these aliens are infidels. Even if they profess knowledge of or respect for The Faith, they openly flout it and reject Natural Law by embracing technology and all the evils it encompasses and promotes. Do not let your enthusiasm for the benefits to our Stewardship of Her Chosen People blind you to this basic fact,” he warned. “If Kishar had wanted us to have such things, she would not have sent us Her Terrible Message these many centuries past.”

That sharp reality check and history lesson sobered the council members up quickly, Mohad saw. “Well said, my colleague,” he acknowledged the Councillor for Education, before addressing the rest of the group. “With all that has been said in mind, how do we treat with the Federation?”

After a good thirty minutes of “hanging around in orbit”, Anupong finally announced, “Commander, the Nirophians are responding to our greeting. Audio only.”

Khaleel tapped his combadge and requested, “Captain to the bridge. The Nirophians have responded.”

Even before he’d finished his second sentence Sheltarah was striding through the doors of her ready room. “On speakers, Lieutenant, and patch me in,” she ordered as she crossed to stand at the Communications console beside her XO.

“Captain Shell-tar-a, I am Rukah Mohad, leader of the Council of the Guardians of Nirophia.” The universal translator rendered the words in the same throaty, melodious voice that Sheltarah heard speaking Nirophian underneath the translation circuit, and it delivered the Rukah’s words with the same slow, careful pronunciation evident there. Her immediate impression was of a man carefully skirting a snake nest: he had to go past it but did not want to provoke it. Damn Klingons, she cursed sourly to herself as the man continued in that same exquisitely careful manner. “The Council of Guardians can hear your words and are ready to grant your audience.”

“Rukah Mohad, Council of Guardians, I thank you for this opportunity to speak with you. It is however a custom of my people to meet in person to discuss matters of great import. Will you agree to allowing myself and some of my crew to visit your planet so that we might discuss these matters?”

A span of silence greeted this further request, no doubt from the Nirophian leaders debating it. Sheltarah exchanged a neutral glance with her XO, to which the Iraqi shrugged. It was some minutes later when the reply finally came back.

“Captain Shell-tar-a, we will accept your delegation. You may arrive in the courtyard in front of our government building.” A pause, then, “Do you know where that is?”

“Would that be the building you are communicating from?” Sheltarah asked.

“Yes, Captain,” was the to-the-point answer.

“Then I and my party will teleport to that location in ten minutes, if this is acceptable?”

“We will await your arrival, Captain. Until then.”

“Close the channel, Mr. Paochinda then put me on ship-wide,” Sheltarah instructed.

“You’re on, Captain.”

“Landing party detail for Nirophia, report to Transporter Room Three immediately. Beamdown in ten minutes.” Addressing her XO, she announced, “You have the conn, Commander.”

“XO has the conn, aye Sir,” Faris responded formally. “Good luck, Captain,” he offered as she made her way to the turbolift.

Giving him a wry smile, Sheltarah replied, “Thank you, Commander. I’m sure we’ll need it.”

Chapter Five

Captain Sheltarah zh’Corithan and her contingent of five rematerialised in what was presumably the planetary capital under the brilliant sunshine of local late afternoon. Before them was a massive, beautifully ornate building that struck the Andorian’s aesthetic senses as a mix of Vulcan desert and Terran European architecture. Early in her career she’d had a staff assignment in the office of Starfleet’s liaison to the Federation President. While living in the City of Light she’d seen the Sacré-Cœur Basilica and visited it. Now, taken as a whole, that massive, ancient church perched on a hill in Paris is what the Nirophian building most reminded her of.

Two males in deep green outfits and khaki boots apparently stood guard in front of the large main entrance. Their swarthy and bearded faces and turban-like head coverings reminded her of Lieutenant Commander Naryan Singh, her astrophysicist – though they lacked the giant Sikh’s impressive physique. The colour of their uniform contrasted vividly with the white columns and beige walls of the edifice they stood watch over.

The click-whirr of a tricorder being activated seemed unnaturally loud even in the hundred-metre open square of the courtyard behind them. “No energy weapons or power packs detected to maximum range,” her security chief reported quietly. “The only chemical projectile weapons I’m detecting are on the two guards in front of the doors there, two more behind them, and on several people stationed at various points within the buildings.”

“Thank you, Commander,” his captain replied equally quietly as she took in the guards standing carefully at attention, rifles in their arms and sidearms in khaki holster-belts.

From the vaulting main entrance into the magnificent structure they guarded came a procession of some thirteen Nirophians and Sheltarah got her first good look at the inhabitants of this planet. They were quite tall but also more fragile-looking, no doubt a result of their planet’s lesser gravity. Physically they resembled slightly elongated Humans; their average height was around two-point-one metres, though their mass appeared to be around sixty kilos. Of the thirteen, eight were male and of those five sported long, thick, curly beards. The other three also had beards, but these men were both younger and their beards were shorter. Their attire was typical of desert-wear on planets across known space, made of light, airy materials that could be the local equivalent of cotton or muslin, and worn in a fashion that allowed for ease of movement but demonstrating high local standards of modesty; the men wore loose, baggy trousers and shirts, and the women wore ankle-length flowing skirts and loose, shapeless blouses. Light colours such as beige, white, tan, and dun were worn to deflect the heat of the desert sun, and the men wore a pillbox-style cap while the women wore headscarves and showed no loose hair. Each one of them sported a coloured tattoo of an attractive, delicate, mostly white flower on their foreheads just above their brow line.

The people themselves all seemed to be of advanced age – even the younger ones – appearing to be Humans from their late eighties to early century, though Sheltarah knew from experience that on less-developed planets such as Nirophia appeared to be these people could be literally half that, like a Human from their 20th Century in their forties and fifties. They also seemed to represent a cross-section of their species, with members both short and tall, fat and thin, and with skin tones ranging from olive and dusky to coffee and ebony.

All this Sheltarah observed in the few seconds it took for the delegation to approach her party. As one, they all halted a metre away and each one formed a circle with the thumb and forefinger of each hand, their other fingers pointing upwards, and bowed their heads. The one in the centre spoke, and a mere fraction of a second later the universal translator in her combadge rendered his words as, “May we all be thankful that the Circle of Life has brought you on the Path to our world, our honoured guests from the Federation.”

Her crew were quick to adopt the gesture of greeting and Sheltarah did likewise, then nodded politely. “As we are grateful that the Circle brought us to your beautiful world, Rukah Mohad,” she replied, recognising the man’s sonorous voice from their earlier conversation. “I am Captain Sheltarah, and these beings are of my crew.”

She noted outright curiosity on the faces of some of the Nirophians at the diverse nature of her landing party, but also detected some disbelieving and disdaining looks too, as well as an undertone of fear, tension, and hostility among them.

Not from Rukah Mohad, though. The man was obviously well schooled at controlling his reactions. Apparently taking her own blue skin and antennae and Lieutenant JG N’Keena’s Caitian physiology and ginger tomcat fur patterning in his stride, he addressed her whole group. Indicating his own party, he stated, “The Council of Guardians and I welcome you to Nirophia on behalf of the People of The Faith. If you will follow us, we shall lead you to a place where we can discuss your reason for visiting us.”

With a nod of respect, Sheltarah answered. “It shall be as you say, Rukah Mohad.”

Bowing from the neck, the Rukah took a step back before turning to lead them into the building that seemed more cathedral than administrative centre.

Speaking in a low voice pitched to his captain’s superior hearing, Lieutenant Lin Jianchao noted, “Sir, there were no other people in that courtyard besides our respective parties. If this city and this building are the seat of their planetary government, should they not be bustling with civil servants?”

Sheltarah acknowledged her sociologist’s observation with a brief nod, pleased that her crew had already begun their task of assembling data on this new culture. She had noticed the lack of activity herself with her peripheral senses, but had needed to focus on greeting their hosts without causing unavoidable offence. If they are religious we may have arrived amidst a period of prayer and meditation. Or perhaps to avoid the heat of the day in this region these people sleep though it. It is still too early to draw any reliable conclusions, she reminded herself and instead extended her awareness to note the activity of government around her as she was led through it’s assumed heart.

Her musings she kept to herself as they arrived in a large chamber with vaulted ceilings and sporting a large, solidly built, and ornately carved conference table of a rich auburn colour, all of which was illuminated by sunlight flooding in from large windows some six metres up that lined the length of the room. It was also gratifyingly cool despite the profusion of sunlight. In the brief period she’d spent outside Sheltarah’s body temperature had risen to uncomfortable levels and even the adaptive materials of her uniform had lagged in keeping her cool. She would have to watch her hydration levels while on this world.

Once everyone was seated around the table, Nirophians on one side, Starfleet on the other – and her own contingent looking decidedly out of place amongst all the washed-out desert colours in their bold maroon-&-black-dominated uniforms – Mohad spoke again. “Captain Shell-tar-a, perhaps we could offer you and your crew some refreshments?”

“My thanks, Rukah Mohad. That would be most kind,” she replied graciously.

A quick gesture to a female aide standing by the doors sufficed to expedite that courtesy and Mohad asked, “Now, Captain Shell-tar-a, perhaps you could enlighten the Council and myself as to the reason for your journey to our world?”

“Thank you, Rukah Mohad, I will. Simply put, respected councillors, we are here to learn,” Sheltarah began, noting the darted looks of surprise pass between the more open-faced members of the Council. “Learn, and begin a dialogue that would hopefully lead to a relationship of mutual benefit to both our respective peoples.”

“Forgive my scepticism, Captain, and my interruption, but what could an advanced technological society such as you represent learn from a no-doubt backward-seeming world such as ours?” Mohad asked pointedly, though without heat. “Further, what could a culture that reveres technology to the extent that yours obviously does offer to a society which voluntarily chooses to forgo such contrivances?”

“Both good points, esteemed Rukah, so please let me address them in turn,” Sheltarah responded, deeply burying her own agreement with his position and her own distaste for voluntary technophobes as she did. She paused further as the female aide retuned with two male companions, who set down several carafes of clear water and accompanying cut-glass tumblers, and two urns of a steaming milky beverage that had a spicy aroma accompanied by elegant stoneware mugs. A large platter of fruits and cheeses was also laid on the conference table between the two parties.

Lloyd made a miniscule move towards the water, but arrested himself at a subtle but looked-for signal from N’Keena. The Caitian had noticed a change in the air and wanted to await developments.

Mohad spoke to the Starfleet contingent as the serving staff departed. “Please join us in a short benediction to Kishar for the bounty she has provided us with.”

“As you say, Rukah,” Sheltarah nodded once in respect, then gave a quick nod to her own people to follow their lead. She closed her eyes and bowed her head, not able to find fault herself with this simple offer of thanks for their food. Her crew did likewise.

Rukah Mohad’s oratory voice issued forth then, a strong, deep, sonorous baritone as befitted a public speaker and religious leader. “Holy Mother Kishar, we offer thanks for your most beneficent gift of Nature’s bounty that we are about to partake of. We give praise to the Earth for the nurturing of our seeds and the gift of her nutrients; to the Sun for warming the Earth and the gift of his energy; and to the Rain for the wetting of the Earth and the gift of his life-giving moisture.

“Amen.”

The short prayer ended and the participants opened their eyes and raised their heads.

“If you will forgive the further interruption, Captain,” Mohad said smoothly, not waiting for an objection, “the hot drink is k’ruk, a spiced tea from the subtropical region of our world. The fruits are ilesh, bha’vin, azam, and rizalino,” he stated, indicating in turn a fruit that looked like an apple, a mango, a persimmon, and a banana.

“May we use our medical device to scan these items, to ensure that they will not adversely affect our metabolism?” Sheltarah asked with the utmost delicacy. “I’m sure you can understand that what might be succulent and delicious for you may not necessarily agree with my own or Lieutenant N’Keena’s biochemistry,” she added with a slight smile to defuse the look of offence that was spreading across several faces across the table.

Mohad nodded serenely, though. “Indeed I do, Captain. We would not want to accidentally poison our guests through blind insistence of an unproven trust.” His words seemed more like exposition directed at his own councillors than the aliens he was purportedly addressing, and Sheltarah again blessed whoever was responsible for putting this reasonable man at the head of the council. “Please, proceed.”

“My thanks, Rukah Mohad,” the Andorian replied, and nodded to Doctor-Lieutenant Niamh Brogan to scan the fruits. She did so quickly but thoroughly, and pronounced them clear of hazards. To show there were no ill feelings – in her party, at least – Sheltarah was the first to sample the ilesh and pour herself some k’ruk. She found the fruit to be quite sweet, reminiscent of Kaferian apples, and the milky beverage was as expected and similar to Terran Indian Chai. Her crew also helped themselves to small samplings of the refreshments, and the atmosphere relaxed somewhat as several councillors did likewise.

Bringing herself back to what she was saying before, Sheltarah began again, careful to fully finish eating first. “To address your questions, Rukah, what we can learn from you is not limited to the technology used on your planet. In its many explorations the Federation has discovered that technological sophistication does not go hand in had with cultural development. They often go hand-in-hand, yes, but the two are quite distinct in our eyes and advancement in one does not equate to advancement in the other. We have encountered technologically advanced societies whose cultural values are the antithesis of our own to the point where we cannot co-exist peacefully and must agree to avoid each other. We have encountered societies which have not advanced beyond agrarian villages but which have reminded us if the importance of staying connected to one another as a vibrant community to counter the distancing effects of technology. It is in this spirit of constant discovery and re-discovery that our Federation values the acquisition of knowledge for knowledge’s sake.

“Also, while many cultures and societies offer parallels and comparisons to one another they are not exact duplicates. Each new society we encounter has risen due to unique set of circumstances. We of the Federation wish to know of these circumstances to understand their social dynamics and what choices their ancestors made on order to survive and emerge the stronger from their trials.”

Sheltarah noted some raised eyebrows and approving looks for her last words and assume she’d struck a positive chord with her hosts. Continuing along that vein she added, “”Knowing how different species encountered their different trials, and understanding what choices they made and actions they took to overcome them adds to our own whole. Your knowledge and your history could help members of our own diverse worlds confront and overcome trials of their own, either now or in the future. Additionally, the values and beliefs that you hold may also hold interest for some of our citizens or societies, who might discover that a solution which worked for your people could also benefit theirs.”

“This is, in truth, our whole reason for being out here, exploring the galaxy. To seek out new life and new civilisations, to learn what they know and to better ourselves and enrich our lives from the experience.”

Despite her misgivings about her audience, Sheltarah’s obvious belief in what she was telling them shone through, and her enthusiasm was plain for all to see. Realising that she had perhaps gotten carried away, the Andorian zhen subsided slightly as she addressed the flip side of the issue.

“As for what the Federation can offer your society, Esteemed Councillors, our technological prowess could no doubt refine and upgrade the technologies you actually still use, such as geothermal power taps, solar collector fields, and wind turbine farms. These refinements could be a mere increasing of the efficiency of your existing structures or their replacement with more advanced and self-sustaining materials. We have noted your use of radio and the destruction of your orbital satellites as well as the abandonment of your magnetic levitation trains. If this was due to… outside considerations rather than personal choice, the Federation could help you regain these capabilities.

“Our assistance is not limited to merely technology, however. We can offer the knowledge and innovations of a thousand worlds to improve your city infrastructure, teaching methods for your students, medical solutions for your sick and injured, recreational activities to engage your minds, bodies, and senses, philosophical questions which have beset our own members’ histories which your own learned minds may find of passing interest... the list continues,” she rounded off naturally as she noticed more varied reactions from the councillors during her recital. Thoughtful expressions sat side by side with worried looks and outright rejection. Changing direction and taking a dismissive tone, she continued, “These issues can of course be debated at a later date and acceptance or refusal are entirely up to you. However, as Starfleet’s primary mandate is to gather knowledge for the betterment of all, we would like to strongly advocate for an exchange of knowledge between our two civilisations,” she finished her opening pitch. “We would very much like to get to know who you are.”

One of the councillors spoke up, his face closed and unwelcoming. “And if we asked you to leave and never return?” he asked, his tone and bearing confrontational.

Before Sheltarah could respond to that, Rukah Mohad shot the man a warning look then addressed her himself. “Forgive my colleague’s… bluntness, Captain. Our only other experience with aliens has left us exceedingly wary of you.” He raised his hand to still the agitation of the Starfleet contingent as he continued, “We recognise the extreme difference in approach between your Federation and the… Klingon Empire. However, the esteemed councillor’s question is a valid one. If we declined your offer of interaction, would you honour our wishes?”

Rukah Mohad was livid. He had wanted to ask this question and mostly in the words he had just used, but Goron had forced it to the top of the agenda and no doubt put everyone on the defensive on both sides. The last thing he’d wanted in this information exchange was an atmosphere of combativeness, but with his utterly blinkered view and single-track mind the Councillor for Education had done exactly that. In order to maintain a united front before the aliens he’d had to back the old dinosaur, but Mohad was not happy at all with Goron. The two of them would be having words later. But for now…

He watched the contingent of bizarre and almost normal aliens settle down after bristling at Goron’s tone, and their blue-skinned and antennaed “captain” clasped her hands on the table before her.

“Let me make this absolutely clear,” she began seriously. “The United Federation of Planets is a voluntary union of almost one hundred sovereign planets and nearly one thousand colonies and outposts. We have joined together for the common defence against aggressors as together we are stronger than separately, to increase the quality of life for all, and to seek out and share knowledge for the betterment of all.

“We are not the Klingons,” she stated decisively, emphatically. “Your people have had first-hand experience with them, and believe me when I say that the Klingons showed atypical restraint in your case.” Looks of disbelief flashed between some council members at that, but others seemed to accept it with grim pragmatism. She continued, “Any interaction you have with us will show you the truth of my words. Because of the principles under which we operate, if you wish to be left alone Starfleet and the Federation will respect that wish,” she told them firmly, making eye contact with all present but first locking eyes with Mohad, and lastly with Goron.

Mohad was impressed with the Andorian’s forthrightness – while he understood that she was an alien, with what skills he did have in reading her he could detect no deception from her – and turned to his colleague. “Well, Councillor Goron, I believe that answers your question, yes?”

Goron grimaced but nodded nonetheless.

“Good,” Mohad commented, managing to eliminate any sarcasm and censure from his voice.

“Again, just to be absolutely clear, Esteemed Councillors, Rukah Mohad: we require nothing from your people or your world. We do not need to establish a base on your planet. We need none of your resources such as metals or crystals. We need none of your people to work for us. Our only purpose here is to learn about your world, its people, and their history, and to inform you that you are no longer alone in space. There is a large interstellar community out there and you can participate in it if you wish. But the choice is yours.”

Several seconds of silence greeted her words, and there was a feeling of everyone sitting back to consider them even if there was no physical move to do so.

After some ten seconds Mohad spoke again. “Well, Captain, you have certainly given us much to think about. We would like some time to discuss your proposal and what you have told us, so we would like to take our leave of you to do exactly that.” He stood up and the rest of the Council of Guardians followed his lead.

Sheltarah responded in kind and her contingent did likewise. “I understand, Rukah. We will return to our ship and await your decision.”

“Thank you, Captain. We will give this matter our utmost attention and considerable thought, and will contact you upon reaching our verdict.”

A shadow flitted across Sheltarah’s feelings at his choice of wording, but she allowed none of it to touch her face and let it pass uncommented upon.

“Isatar will return you to the courtyard where you arrived. May the Light of The Faith guide you and your crew on your Path through the Circle of Life, Captain Sheltarah,” Mohad bade her goodbye, with the same hand gesture as he greeted her with. This time the councillors didn’t echo it, remaining silent as well.

Sheltarah returned the gesture and ad-libbed a response in kind that she hoped was acceptable. “May the Light of the True Faith guide you in making the best decision for your people, Rukah Mohad.”

While the Rukah nodded expressionlessly and accepted her goodbye in the spirit it was given, Sheltarah noted the offended and outraged looks on the faces of some of the councillors. She was very glad when the senior council aide led them away.

Isatar returned minutes later to a silent debate chamber where the Rukah apparently led the Council in meditation. Interrupting softly, she told them, “Your Holiness, Respected Elders, the aliens have teleported away.”

Mohad opened his eyes and replied, “Thank you, Isatar. You may resume your normal duties.”

The underling left and, now that he was sure the aliens were out of earshot, Mohad turned a hot glare on Goron. “You felt it necessary to insult our guests?” he snapped out.

Unrepentant, Goron fired back, “They are infidels who fail to respect even our most basic beliefs and customs. The other female flaunted her legs like a slut in heat, not one of the men grows a beard, and none of them covered their head as a show of respect! They even flaunt their lack of status by wearing far more black than even our lowliest Unworthies! To them such an abomination actually seems to be a badge of honour!” He waved his had dismissively. “They deserve neither our respect nor our humility before them.”

“FOOL! The power of their space vessel grants them claim to our courtesy! You would not have treated the Invader Infidels so!” Mohad blasted back, his raised voice raising his colleagues’ eyebrows. “We have only their own manners to convince us that they wouldn’t rain fire upon our heads for such ill manners, as did the Klingons!”

“You exaggerate, Rukah. I did not spit in their faces—”

“These are unknown aliens!” Mohad thundered, shocking the entire room into stillness. Mohad was not one for histrionics. “Or did not the blue skin of one and another being a cat-thing not illustrate this enough for you? And just where do you suggest that these aliens would have gained a knowledge of our customs and beliefs? From their enemies, the Klingons?”

“We got their answer,” Goron protested weakly, his own confidence undermined by their normally unflappable leader’s apparent worry.

“And what if it is an elaborate bluff constructed entirely of lies? If we say yes they gain access to our world without a struggle. If we say no – and they actually do have use for us – maybe they emulate the Invader Infidels!”

Now thoroughly cowed, Goron stammered, “I… I… humbly beg forgiveness, Your Holiness! I… accepted them at their word, and—”

“And failed to see what might lie beneath,” Mohad ground on, eyes flashing.

Kokra spoke up at this juncture. “Your Holiness, deferentially, I do not see this possibility as likely, based on all observed behaviour,” she began. “The crew behind the blue woman reacted in a way we’d term ‘indignantly’ at being compared to the ‘Klingons’—”

“I agree with you, Kokra. But you make my point for me,” Mohad countered.

Suppressing her annoyance at being interrupted, with due deference the justice councillor asked, “Please enlighten me, Your Holiness.”

“They are aliens. Even the ones who look most like us are short, squat, powerful. How do we know that what looks indignant on us is in any way similar to what looks indignant on them?” he asked simply, and saw that it reached all of them. “Emotions and offence are culture- and societal value-driven. We know nothing about them! The Klingons invariably referred to them as weak and soft, yet they still considered the Federation a threat even if they did not dare admit it to each other. You also say, ‘from all observed behaviour’. These Federation aliens may even be acting, to put us at our ease to gain their objectives economically and efficiently.”

He was starting to lose them again with that, he could see. Kokra reminded him, “Your Holiness, you did said that you agree with me.”

Mohad nodded. “I do. Based on my own observations and people-reading skills, I do not rate highly the possibility that this is an elaborate bluff. I too tend to take their words at face value.” Goron’s face darkened into outrage at being needlessly humiliated, so Mohad moved on smoothly but quickly to prevent another outburst. “However, these observations are by necessity based on what I know or assume. What if my assumptions are wrong and I’m completely misreading these aliens because their own cultural values are so far removed from our own?”

Once again on a boat in heavy seas, Goron’s emotions crashed into a wall of freezing saltwater and he subsided into a deeply troubled, brooding silence.

“As the leaders of our entire planet, we must take into consideration a wider view,” Mohad continued. “What if, as previously raised in this very room, this contact does cause the return of the Invader Infidels? On the other side of this issue, taking their captain at her word we could ask this ‘interstellar community’ for help and protection. How likely is it to be given if our ‘Esteemed Councillors’ insult and berate the emissary of those we seek protection from?”

He had the satisfaction of watching that realisation strike home, and Goron blanched once again.

Thaetan inclined his head in respect. “Again, we are guided by your wisdom, Your Holiness. The Light of The Faith truly does banish the shadows from your eyes.”

Mohad accepted the compliment and praise with a gracious nod, and turned to Goron. “Come, brothers and sisters, we must now debate this issue with our eyes wide open. Let no question go unasked, no assumption left un-debated. The future of our society and cultural identity are in the balance, and we must rise to meet this Trial as one,” he told them, with a magnanimous smile of friendship and forgiveness at the Education Councillor.

Goron received it with a jerky nod and a weak smile, and in that Mohad saw his peace offering accepted.

The last chime of the transporter effect faded and the landing party stepped down from the pad. “Debriefing. Follow me,” Sheltarah snapped out and left the transporter room for the nearest turbolift. Picking up on their captain’s discombobulation, the landing party remained silent on the way there. From the turbolift, Sheltarah tapped her combadge and in a hard tone stated, “Executive Officer.”

A moment’s silence passed before Faris’ voice returned. “Faris here.”

“XO, Captain. Report to Briefing Room One,” she ordered shortly.

“On my way, Sir,” was the equally short reply.

Once everyone had arrived and was seated, Sheltarah asked in a more normal tone, “I want everyone’s impressions and opinions on everything from the surface. Lieutenant N’Keena?” she prompted her contact specialist.

“Their council seem to be uniform in their desire to see us go and never return,” the Caitian answered after a moment’s pause. “Some, including their leader, seem willing to hear us out and see what we may offer, but the impression I got was that even those ‘moderates’ don’t want us there. The others… did not seem happy about our presence on their planet at all.”

“Mr. Daquillon?”

“I agree with that, Captain,” the Frenchman responded. “Rukah Mohad is a cool customer though. I could not tell if he was upset with his councillor for asking that question, or merely for the way it was asked.”

“That was my impression also,” Sheltarah admitted. “I think he truly fears us being more Klingons, but is actually hoping that we can protect his planet from them as well.”

“The impressions I got from the councillors tally with N’Keena’s: they’d be willing to accept our help, but not our presence,” Lieutenant Lin Jianchao added. “Even the ones who didn’t want us there at all looked momentarily thoughtful or interested when you mentioned helping them regain their lost satellites and maglev trains, Captain.”

“I confirm that observation, Captain,” N’Keena added. “Their scent for the majority of our time there were fear-related reactions like worry and hostility to the unknown, but on listing the material benefits we could supply, satisfaction was something I scented, as well as desire.”

“How exactly does that work?” Daquillon asked the room in general. “That is to say, how does a society of religious technophobes get greedy for the technology they have lost or abandoned?”

“Not their society, Commander,” Sheltarah stated in hard, flat tones. “The government of that society.”

The realisation struck them all at the same time. “Ah, merde,” Frédéric muttered, summing it up for them all.

“Remember the briefing materials,” Khaleel spoke up. “This society practices religious discrimination against its own population. It was so ‘natural’ to the Nirophians and prevalent that the Klingons actually made note of it. And since the Klingon footprint on the planet was so small in this instance there had to b a fairly large population of those discriminated against.”

“I see now why the admiral considered these people nowhere near Federation membership levels,” Sheltarah commented darkly, her own personal demons stirred up. “We are going to have to be very careful what we offer these people. Weapons are forbidden, no question, but even maglev trains and global communications would help tie their society together even more firmly, and if their government fails in basic sentients rights standards, discrimination and oppression would be further enhanced.

“I will not allow that to happen.”

The finality and vehemence in her tone created a shroud of silence for a few seconds, until the XO spoke up again. “Captain, did you or any of the landing party personally observe this discriminatory behaviour?” he asked neutrally.

“No, Commander,” Sheltarah sighed, and her contingent likewise indicated a negative. “But the briefing materials also stated that it is people without a forehead tattoo that are the ones discriminated against. We saw none of those people during our very brief visit.”

“Then based on how unreliable the rest of the Klingon reports were, I suggest that you reserve your judgement on this until we have confirmation from our own people,” Faris advised seriously in an apparent about face from his earlier comment. “You yourself warned against adopting Klingon views of these people.”

Sheltarah found it intensely irritating to have her own words used against her, especially from a meeting her Human XO had not seen the point of. Still, irritating as it was, he was also correct. Shaking it off, she said briskly, “You are right, XO. We will wait for additional data on this. Admittedly, we’re not going to start pushing satellites out of the shuttlebay in the next hour. If our visit proceeds that far we’ll negotiate our teams onto the ground first before any assistance is given.”

“Sounds good to me, Captain,” Faris commented agreeably.

“Lieutenant Lin, what were your impressions of their ‘governmental building’?” she asked next. “Specifically, the activities within?”

“That puzzled me, Captain,” he answered. “It seemed to me that the staff we saw and the atmosphere they were working in… it was more like a records archive. Sombre, quiet, studious. I might say even ‘reverential’.”

“More like a cathedral than an administrative centre?” Sheltarah asked, voicing her earlier thoughts on the matter.

“Yes, Captain, exactly,” Jianchao confirmed.

“Mr. N’Keena?”

“I agree, Captain. What I saw was data collection and cataloguing, reference work and such like. I scented no excitement or passion from any of those we encountered,” the contact specialist stated. “There was no sense of urgency for tasks being completed that one would expect from people dealing with critical or important matters of state.”

“Captain,” Jianchao spoke up. “I think we’ll find out that this building houses the religious government that hands down edicts for people to live their lives by, and judgements on matters of faith as pertaining to societal values. The actual running of all the planet’s infrastructure will probably be handled by a different branch of the executive, consisting of administrators and workers whose jobs it is to ensure the waste is processed, public transportation runs to schedule, and such like.”

“An interesting hypothesis,” Sheltarah noted, giving Faris a look.

He picked up on it. “What?”

“If memory serves, your nation was once governed that way, Commander,” she told him. “Any insights to offer?”

Khaleel looked nonplussed. “No, Captain. That was centuries before my time.”

Sheltarah shrugged philosophically. “In my clan, and by tradition on most of my world, family and related regional history is taught from as far back as records are kept, over a thousand years,” she offered by way of an explanation. “Plus, many Humans I’ve known have an unfathomable fascination with Earth’s 20th Century. I have been regaled many times,” she finished archly.

“Fair enough,” the Iraqi answered equably, “but I’m not one of them.”

“I’m actually glad to hear that, Commander,” his captain replied then moved on – but not before noting Daquillon’s smirk.

“Mr. Daquillon?” she asked, a fine gossamer eyebrow raised in curiosity.

The Frenchman looked as if he might answer the implied question, but apparently decided against it and went with continuing his report. “The guards we saw were more military than police. They did not just woodenly guard doors either, not locked into an ‘at attention’ pose. As we walked past them their attention was fully on us, and their bodies were relaxed and ready to move even though they were tense. They seemed very experienced to me.”

Sheltarah nodded, the information news to her. That’s why I took my specialists with me, she thought with satisfaction. “Now, Ensign Madobe, any further developments with the UT?”

The Somali linguist shook his head. “No Captain, the translator seemed to pick up all the proper nuances and there were no noticeable mistranslations or untranslatable words or concepts on our side. However, I cannot be sure about the other side. Tensions were high and the participants were unwilling and distrusting, so I cannot say if this resulted from any subtle mistranslations, contextual issues, or shades of tone from the words we used and our speech patterns, or if it was just because of the situation. We will have to interact with them more naturally to actually determine any translation nuances that are affecting our algorithms. I’d like to be able to question them about how our words sound to them as we speak. It would be most helpful.”

Sheltarah came to an instant decision in that regard. “Excellent report, Mr. Madobe. If we get to visit them again, you are on the next landing party detail. I want our translation matrix locked down as tightly as possible.”

Shaykh Adan Madobe grinned toothily, eyes alight with the desire to acquire a new language to puzzle out the nuances of. “Aye, Sir! Thank you, Captain!” he exclaimed happily.

Sheltarah nodded at him with a smile of her own, then turned her attention to the final member of her landing party. “Doctor, do you have any insights of your own to offer?”

The fair-skinned Irish woman shook her head, her short, curly brown hair brushing against her shoulders. “I’m sorry Captain, but there was little to be gained in the way of insights. Especially when the subject won’t allow themselves to be examined,” she lamented in her lyrical Dublin accent. “All I got from a visual assessment was that they all seemed healthy and vital despite what are likely to be advanced ages on their world. No physical ailments were apparent, and they all seemed to have a reasonable level of fitness.”

“I sympathise, Doctor, but after the kind of meeting we just had, asking them if they would allow us to invasively scan them for our records seemed like something that would only cause further outrage and offence on their part,” Sheltarah told the physician, who nodded her understanding with a wry smile.

“Okay, now we wait. Update your own departments and brief in all relevant personnel. Judging by the reactions of the councillors it’ll be some time before a consensus is reached, but I want us to be ready to go as soon as they signal us with permission.” Sheltarah paused, then corrected herself wryly, “If we are granted permission at all, that is. No delays, people. Let’s get it done. Dismissed.”

Chapter Six

“Captain, the planet is hailing us. Audio only.”

“On speakers, Lieutenant.”

“Captain Sheltarah.” Mohad’s recognisable voice made is question a statement.

“I am here, Rukah Mohad,” she announced in a firm, even tone. “Has the Council reached a decision regarding our proposal?”

“We have come to a preliminary verdict, yes Captain,” the Nirophian planetary leader responded in the same cautious manner he had employed so far. “The Council would like to extend an invitation to your vessel’s historian – if you have such a person – to examine our archives.”

Khaleel raised his bushy eyebrows at his captain, and Sheltarah also expressed her pleased surprise with a perking up of her antennae. “I’m sure that Lieutenant Austin would be delighted to accept your invitation, Rukah Mohad,” she told him. “Might I also request that my ship’s linguist, sociologist, and contact specialist accompany my historian?”

There was a lengthy pause before the answer came. “That would be acceptable, Captain. The Council would also like to meet with you again to outline our expectations for this first knowledge-seeking venture,” he added.

“Then I shall accompany my team to the surface,” the Andorian replied. “Do you require any time to prepare or a preference for when we should arrive?”

“Only that you notify us of when you intend to arrive, so that we may send someone to greet you. You may use the same arrival point as you did before.”

“I understand, Rukah. My team and I will transport to the same co-ordinates as before in five minutes.”

“Very well, Captain. We await your return. Transmission ends.”

Sheltarah turned from the communications console to face her XO. “Well, that was quicker than I thought it would take,” she commented. “Based on the looks we were getting I expected them to debate this into the deep night.”

Faris checked the bridge chronometer. “Barely an hour. It seems this Rukah of theirs is either a strong leader, is very persuasive, or their Council can rise to the occasion and become united and decisive when need be. Or all of the above.” He gave her a significant look. “Something to keep in mind.”

“Noted, XO. Mr. Paochinda, page Austin, Lin, N’Keena, Madobe, and Commander Daquillon to Transporter Room Two immediately, equipped for data-mining. XO, you have the bridge.”

“Aye-aye, Captain,” Faris acknowledged, and again offered, “Good luck, Sir.”

“Thank you, Commander. I’m going to be interested to learn what their ‘expectations’ are.” With that, she strode up to the starboard turbolift.

“Captain, welcome back to Nirophia,” Mohad greeted them after the female Council aide, Isatar, had showed her landing party back into the same room they’d been in before. While his rich baritone filled the room, he held it as even and inflectionless as a Vulcan would have. It was a good quality to have for a leader facing outward, but it made her job just that much harder.

“Thank you, Rukah Mohad, Esteemed Councillors, for inviting us back to your world,” she responded with slight emphasis on “your”. “These are my officers: my contact specialist, Lieutenant junior grade N’Keena of Cait, whom you’ve already met, and Ensign Shaykh Adan Madobe of Earth, my linguistic specialist,” she said, indicating the lanky, ebony-skinned Somali who was almost as tall as the more fragile-looking Nirophians.

“This is Lieutenant Lloyd Austin of Earth, my historian.” The broad-shouldered, barrel-chested native of Wichita, Kansas nodded courteously, his physique at seeming odds with his more “bookish” profession. Rounding off her introductions, she indicated the last two members of her landing party in turn. “Lieutenant Lin Jianchao of Aldebaran, my ship’s sociologist, and Commander Frédéric Daquillon of Earth, my chief of security, both of whom you’ve also previously met.” The Chinese offered the Nirophians’ own greeting back to them and the Frenchman gave a slight, stiff bow from waist while not taking his eye off any present.

The Rukah responded in kind, indicating with a graceful wave of his hand each of the Council of Guardians as he named them. Sheltarah recognised the first three – Thaetan, Kokra, and Goron – as the faces with the most obvious objections to their visit, and Goron in particular as the one who posed the question of asking them to leave. Betraying no expression of her inner thoughts on them she nodded to each of them in the easy Human manner of acknowledging someone as they were named. Once the rounds were made, things got down to business.

“Captain, the reason we invited you to return is to learn,” Mohad began seriously, his hands resting palms down on the conference table. “We Nirophians are an insular people. We have found a way of life and a philosophy that fulfils us and our needs. We do not wish it to become corrupted by off-world ideas and actions. However, we have first-hand experience with aliens who do not share these values, and worse, see us as inferiors, merely an annoyance or things to toy with.

“In trying to balance the needs of our populace with the demands of the ‘interstellar community’, we feel that developing a cordial but limited relationship with a powerful benefactor such as your Federation is the best option we have. To this end, we will take up your offer of an exchange of knowledge.

“You say you wish to learn about us from our own history. We too seek knowledge from you, from your own records. From this first exchange of knowledge we can both decide what future steps our nascent relationship will take, if any.”

Sheltarah was surprised by such a considered and balanced reaction from a people she – however subconsciously – regarded as backward barbarians, and was annoyed at Mohad for shaking her preconceived notions and herself for even thinking that way. Such was not the proper mindset of a Federation starship captain, and she exhorted herself to better efforts from now on. Addressing her foil, she stated confidently and respectfully, “An eminently reasonable first step, Rukah Mohad. However, you realise that all our records are in the form of computer files? You would have to either visit my ship to peruse them or use technology that we allow you the use of.”

Mohad looked slightly troubled at that, but Terin spoke up. “Your Holiness, if I may?” On getting a permissive nod, the olive-skinned Councillor for the Control of Technology asked earnestly, “Captain Sheltarah, with all the advanced technology aboard your ship, do you not have some kind of equipment that could render your computer files into actual files? Paper documents, that is to say.” At the surprised looks from his colleagues, he added, “Surely your Federation has not given up on actual, physical books?”

“Indeed not, Esteemed Councillor,” Lieutenant Austin replied with a restrained smile. “Even though room aboard a starship is at a premium, I own many real books myself and keep them in my quarters as personal effects and keepsakes. Many of my shipmates do likewise. A treasured few are original printings from decades or centuries past.”

“That is very good to know, Lieutenant,” Terin replied evenly, but his face was open and friendly – a stark contrast to Goron, who was now casting a leery eye at the younger councillor. “Colleagues, I believe we need not expose ourselves to unrestricted technological development and the… temptations it offers to learn of the Federation. Unless, of course, one of us wishes to experience this spaceship to observe Captain Sheltarah’s crew in their own… natural environment.”

“While that might be desirable in the interests of finding out what kind of people they really are, fellow councillors, I suggest it s not necessary at this early stage,” Goron stated, unable – or unwilling – to completely remove the coldness from his tone.

“Agreed,” Mohad stated for them all. “Captain, do you have such a device as Councillor Terin speculates?”

“I’m certain my crew can create something of that nature,” Sheltarah responded, having managed not to bristle at Terin’s seemingly guileless comments and the council discussing her crew as if they were an anthropology study and weren’t sitting at the same table with them all. “If you could provide us with a typical example of a book from your world, we could prepare it in a format you are familiar with.”

“That would be splendid!” Terin enthused. “Your respect for the sanctity of our culture is most impressive – and appreciated.”

The Andorian zhen gave him a gracious nod but said nothing.

Lloyd spoke up again. “Councillors, the information stored in our ship’s memory banks just about the history of Federation and its member worlds could full this entire building with books.” Several frankly disbelieving looks were directed at him from the council, but the Kansas man continued unfazed. “We would need very specific queries from you as to what information you seek, or what we supply you with would by necessity be a very general overview that we could expand on with subsequent requests.”

The councillors exchanged looks and Goron looked troubled. Oh, what now? Sheltarah wondered with weary frustration, but nothing was said by anyone on this before Terin stated thoughtfully, “I would say that first and foremost we are interested in how your Federation treats with new peoples you encounter who don’t want to join or maintain relations with you; also the values and beliefs your Federation holds to.” He gave it some further thought before adding, “If this isn’t too much information, we could also look at a general timeline of your Federation’s history.”

Austin nodded appreciatively. “Good starting points all, Councillor Terin. However, you should know that the Federation has no single belief system. Every citizen is free to practice whatever religion they choose.”

More troubled looks were exchanged at the historian’s words, which puzzled Sheltarah as she thought this would have been a major plus to any possible future relationship Nirophia chose to pursue with the Federation: their right to keep practicing their own religion.

“On the other side of this issue, however,” Lloyd continued in his friendly Kansas drawl, “the Federation has strong equalitarian values embedded at the core of all its laws and societies. Not every species that we encounter is automatically offered membership, and to gain membership even after it is offered, each potential member must meet our criteria.”

The looks directed her way as Austin continued to speak turned from troubled to hard and cold, and it appeared that Lloyd had somehow offended the Nirophians with his explanation of how the United Federation of Planets worked. Sheltarah suppressed a sardonic smile and kept it in her head as she maintained a neutral expression to the aliens. Oh no, we don’t want you on our planet, but you could at least have offered us membership so we could turn you down!

The atmosphere seemed to have chilled somewhat at that, but before anyone – Goron immediately came to mind – could say something damaging, Mohad spoke authoritatively. “Thank you for that explanation, Lieutenant Austin. It is information of this nature that we seek, so I will leave it in the capable hands of Councillor Terin to refine our knowledge requests with you. Once that has been set in motion, the councillor will take you to our archives to address your requests of us.”

“Rukah,” Austin nodded respectfully.

“Your Holiness,” Sheltarah stated to get Mohad’s attention and using the honorific she’d heard the Nirophians use for him, “now that this issue has been addressed, I would like to raise another. My linguist would like to speak with several of your people to ensure that our translation devices are correctly conveying our words to you and yours to us; is there some way in which you could accommodate this request?”

Several councillors forgot their animosity long enough to look surprised. Goron himself asked, “Your crewman can actually speak our language?”

Sheltarah nodded at Ensign Madobe, who addressed the Councillor for Education directly. “If you follow the movement of my lips,” Sheltarah’s combadge translated for her, “you will see that I speak to you not through my translator.”

Mohad looked somewhat pleased and Mahrata commented, “You and your crew continue to surprise us, Captain. You are not the unthinking slaves to technology above all else that that we originally assumed you to be.”

Some expressions in her own delegation crumpled at that, but while Mahrata’s words were not tactful, they were honest. Sheltarah would happily take honesty over tact at this point. “That is why we are here now, Councillors. To learn about each other and dispel the myths, assumptions, and preconceptions that are faulty so that we may understand each other more fully.”

Mohad nodded approvingly at her words before looking to his councillor for the environment. “Mahrata, I think that, since our way of life revolves around our reverence for Nature, having the ensign speak to various members of your staff would give him a better understanding of how we use our own language, no?”

The dusky-skinned older woman smiled and nodded. “An excellent suggestion, Your Holiness. I will see to it.”

“Very good,” Mohad replied. Addressing Sheltarah, he stated, “I believe this concludes our immediate business, Captain. Would you not agree?”

“Almost, Rukah Mohad,” she returned easily. “Lieutenant Lin will accompany Lieutenant Austin to study your archives, and Lieutenant N’Keena will accompany Ensign Madobe to speak with your people. Commander Daquillon and I will return to our ship, but first I would like the opportunity to speak further with you.”

Hearing the emphasis she placed on her last word the council immediately looked suspicious and untrusting. Goron demanded, “What would you say to His Holiness that you could not also say to us?”

Sheltarah immediately submerged the answer that sprung instantly to mind: That you’re a fearful obstructionist who cannot see past the edge of his own paranoia? Instead, she answered, “I merely wish to satisfy my own curiosity and learn from the Rukah about how your government operates and about the daily lives of your people.” She addressed the entire council and not just Goron. “I believe it would be a waste of your time to have thirteen people address my curiosity in a formal question and answer session that may feel more like an interrogation than the learning experience that I want it to be. A more informal leader-to-leader conversation has, in my experience, facilitated this.”

Goron began heatedly, “You want to isolate our leader so that you can more easily influence him—”

“GORON!”

The whole council flinched at Mohad’s raised voice, which froze the situation before it continued on its path to becoming a full-blown confrontation and diplomatic incident as the Starfleet crew began to react negatively to Goron’s unrelenting suspicion and hostility.

Goron’s head snapped around to lock gazes with his leader. The anger and suspicion in his face quickly fled at the cold look he found himself pinned by, to be replaced by a beseeching look punctuated by a glance at the aliens.

“You will apologise. Now,” Mohad ordered in a voice that brooked no disobedience.

Goron’s mouth flapped open for a few seconds before he composed himself. Looking over to the Federation officer, he stated quietly, “Captain Sheltarah, I am only concerned with the influence your presence here will have on our way of life. I… apologise… for my…” He paused, obviously searching for an appropriate word. “Zeal,” he finally said.

Sheltarah gave him a hard, level stare from eyes of violet ice, letting Goron know that she was allowing herself to be placated rather than giving him carte blanche to do so again, before replying, “I accept your apology, Councillor Goron. I reiterate: we are not here to interfere. Every one of my crew knows how easily it can happen, though, and all are on their guard to prevent such an occurrence.”

Putting an end to the meeting, Rukah Mohad stated, “I will speak with you, Captain Sheltarah, in the hopes of further broadening our understanding of one another. I trust you will answer my questions as I answer yours?”

“I will, Rukah Mohad,” Sheltarah nodded firmly.

He returned the nod and addressed the council. “My colleagues, I will not detain you any further from your other responsibilities.”

The councillors nodded to acknowledge their dismissal but Goron still gave the assembled Starfleet crew a hard look. Sheltarah watched his eyes and noted how they flicked down as if staring at their legs. She was unsure if he was looking at N’Keena or not. On the other side of the spectrum, Councillor Terin was chatting away quite amiably to Lieutenant Austin, and Ensign Madobe was deep in natural conversation with Councillor Mahrata. For her part, Sheltarah seemed to get along well with Rukah Mohad despite his belief system, so she allowed herself to start thinking this mission might go smoothly after all.

Then she turned back to see Goron’s parting look from eyes full of anger and paranoia.

“…and this is our central records archive,” Terin stated proudly as he, his aide, and the two Starfleet lieutenants entered a massive hall filled with seemingly endless rows of bookshelves. The vaulted ceiling must have been easily ten metres above them and the shelves reached almost all the way up, as well as disappearing into the distance in front of them.

Lloyd let out a low, impressed whistle. “This is quite some library you have here, Councillor,” he commented in respectful tones.

Terin nodded and smiled. “Thank you, Lieutenant. We are quite proud of the range and depth of information and knowledge stored here.”

Lieutenant Lin asked, “How much of this archive is devoted to actual historical data, as opposed to day-to-day minutiae like bureaucratic record-keeping and requisitions?”

Terin’s face fell slightly at that, and Austin stepped in to save any bruised ego or loss of face. “My colleague is a sociologist; his area of expertise is in the broad scope of history and how the past shaped the culture of the present, and how the weighty decisions of the present will affect the future direction of a culture. As a historian, I also know that the true feel for a society can only be determined from such minutia as he so easily dismisses,” he finished with a grin and friendly verbal swipe at his shipmate.

Jianchao grimaced at Austin, recognising the perennial and unending debate that the two shared. “You mean scrabbling in the dirt for pottery shards and stone-chipped flint spear tips. Hoping to find grocery lists from an ‘average’ household, or requisitions for more coffee and disinfectant floor cleaner from businesses and admin centres to determine how people lived and worked.” The lithe Chinese rolled his eyes at Austin’s chuckle. “Archaeologists’ work, not historians’!”

“And if I wish to learn how Councillor Terin’s ancestors lived? How healthy they were, how long they lived, how life now is different from life then, how will the Councillor answer?” Austin shot back with a grin. “Why, by consulting their records of minutia!”

Lin grumbled something under his breath in response, but the historian didn’t pursue it and merely accepted his victory with a chuckle and a light backslap on his comrade.

Terin observed this byplay with incredulity at first, then with a growing smile. These Humans bicker openly amongst themselves much as we of the Council do, except they also do it in front of outsiders! Do they not fear censure or punishment for such displays of disunity? My compatriots and I have earned such rights over many decades of unblemished Orthodoxy, yet they are so low in their own hierarchy! Keeping his amazement to himself, he said, “That is correct, Lieutenant Austin. It is from these tiny blocks of information that we build up our knowledge of times gone by.”

Terin noted Lieutenant Lin’s sigh of defeat and Lieutenant Austin’s triumphant smirk and couldn’t help but be amused himself.

“While many records from the time of the Great Unrest are incomplete and fragmented, some do survive, offering us partial insight and also lessons to be learned that are just as relevant today as they were then.”

“That is as it should be, Councillor Terin,” Lloyd replied. “There is a saying, an old proverb from my home planet, which has never lost its relevance: ‘Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it’.”

Terin’s eyes widened in reverence and awe. “That is exactly the idea that our whole society is founded upon!” he breathed, before continuing in a more normal tone. “While many records were not kept or properly preserved, all Nirophians know of the lesson our people learned from Kishar’s Terrible Message, and our whole society and value system was changed so that we would never suffer a similar disaster.”

Jianchao’s eyes lit up with the thirst for knowledge, as did Lloyd’s. “We would both be extremely interested in hearing of this… Terrible Message, and its effects on your people and planet.”

“It is the reason we are all here,” Terin agreed seriously. Turning to his aide, he instructed, “Fetch for us the Holy Book and volumes one to ten of The Chronology of The Faith. We shall be waiting in the reading section.”

“I will make it so, Councillor,” the male responded with alacrity and hurried off into the varied ranks of bookshelves to do his superior’s bidding.

“Come my friends. We will await the arrival of these sacred books, and we shall secure such refreshments as you desire for your perusal.”

“Thank you, Councillor,” Austin replied for both of them. “You are most kind.”

N’Keena’s combadge was having difficulty in translating some of the words Shaykh and Councillor Mahrata were exchanging, but the Caitian was relieved to see the linguist repeatedly tapping away at his data slab’s touch screen. Occasional glimpses of what was on the screen showed presumably Nirophian script being compared to words in Federation Standard, Vulcan, Andorii, and even Klingon to find the best concept match for Nirophian words.

N’Keena had to smile. Madobe’s face showed alternating bursts of such animation and solid concentration he was surprised the linguist was able to follow his shipmate through the halls without walking into walls.

As the two Nirophians and two Starfleet officers continued on their way to the Councillor for the Environment’s offices within the “governmental” building, the Caitian’s sensitive hearing – even more acute than those of a Vulcan’s – began picking out snippets of conversation from government staffers who thought they were out of earshot or who were unaware of their little group.

The comments about him were not nice. While not deliberately offensive, the ignorant comments about him being no more than a literal animal or a trained and dressed pet were very hard not to take personally. He wished he could dial down the sensitivity of his UT but he would still hear their whispering and now knew what it was they would most likely be saying, with the extra unpleasantness of his own imagination adding to it. Plus he would be derelict in his duty if he did not use his full capabilities for knowledge gathering. Every word and contextual reference they recorded or noted was another step closer to improving their understanding of the Nirophians.

N’Keena sighed.

Mahrata’s aide Kobald noticed and quirked a look at him. Deciding to use this to gain further understanding, the Caitian asked him, “When I speak to you in this tone through my translator, how would you characterise the emotions driving my words?”

Again, the little flare of surprise presented itself in the Nirophian’s eyes. He was apparently still not used to the idea of a large cat that could walk upright, wear clothes, use tools, and speak at all. I can allow him this, however, only having been introduced to me barely ten minutes ago. Klingons and their head ridges are bad enough but at least they are humanoid. A felinoid, on the other paw… completely alien.

Kobald pushed through his recurring shock to reply, “Ah, Lieutenant, you, ah, sound… a bit… sad, more than anything else.” He looked at the Starfleet officer, puzzled on at least two levels. “Is this how you really… feel?”

Judging by the body language, facial expression, and his scent, N’Keena could tell he was also thinking How can a cat-thing feel sad?

“Another question, Kobald, if I may?” N’Keena noticed the attention of both the councillor and Madobe as Kobald nodded briefly. “Did you get this impression through the tone of voice my translator circuit used, through hearing my own voice even though I spoke alien words, my body language, or any combination thereof?”

Feeling the weight of regard of his own superior as well as the two aliens, Kobald paused and gave the matter some serious thought before answering. “I… I believe it was… a combination, Lieutenant. Your sigh sounded quite sad to me, and this probably suggested it before you even spoke. But the tone of voice I heard when you used your words was also sad. I… don’t know if it was your own voice or your machine conveying that tone or not.” N’Keena heard the slight edge of distaste the aide used when referring to his translator.

“Are you sad, Sir?” Madobe asked seriously. The Somali was entirely professional; there was no hint of concern in his voice.

“I was endeavouring to sound sad, yes Ensign,” the Caitian responded evenly. “I thought it a good test of the software for contextual wording.” Directing his attention back to Kobald, he asked, “Did the words used by my translator sound like natural Nirophian to you? As in, does your language have emotion-specific words that are used to denote emotional state, or are your words emotion-neutral and context-specific?”

“I believe all words, due to the thing they are describing, have an emotional subtext. The word for, ah, ‘revulsion’, for example, indicates quite strong emotional loading,” Kobald replied, looking directly at N’Keena.

The Caitian got that message loud and clear, and his eyes slitted and his ears flattened slightly. He had the satisfaction of seeing the Nirophian rock back and fear entering his eyes and scent.

“Not that I meant anything by that!” he hurriedly blurted out, but even Mahrata was not convinced. “It was just an example,” the aide finished lamely.

“And what was wrong with saying that the word ‘happy’ sounds happy?” the councillor stated pointedly, pinning Kobald with a glare that did not bode well for the man’s future. “You may go, Kobald. I don’t need you here any more.”

The Nirophian looked at his superior in shock and was about to dispute his quite apparent dismissal, but after a glance at both aliens as well his face clammed up and he spun on his heel and left.

Mahrata watched him go with narrowed eyes, then turned to his charges. “Lieutenant N’Keena, I apologise for my former aide’s behaviour,” she said quietly. “He will be disciplined, I assure you.”

“Thank you, Councillor. While it is common to many species to fear, mistrust, and hate the unfamiliar, and I realise that I am as alien a being as the Nirophians have yet seen, it should never be shown to be an acceptable way of relating to others,” the Caitian said with some feeling, being as diplomatic as he could while still making those feelings known.

Mahrata merely nodded, but Madobe looked at him with mortified surprise of his own. He quickly stowed the expression but N’Keena could tell that Shaykh and he would be talking this one over as soon as they were alone.

“Let us proceed to my offices. I will convene a staff meeting and you shall attend as observers. Through your translation devices you can listen to how we normally conduct ourselves in our own language. I would suggest not speaking so as not to disrupt the flow of our meeting, and while Ensign Madobe hears us naturally, Lieutenant you can note what your translator renders our words as. I will allow you to record the meeting so that you can compare notes later,” Mahrata suggested to the Starfleet pair. “After the meeting you can then ask any questions you have.”

N’Keena was pleased by he Councillor’s gracious and very helpful offer, and saw too that Shaykh was nodding eagerly. “A good plan, Councillor; I thank you for both of us. This will greatly aid us in our mission to facilitate better communication and understanding between our peoples.”

Mahrata nodded serenely. “Excellent. Then, if you will follow me…?”

The Nirophian led the way through the corridors, and only after his back was turned did Madobe make a face at his superior. Pitched quietly enough that only the Caitian’s super-Human hearing would pick it up, he grumbled, “Laying on a bit thick, are you not, Sir?”

N’Keena let a low yowl out. Oh yes, now they both had something to talk about when they were alone.

Chapter Seven

Sheltarah and Frédéric followed Mohad and his aide Isatar out into the lush gardens that stretched out behind the governmental building. The profusion of greenery, colourful flowers, small animals, and birds was a welcome relief from the beige monotony that was desert colouring. Sheltarah was impressed by the scale of the parkland and told her host as much.

Mohad smiled as he accepted her compliment and told her, “It took many ten-spans of careful nurturing for this garden to flourish as you see it now. This was after a five-span of very meticulous planning to ensure no harm was done to the local – if sparse – ecosystem, and to ensure that all the species of flora and fauna could and would co-exist in Harmony.” He paused a moment to truly look at the garden and added, “This place is now over three hundred-spans old and lovingly cared for by people who competed for the privilege.”

A native of her homeworld’s northern latitudes, with its many snow-choked ice fields and underground metropoli, Sheltarah was duly impressed with this place and the effort it had taken to create it. Frédéric, native of the Earth-like New-Paris colonies and thus used to lush European-like forests, seemed impressed that such a park had been brought forth in the middle of a desert.

“Captain, you wanted to know more about us as a culture, as a society, and as a people. Well,” he said, gesturing at the lovingly crafted and tended Nature laid out before them, “this is who we are.”

They all took a moment to appreciate it, but in amongst the wide pathways wandering through the profusion of greenery Sheltarah again noted a sparseness of actual people. I asked to know about Nirophians and their planetary leader brought me here and said “this is us”, she mused. Perhaps the lack of people here and in the courtyard is also an indicator of social attitudes – and an unintended one at that? Nature worshippers who take great care and effort to preserve their planet yet discriminate against their own people and don’t let their garden planet be spoiled by anything – especially their own kind?

“Rukah Mohad, this is a beautiful park. I am always pleased to see such natural beauty, and I avail myself of our ship’s arboretum whenever I feel the pressures of command weighing too heavily on me,” Sheltarah shared. “Is this place a similar safe haven for your government workers? A sanctuary to escape the pressure, to be soothed, to commune with nature and restore your inner balance?”

Mohad pursed his lips slightly, and Sheltarah realised that she’d said and assumed a lot in her opening statement. If he were to merely answer “No”, she’d be left feeling very foolish.

Fortunately she had read the situation correctly. Mohad answered, “Yes, Captain. I often find myself here during or after a particularly trying day but just as often I come here merely to remind myself of why I am here, in this place, in this role.

“I am Kishar’s Steward of Her Chosen People – the People of the One True Faith. I am here to ensure that all the people of this world, and now visitors to her as well, do not harm her so that she may continue to nurture her People for all the generations to come. For all the generations there will ever be.

“It is a heavy responsibility, and I do not take it at all lightly,” he all but intoned liturgically.

Sheltarah nodded seriously. “The arrival of the Klingons must have made that very difficult.” She suddenly felt herself on the receiving end of a sharp stare, with Mohad trying to determine what she intended or sought by raising the Klingons so soon.

“Their arrival was of course before I was born. Indeed, it was before even my father’s father was born. It was only after the… Klingons left that I assumed this role,” Mohad told her, his even tone shaking very slightly at their exploration of this topic. Sheltarah even heard the hesitation he apparently couldn’t help when saying “Klingons”. She was again struck by the impression that the hesitation was not emotionally induced but caused by Mohad’s habitual use of another term for the Klingons.

“If I may ask, how did you become Rukah, Your Holiness?” she asked delicately.

“It is no secret how our government works,” Mohad replied, refraining from the shrug one would have expected with such a dismissive phrase. “The Council of Guardians selected me from among them as their leader, and thus the leader of our planet. The selection is made based on a candidate’s learnedness, wisdom, patience, personal adherence to the letter and spirit of The Faith, and is thus judged for their suitability in leading The Faith into the years ahead.”

Sheltarah surreptitiously checked that her tricorder was still running. As previously agreed with the rukah, she was allowed to record their meeting for the Federation’s now rapidly growing database on the Nirophians. “How are the Guardians themselves selected, Rukah?”

“From amongst their peers, by their peers, in much the same manner,” Mohad replied briefly, and gestured to a different path through the park. Sheltarah took up his invitation and started walking along the new path, both their aides following on in their wake.

Sheltarah reminded herself that, much as she wanted to know a lot more about Mohad’s government, how it was run, and how they ran their planet, she had detailed her historian and sociologist to that task. It was time to get back on track.

“Thank you, Rukah, for answering these questions. I do find myself distracted by my interest in how you govern your people. However, I had meant to ask you about your people specifically,” Sheltarah stated, re-directing the conversation, then realised she had no clear way of continuing. She couldn’t just come out and ask, How do your people live? How do they address their grievances? How do you decide who you discriminate against? How do you choose who gets a tattoo and who doesn’t?

Except that she could do exactly that. Well, with that last part, at any rate.

“Your people are defined by their faith, safeguarding nature and giving thanks for such bounties and gifts as your planet provides, dedicated to living in harmony with nature and causing as little disruption as possible—”

At Mohad’s raised hand, Sheltarah fell silent.

“Not ‘as little as possible’, Captain; none. No disruption at all is tolerated,” he told her, almost primly.

“But Rukah, your cities, your roads… your hydro-electric dams—” Sheltarah started, but again was interrupted by Mohad, though gently, as a teacher to a student.

“Many of these things you mention were in place before The One True Faith united our planet. It would be the utmost in blind folly and foolishness to tear them down with nowhere else for our people to go, as I’m sure you will agree,” Mohad commented archly. Sheltarah found herself quirking a wry smile at his delivery. “However, many other such things that could be dismantled after the Fall have been, with great care, and Kishar was then able to reclaim through Nature what was hers and at a pace of her choosing. No hurried shortcuts or artificial methods to revitalise the affected areas were used, where haste and insufficient understanding can lead to equally bad or even greater problems in the long term. Also, we are in a continuing process of cleansing our existing city dwellings, integrating them more fully with the surrounding environment where indicated, or disassembling them and replacing them with more harmonious structures and materials.”

Sheltarah, despite her initial misgivings about these people – which were themselves created second-hand through other people’s perceptions – found herself deeply admiring all that Mohad was describing to her. It seemed to her way of thinking to be the best possible method of safeguarding the environment one inhabited by means that were actually practical. It did seem to describe an extreme interpretation that wasn’t practical for all situations, being specifically tailored to a society with no outside concerns, no stellar ambitions, and unlimited time, but this may have been prompted by the so-far unrevealed disaster in their past.

Mohad continued. “Proposals to build any new such things, whether they be settlements, monasteries, power generation sites, methods of inter-city transit, farms, or even gardens such as this one, are carefully studied and vetted over years to carefully catalogue and map out all possible consequences to the environment of such a new site, or a development of an existing one, to ensure that no disruption is entailed in the proposed project. All must be blended harmoniously together so that a balance is maintained between the needs and the responsibilities of Kishar’s Chosen People. Everything from the flight paths of migratory birds being affected by cell phone tower emissions to the natural habitats of the lowliest of Kishar’s creatures being flooded by irrigated fields is assessed and studied and re-drawn until an acceptable balance between all Kishar’s inhabitants is reached. Only then would such a project begin development.” Mohad looked appraisingly at Sheltarah and Daquillon, searching for their reaction to such a philosophy.

From the normally sarcastically ebullient Frenchman he got no discernable reading, but then the experienced security officer was well practiced in giving nothing away to potential adversaries.

Sheltarah looked thoughtful, however. She seemed to be considering his words most thoroughly – and indeed she was – but what she actually thought of this, he could not tell.

The Starfleet captain was deeply into assessing what such a philosophy would do to a society’s rate of progress. It does lead to long-term stability and an unhurried pace of life. If this is actually practiced as has just been preached, it would ensure that their planet remains a garden. But trying to get any kind of installation built on-planet would involve melting glaciers of bureaucracy first and still taking years. It’s a damn good job we don’t need a base on their world!

“Rukah Mohad, I feel I must express my admiration for such a method – no, such an attitude towards planetary development. All too often, ill-considered or necessarily rushed developments on many of our homeworlds has led to ecological disasters and even collapses that are only reversed after decades or even centuries of hard, dedicated effort. Your attitude, this entire philosophy, prevents such things from ever happening. Or at worst, renders their likelihood infinitesimally remote. The Federation I am sure would want to examine your own processes for implementing this philosophy with a view towards adopting such processes for new colonial projects.”

Mohad’s expression had run the gamut of emotions during her reply, from pleasure to horror, distaste to haughty approval. “Captain, the phrase ‘ecological collapse’ is more horrific to me than… than…” He floundered, casting about for an analogy with an alien he’d only just met a matter of hours ago. “Than the idea of having your planet and all her people destroyed probably is to you. Hearing of such situations and any phrases describing them is the one thing guaranteed to bring out horror and disgust in the minds of all Nirophians.” He shook his head disbelievingly, still outraged and scandalised to know that Nature – even alien Nature – was being abused so. “That apparently so many of your worlds have gone through such disasters only reinforces my own resolution to keep our interaction with your peoples to a minimum.”

Sheltarah felt as if she’d just phasered her own antennae off. Way to go, Captain! she berated herself. You managed to ensure with that one short speech which you’d hoped would show commonality of history that they see us as the barbarians!

“However, it pleases me that you are apparently learning your own lessons and repairing the damage done. It greatly pleases me that you may learn how to avoid such disasters and disruptions in future from us. I now see the wisdom or your words at our first meeting, Captain. I could not see how your Federation could or would want to learn anything from us, but your seeking of knowledge for finding better ways of doing what you already do, or seeking to change what it is that you do to something else… certainly has its merits.”

At Mohad’s thoughtful stare off into the distance, Sheltarah allowed herself to relax a little. Perhaps it had the intended effect after all, she thought hopefully. In an even tone that held a hint of friendliness, she replied, “Then I am glad that our relationship may turn out to be mutually beneficial after all, Your Holiness.”

“Let us hope that this will be so,” the rukah agreed. “I may devote some time to learning of your peoples’ varied histories after all.”

Their walk around the moderately sized but cleverly arranged park had brought them to a special arrangement at what may have been the centre of the whole park. Sheltarah was startled to find that she recognised the sole plant that made up the whole display. She turned to face Mohad and her eyes also flicked to his aide Isatar for further confirmation.

“Yes, Captain, it is. I see the question on your face,” the rukah told her seriously. “The tattoo on our foreheads – the symbol of our Faith – is the image of the highest form of life on our planet: the Silid, the Flower of Nirophia, the Emissary of Perfection in Nature. The perfection of Nature.”

Sheltarah was sure she’d heard Mohad correctly but wished that she hadn’t. A flower is the highest form of life on the planet? she thought incredulously, before brutally suppressing the follow-on thought that if the Nirophians actually believed this – as was all too apparently the case –: then perhaps they were right. This did not elevate the Silid over the Nirophians. Quite the opposite, in fact, she thought distastefully.

Since this flower obviously was the symbol of The One True Faith it would be the worst kind of insult to let these thoughts be deduced, which event would have the most likely outcome of her crew being banished from the planet. Sheltarah locked her attention on the flowers while she controlled her reaction, fighting her own demons and the poison they threatened to unleash. In doing so she took in every detail of the flowers and the way they grew in their bed.

The flowers themselves were a bright, clean, pure white, with large but tapered petals which looked somewhat waxy. Their spread of petals was about a hand-span across and had a central “trumpet” somewhat resembling a Terran yellow daffodil. The stalk was slender but apparently sturdy enough to be holding up such a good-sized flower head, and its leaves were wide, numerous, and also tapered. This part of the flower was a lush, verdant green, and the whole plant stood some seventy centimetres tall.

These flowers did seem to like the company of one another as they grew fairly close to each other, continuing their resemblance to the much smaller daffodil. The larger petal radius of the Silid, however, meant that they were relatively more distant from one another, each plant having a measure of clear space around them.

The Silid apparently did not, however, play well with others, as their garden was entirely devoid of all other forms of plant life. They were almost regal in their aloofness; whereas all other areas of the park that Mohad had walked them through had evidenced a multitude of different plants growing beside and amongst one another – from decades-old trees through tall ferns to tiny fungi – the Silid “enclosure” was stark and almost ruthlessly clear of any competing plant life.

More analogies and similarities? Intended or not? Sheltarah thought seriously, but decided to hold these questions to herself for now. Instead, she decided to query Mohad’s rather remarkable statement. “These flowers are quite beautiful, Rukah,” she told him honestly, all trace of her earlier derision buried deep, “but I admit to puzzlement. For what reason do you consider them to be the highest form of life on your planet?” Over and above the sapient life making this claim, was her unspoken addition to this question, but she was unsure if Mohad would pick up on that or not.

That Mohad did not react negatively persuaded Sheltarah that she’d succeeded in concealing her… “undiplomatic” … reaction. For that she was heartily grateful. She had encountered many belief systems in her time and travels, and the Nirophians’ was by no means the most bizarre, baffling, or abhorrent of them. But in several ways, she was not the right captain for this mission, as once again she had to beat down her demons to treat this man and his society with the basic courtesy all sapients deserved.

“In ancient times several thousand-spans past, the Silid was prized and sought after and fought over for its incredible healing properties,” Mohad told her straight out. “Not only did the use of this sacred plant as an ingredient in healing broths soon cure any ailment of the body, when directly applied to the undersides of bandages over physical wounds the healing of those wounds was greatly accelerated.”

Sheltarah’s eyebrows rose to disappear under her hair. “That’s remarkable!” she told him, intrigued. “This isn’t just ancient myths and folklore?”

“Indeed not, Captain,” Mohad replied, shaking his head slowly. “There are countless records from before the Fall of documented cases by our medical professionals. However, this priceless treasure only grows under precise conditions and in certain environmental regions. It will not grow just anywhere. Many tried. They failed,” he finished grimly. Sheltarah got the impression he grieved for those transplanted Silid that had apparently withered and died. “These conditions and environment you see duplicated before you. As you can see their soil must be kept free of all other plant life, or essential nutrients are diluted or denied entirely to the Silid and its attributes suffer for it.”

“This really is fascinating, Rukah, My botanists, biologists, and medical researchers would love to—” Sheltarah began, but was cut off bluntly by the Nirophian leader.

“None may touch the sacred Silid without being similarly pure,” Mohad stated in a voice of steel that brooked no room for interpretation. “The dedicated volunteers who tend these sacred ambassadors of purity and perfection from Kishar Herself are the most holy of our clerics undertaking their sacred duty. Learned men and women who have studied their scriptures and excelled at their studies for decades, who have taken special oaths and zealously followed the path of the righteous, who undergo special cleansing and purifying ceremonies and rituals, all to gain the highest worldly honour – tending the Silid.”

Mohad continued, hammering this point in deep so that there was no mistaking it’s meaning and making it obvious there was no room for negotiation here. “It is our highest law that no one may harm a Silid – any Silid, in any way – on pain of death, or the most severe form of punishment devisable.”

Sheltarah was instantly incensed – but clamped the lid down tight and gamma-welded it shut before it could leak into her body language or onto her face. I am definitely not the right emissary for this particular diplomatic call, she snarled inwardly, while outwardly only allowing her face to go blank.

Even this much was plenty to alert Mohad. “I realise that this may seem… unduly harsh… to outsiders such as yourself and your crew, Captain Sheltarah,” he told her evenly, making no apology for the beliefs and laws of his own world to their visitor, “but know that this has been our law for some five hundred-spans. There has not been a case of a Silid being harmed in over three hundred-spans.”

Sheltarah found that – surprisingly – these unapologetic words had their undoubtedly intended effect of placating her and she felt the knot of fury in her guts loosen. “You are correct, Rukah. I do find it ‘unusually harsh’, as you say. However, again as you say, this is your society’s most sacred and treasured entity,” the Andorian zhen managed to offer in return. “It is only proper that you have laws in place to protect it that reflect the value placed upon it.”

“I am glad you understand, Captain,” the Rukah told her with a respectful dip of his head.

“What, specifically, do your laws consider to be harm to the Silid?” she asked, surprising herself again by being genuinely – if morbidly – curious.

Mohad pursed his lips again, and Sheltarah thought it might be a “tell” of annoyance, or a reluctance to discuss something, but the rukah did answer her question.

“Harm is defined as any direct physical impairment to any part of a Silid, such as folding a leaf over, plucking a petal, breaking a stem, or cutting into any part of a Silid. Harm is also defined as doing anything that adversely affects the health of Kishar’s Ambassador. This latter definition is very broad, and covers preventing the Holy Plant getting enough water or sunlight by any means. This covers acts such as sinking a well too close to a Silid bed, or poisoning them through planting incompatible companion plants too close, or allowing your companion animal to acidify a Silid’s soil.”

That last almost brought the ghost of a smile to Sheltarah’s face, but she buried it while considering the rukah’s words. “Those are some very inclusive examples, Rukah Mohad. They would seem to blanket all possibilities.”

“As intended,” Mohad returned seriously. “This law has been refined and updated as circumstances have dictated over the last five hundred years. Also as intended, the deterrence factor prevents anyone from considering actively harming the Silid and invokes a person’s most careful behaviour around them, as well as very careful consideration of indirect consequences to one’s activities in the vicinity of Silid beds.”

Sheltarah mulled that one over for some moments before speaking again. “Well, this covers the Silid’s physical aspects. What of its cultural significance? Beyond being the symbol of your faith, that is,” she amended quickly. “If the Silid is the peak of natural perfection, does its physical characteristics influence your society’s attitudes, mindset, values, and behaviour?” Oh listen to me, she thought with slight self-mockery. The proper military, Klingon-fighting soldier has finally joined the ranks of “New Starfleet”. Lieutenant Lin would be so proud of his captain…

“My, Captain, you are full of questions. Such intense curiosity and yet so little appreciation for the wonder of Nature all around you,” Mohad gently chastised the Federation starship captain.

Sheltarah managed to offer a wry smile, thinking, look what I get for trying to be a cultural analyst. Aloud, she replied, “I’m an explorer, Your Holiness; it is my nature to want to know, to seek out answers. It does not mean that I do not notice or appreciate all this.” She stretched out her arms as she spoke in a gesture that encompassed the park around them.

“That is good to know, Captain, as long as you realise that not all answers are immediately forthcoming,” Mohad returned with a hint of humour. At Sheltarah’s questioning look, he elaborated. “I don’t think I fully understand what it is you are asking of me. Perhaps it is because I have been raised, educated, and have lived with the holy scriptures guiding me that I do not see what you are asking for. Perhaps it would be better answered by another. Or perhaps your translation device still needs the assistance of your crewman.”

Remembering that Austin and Lin were undoubtedly pursuing something along these lines as they spoke, Sheltarah nodded. “Perhaps. I often find that it is only after asking the first round of questions that you discover what the questions you really wanted to ask actually are.”

Mohad looked uncomprehending, but Sheltarah merely smiled and moved on without further clarification. Trying a different tack, she asked, “Rukah Mohad, forgive my ignorance of your social mores if I now ask an indelicate question, but I am curious about the tattoo of the Silid that everyone I’ve seen has on their forehead. I see now that it is a symbol of your faith, but I would like to know if all Nirophians have or obtain or earn it, and how they would obtain or earn it if this is the case. Or are there Nirophians who do not follow The Faith?”

Sheltarah observed what on Mohad was a violent reaction to her question. Not only did he purse his lips but a frown creased his forehead. The Starfleet Captain’s instincts practically jumped up and down and yelled at her on seeing this, and she knew she’d hit on a topic that would reveal much of the information on Nirophia that the Federation actually needed – and that Mohad would be neither eager nor happy to reveal it.

Kishar’s Steward of Her Chosen People opened his mouth and took a deep breath to begin his answer—

—and chirped like a Starfleet communicator.

Sheltarah suppressed a sigh, then tensed up. On one hand it was just typical timing, an interruption just as she was getting to the meat of the conversation – but on the other hand her crew knew what she was doing and so they’d only interrupt if it was very important, especially with the very capable Faris Khaleel to go through first.

Offering an apologetic smile, she told Mohad, “My apologies for the interruption, Rukah. My crew are attempting to contact me. May I?”

“Yes Captain, please proceed,” he replied, his tone giving nothing away but still finding it unusual for an alien to be asking his permission to do anything.

With a nod of thanks she stepped away and tapped her combadge. “Sheltarah here. Go ahead.”

“Commander Faris here, Captain,” her XO identified himself, sounding tense. “We’ve got an emergency situation. A Federation freighter is being attacked by Romulan battlecruisers.”

Chapter Eight

Faris Khaleel had been enjoying a quiet shift on the bridge, catching up on his paperwork while his captain and their science team was on the surface, but all that came to a crashing halt when Lieutenant Paochinda suddenly leaned in and started working his board with intense concentration.

“Commander Faris, we’re receiving a distress call!” the Thai man announced urgently.

“Put it up, Lieutenant,” the XO ordered.

“Audio only, sir. Playing now.”

“This is Master Shalloch of the Tellarite freighter Griwald hailing any Federation starships in range! Two D-7-type warships have decloaked in front of us and are demanding we stop and let them board us! Our location is in the Nirophia Sector, section eighteen. We’re in the Corridor and nowhere near Romulan or Klingon space. They have no right to stop us so we’re not stopping!”

“Mr. Paochinda, is the Griwald a legitimate ship in these sectors?” Faris asked evenly.

“Yes, Commander,” the comm officer responded a second later. “This ship is a regular visitor to Aljetarius. Data up on screen two.”

A quick look was all it took to confirm his words. “Yellow Alert. Hail the Captain,” he told the comm officer. Turning to their ship operations officer, he ordered, “Mark, have the shuttle bays warm up both a warp and an impulse shuttle for immediate launch; we may be leaving our team on-planet. Also, warn Transporter Room One to expect the captain and possibly the whole landing party, in case we are not leaving them behind.”

“Aye Sir,” the Englishman replied and began purposefully working his console.

“Plasma torpedo launch! They’re firing on us!” Shalloch’s outraged and frightened voice broke in again. “Mayday, mayday, ship in distress! This is the Tellarite freighter Griwald, under fire from two Romulan battlecruisers! Any ship in the region, please respond! We need help RIGHT NOW!”

“I have the captain, Sir,” Paochinda reported.

“Commander Faris here, Captain,” he told her in a tense voice. “We’ve got an emergency situation. A Federation freighter is being attacked by Romulan battlecruisers.”

“The ship checks out?” she asked.

“Aye Sir. She’s a sector regular with a crew of twenty-three.”

“Give me twenty seconds then beam me up with Mr. Daquillon. Captain out.”

“Get me L’Trell,” Faris ordered next. No maintenance had been scheduled and he’d not been informed of any sudden need for it, but it never hurt to check.

Paochinda nodded and moments later the chief engineer was online.

“Korta, make sure the engines and reactor are ready to go instantly if not sooner. We’ve got an emergency,” Faris told him.

“We’re ready now XO. We’ve not been diddling behind your back,” the Caitian told him good-naturedly.

“Glad to hear it, Commander. Prepare to go to high warp once the Captain is back aboard.”

“Understood. Engineering out.”

Less than ten seconds later their captain stepped out of the port turbolift, just forward of the bridge communications station. “Let’s hear that distress call, Lieutenant,” Sheltarah ordered, her voice hard.

“They’re still transmitting, Captain. On audio now,” Paochinda replied.

A wash of static issued forth as stray radiation – probably from the weapons fire – disrupted the signal, but then a gruff voice broke through the aural hash. “…repeating, this is the Tellarite freighter Griwald, under attack by Romulan warships! Location is Nirophia Sector, section eighteen. We are clearly in the Corridor and outside of both Romulan and Klingon space, but are being fired upon by D-7-type warships with plasma weapons! We’re making a run for it at warp six, but we require aid from any vessel in range!”

Khaleel looked at his captain, face grim as a series of explosions tore through the audio, only subsiding several seconds later. The Tellarite’s voice came back, his fury and fear evident. “They’re playing with us for sport! There’s two of them and we’re a lone merchant ship! If they wanted us dead one shot could do it. That last hit took out our warp nacelles. We’re stranded! To any Federation or allied ships in range, we need urgent assistance!”

Sheltarah snapped out orders left and right. “Ops, drop a warp shuttle out of the bay for our team on the planet and brief its commander on our situation so they can answer questions.”

“Aye Sir,” Mark responded and began talking through his own intercom.

Hitting open a ‘com channel to Engineering, Sheltarah stated, “Engineer!”

“Here, Captain,” Korta L’Trell’s throaty rumble came back instantly.

“We’ve received a distress call. Prepare for emergency warp on my order.”

“Standing by, Sir.”

“Mr. T’Serris, lay in a course for Section Eighteen and give me an E.T.A. at emergency warp speed,” she ordered next.

“Course laid in, Captain. Arrival at closest border in two-point-three-seven hours,” the soft-spoken Vulcan replied immediately, having anticipated her orders.

“Very good. Prepare to go to warp.” Hitting the all-call button on her chair’s control panel, she announced, “This is the Captain. Secure the ship for emergency warp speed. Two Romulan warships are attacking a Federation-registered merchant ship. Captain out.”

“Hail them?” Faris asked.

“No. If the Romulans are monitoring Griwald’s transmissions I don’t want to let them know we’re coming so they can prepare a surprise for us,” Sheltarah told him briefly. “If they think no one is coming they may continue ‘playing’ and give us the time we need to get there.” Returning her attention to her Chief of Ship Operations, she asked, “Well, Mr. Stanhope?”

Lieutenant Commander Mark Stanhope’s usually chipper English accent was somewhat strained as he replied, “Shuttle To’dai lifting off now, Sir, under the command of Lieutenant Popejoy,” he stated, watching a visual of the shuttle bay on his console. Five seconds of silence later he reported, “Shuttle is clear of our warp field limit, Captain. We are free to depart.”

Addressing her helm officer, she ordered, “T’Serris, warp speed now.”

The Vulcan tapped the control on her board and less than two minutes from receiving the distress call the massive Excelsior-class starship was hurtling through space towards the besieged freighter.

Two hours later, Commander kar-Tachek announced, “Captain, I have the Griwald on sensors.”

Khaleel’s eyes widened. “It’s still there? Are they in one piece?”

Narumba replied, “Yes Commander. Its warp nacelles have been wrecked but life support is still fully functional and I’m reading the ship’s full complement of twenty-three life-forms alive and strong.”

“No immediate danger to the ship’s crew then.” Khaleel breathed a sigh of relief.

“Alter course to rendezvous. Indications of Romulan presence?” Sheltarah asked sharply.

“No Sir,” Narumba responded. “If they are still there, they are cloaked.”

“Mr. Paochinda, hail the Griwald. Find out what happened to them.”

“Aye Sir.”

Faris moved in close to his captain and spoke in low tones. “So what happened here? Two D’Vorix-class ships out for a little target practice but not wanting to provoke a response from the Federation? Yet another ‘isolated incident’?”

Sheltarah clenched her teeth. “Unless the crew of the Griwald can let in some light, this might remain shrouded in darkness forever,” she muttered angrily.

“I have Master Shalloch of the Griwald, Captain,” Paochinda spoke up.

“On screen,” Sheltarah ordered, and both she and her XO directed their attention to the screen. “Master Shalloch, I am Captain Sheltarah of the Federation starship Fearless. We received your distress call and will be there in twenty minutes. Can you tell us what happened to you and where the Romulans are?’

“Sheltarah, we are so glad to hear from you! Our sensors are down, we didn’t see your approach. Quickly, lock a tractor beam on us and tow us out of here!”

“Shalloch, we’re still twenty minutes distant from you, but be assured we will do exactly that once we arrive. Can you tell us more about what happened to your ship? Do you have sensor logs you can send us?” she repeated, unsurprised at him not really paying attention to the words of her greeting.

“I’ll have my sensor chief assess our memory banks, Captain. We’ve been badly mauled over here. I’m just very glad to see you. There’s been no trouble on this route for months and we didn’t think Starfleet had any other ships in the region. We thought – after the Romulans left – that we’d be stranded out here for days or weeks,” the unusually amiable Tellarite told her in gruff but obviously relieved tones.

“The Romulans just shot you up and left?” she asked in return.

“It doesn’t seem like them, and yet it does. It’s very odd,” he agreed. “Transmitting what sensor logs we have now, Captain.”

“Thank you. If you could also forward your needs in other areas we can begin preparations for our arrival,” Sheltarah requested. “We’ll go over what you send us and get back to you.”

“Understood. Griwald out.”

The Fearless dropped from warp at yellow alert and, adopting a cautious, defensive posture, approached to tractor beam range of the crippled freighter.

“Full sensor scan of the region please, Commander kar-Tachek,” Sheltarah commanded. “If there are still Romulans close by I want to know it, preferably before they decloak around us.”

“Underway, Captain,” the Arkenite scientist replied in her oddly-echoing electronic voice.

“Mr. Frunzeti, use the tactical array to scan the Griwald and give me a structural analysis. Can we tow her at both impulse and warp speeds without having to reinforce anything?” she ordered next.

“Understood Captain,” Teodor’s monotonously deep voice rumbled back.

“Anupong, get me Shalloch again please.”

Moments later the stout Tellarite’s features graced the main viewer. “An Excelsior-class, huh?” he stated appreciatively. “I wasn’t aware of any in this area, but I guess this explains why you got here so quickly.”

Sheltarah hid a grimace. I’m glad he regards nearly three hours as “quickly”, she thought with some chagrin, but he’s right in that respect. If we hadn’t been here he’d have been left stranded until a smaller, older ship could get to this out-of-the-way nook of space – assuming the Romulans didn’t return to finish the job before that. Aloud, she replied, “We’re assessing your ship’s status now, Master Shalloch. I agree with wanting to get you out of this area as quickly—”

Sheltarah was cut off by the sudden blaring of the Red Alert klaxon and she swung around to her science officer.

“Cloaking effect! Ships decloaking at 045 mark 274 and 240 mark 5!”

“Full impulse! Evasive pattern Kirk-Gamma Seven! Arm all weapons and prepare to repel boarders!” Sheltarah immediately barked out, cursing herself for not being paranoid enough to maintain a Red Alert as the bridge crew jumped to obey her orders.

Teodor spoke next, voice hard but still employing his trademark monotony. “Two Romulan D’Vorix-class battlecruisers, Sir, both positioned outside of our torpedo arcs. Both are fully armed and shielded.”

“A trap,” Khaleel stated flatly. A Romulan-refitted version of the ubiquitous Klingon K’t’inga-class battlecruiser, he knew that Fearless could defeat two of them in a fair fight, but as had just been proven again the Romulans never fought fair. It would take time to arm all their weapons and get moving, and in that time the two Romulan warships could badly weaken or even collapse their shields.

However, even as the Fearless strained to overcome her million and three-quarter metric tons of mass and accelerate out of the kill zone, an unexpected announcement came from one of the bridge crew.

“Captain, the Romulans are hailing us,” Lieutenant Paochinda stated, surprise colouring his words.

Not wasting a second Sheltarah snapped, “On screen.”

The image of a short, squat, beady-eyed Romulan male in typical military garb appeared on the main viewer. Perhaps surprisingly, there was no look of smug superiority on his face and when he spoke he seemed somewhat tense. “Federation battleship Fearless, there is no need for such strenuous moves,” he began, holding very still in his command chair. “Having our weapons fully armed was but a precaution on our part; perhaps, in light of your reaction, an overzealous one,” he admitted carefully. “We are not here to offer battle.”

Still not countermanding her last orders, Sheltarah’s violet eyes narrowed at her opposite number as her ship creaked around her under the strain of the corkscrewing climb out of danger. “Decloaking fully armed after attacking a civilian ship is not the accepted interstellar manner of offering a friendly greeting, either,” she shot back, the ruthlessly controlled tone of her words an indication of the height of her fury.

“True, true. A miscalculation on my part, Captain; an overzealous precaution, as I stated. If you will cease your manoeuvres and disarm your weapons we can converse in a less tense atmosphere,” he offered.

“So you can bracket my ship between your weapons again?” Sheltarah shot out accusingly. “I think not.”

Perhaps feeling as if he was gaining the upper hand since the Federation ship hadn’t actually opened fire on his ships yet, the Romulan answered in a more relaxed manner. “Captain, if we had wished to fire upon your vessel we would have done so already. If you… settle down… we can move on.”

“You’ve already fired on and stranded a Federation-registered civilian ship full of Federation citizens. You’ll forgive me if I do not accept your assurances,” the Andorian replied flatly. “If you are not here to offer battle it is you who will disarm your weapons and fall back from the freighter, or I will open fire on you.”

The Romulan actually looked as if he blanched at the cast rhodinium certainty in her voice. He recovered quickly and his “Oh, very well, if that will satisfy you,” was convincingly annoyed and condescending, but Sheltarah knew she had the upper hand now.

Nodding to Anupong to mute the audio, she turned to Khaleel and said, “If he actually backs off it looks like he may be under specific orders.”

“And engaging a Federation starship and escalating this into a full-blown interstellar incident apparently exceeds these orders,” Khaleel agreed.

“Captain, the Romulan ships are pulling back from the Griwald and are disarming their heavy weapons. Their disruptors are still armed and excess energy is being channelled into forward shield reinforcement,” Teodor reported.

Sheltarah almost smiled at the profound surprise in her taciturn tactical officer’s voice, but suppressed it and instead ordered, “Mr. Faris, ensure the safety of the Griwald and its crew. Place us between the Romulans and the Griwald. Prepare to drop the aft shield, pull the merchant ship in under our fantail and secure it there with tractor beams, and have the transporter rooms beam the merchant crew aboard once their ship is secure within our shield envelope.”

“Understood, Captain,” her XO acknowledged her and began relaying these orders to the appropriate people as Sheltarah once again turned her mind to the Romulan problem. “Now then, let us see what is staying their hand. Restore audio to the Romulans, Mr. Paochinda,” she instructed. Once the channel was re-opened, she told the so-far anonymous Romulan, “You will now identify yourself and your reason for attacking Federation shipping.”

Having crossed swords with the Romulans several times in the past Sheltarah was quite certain she could see embarrassment warring with fury on his face. Okay, this is going to be good, but I’d better not push him too hard or he might just attack to save face – and there are two of them.

Commander Tafv tr’Amalek stared at the auburn-haired Andorian captain from behind coal-clack eyes that he hoped were concealing his acute embarrassment at having overplayed his hand. The appearance of the advanced Federation battleship had rattled him and in attempting to secure the upper hand against it he’d instead apparently convinced her captain she had to make a fight of it.

Fleet Intelligence had most assuredly mated with a Klingon on this mission. Unless Starfleet was foolish enough to send in one of their bumbling science vessels/spy ships, the only ships supposed to be in this region were Miranda or Constellation class.

So now here he was, supposed to be “delivering a message” to the Federation from the Senate without causing an incident that resulted in a formal protest or a more aggressive stance from Starfleet. The threat implicit in the firepower of his two battlecruisers would have been enough against their expected opposition but was just barely enough on two mobile platforms to overcome the single behemoth before them now, if their individual ships could survive long enough to deliver a co-ordinated attack.

But I am not here to fight, he reminded himself, trying to set aside his tactical mindset for a more strategic one. Addressing his opposition, he refused to identify himself and focused on his own directives.

“Captain, once again the Star Empire notes that the Federation extends the tentacles of its territory and its insidious influence all around the periphery of our borders. The Star Empire can rarely pick a direction to look outward without seeing the flag of the Federation or the warp signature of one of its starships spoiling the view,” Tafv stated pointedly, pinning her with a look as he warmed to his speech.

It helped that he personally believed it to be 100% true.

“This so-called ‘Nirophian Corridor’ of yours is a perfect example. Soon, through this contrivance, you will expand your influence to the space beyond our frontiers to anti-spinward – what you call the ‘Beta Quadrant’ – and close off our own avenues of expansion. If we as a people are to remain the masters of our own destiny, the Star Empire cannot allow this to go unchallenged.

“So we are serving notice to your Federation, Captain. The Rihannsu Star Empire will no longer stand by and allow the gradual but inexorable encroachment of your territory against ours, pinning us in place and hemming us in on all sides.

“You would do well to respect our wishes in his matter.”

Regally turning to his own comm officer, he nodded at her to close the channel and the screen returned to his view of the Federation battleship. “Plot a course to Starbase Fourteen at warp five and supply it to our compatriot. Execute when ready.”

“Ie, Riov,” the helm officer acknowledged and began operating his console.

Tafv took a long, hard look at the Fearless – a look tinged with envy. An apt name for such a ship, he considered. The Empire has ships to match her now, but too few and I will not command any of them, he lamented, thinking wistfully of the older Moon Hawk-class heavy battlecruiser and Melak-class Warbird, and the new Ivarix-class prototype being constructed at this very moment. In this previously unimportant sector of the border there had been no need of such vessels, but Tafv knew Starbase Fourteen’s fleet would see significant changes in the near future.

After the still-nameless Romulan closed the channel, his two ships leisurely came to a new heading and flashed into warp speed without even bothering to cloak.

Face hard, Sheltarah ordered, “Stand down from Red Alert but maintain Security Alert. Divert weapons power to the sensors and keep our shields up until we need to lower them. Helm, lay in a course for Aljetarius.”

“Aye-aye, Captain,” her crew acknowledged as they set about their tasks.

“Commander Faris, is the Griwald secure?”

Khaleel nodded. “The ship has been locked in place within our standard shield envelope and her crew has been brought aboard and assigned guest quarters on Deck Six. I’ve arranged for a debriefing with them after they’ve settled in.”

“Excellent. Thank you, Commander,” Sheltarah told him, pleased again by her XO’s initiative. “I also want you to call a staff meeting after their debriefing. I want opinions and options.”

“Understood, Captain. Anyone outside the usual suspects you want in attendance?”

“Any Romulan cultural specialists we have on board – make sure Lieutenant Tkeshelashvili is among them – and anyone with a background in astropolitics.”

Faris’ eyes widened. “You’re serious about this.”

The Andorian gestured sharply at the viewscreen, which showed the disabled Tellarite freighter held in place under their fantail. “Our home-breakers seemed quite serious to me, Commander. Master Shalloch was correct; this was nothing like their usual posturing but it was quintessentially Romulan. See to it, Commander. I want to have a complete report and debriefing for Admiral Barragán before we get to Aljetarius.

“Aye Sir. I’m on it.”

An hour later and the Griwald crew were as happy as… well, Tellarites in a mud bath. With their ship being repaired and slightly refurbished by Starfleet engineers and the luxurious guest quarters they occupied on the Fearless, as well as making better time back to Aljetarius than they normally would be under their own power, Shalloch and his crew had practically fallen over each other in their attempts to be helpful during their debriefing. Unfortunately, there was literally nothing else to learn from their assault. The Romulans had apparently waited for the confluence of an easy target and the farthest separation of the local patrol ships before jumping the unlucky Griwald.

Now en route to the purported ‘Starbase 77’ at a steady warp six and with the requested staff assembled before her in the large conference room, Sheltarah now set the agenda.

“We are here to discuss the message that the Romulans just gave to us and the implications it has for the Federation and the astropolitical landscape as it stands in the present and future, for the purpose of a detailed analysis and options for our superiors,” the Andorian zhen began, sweeping her violet gaze across her crew. “All opinions and comments of a constructive nature are welcomed and will be entertained. Now, for those who have not yet seen it, please give your attention to the wall screen.” She nodded to Khaleel, who tapped a control and started the playback. Once it was over, she gave everyone a minute of silent contemplation to order their thoughts before beginning the brainstorming.

“Impressions?” she asked.

“How sure are we that this can be considered a genuine message from the Romulan government?” Mark Stanhope asked immediately. “This is not the way most governments maintain communications with one another.”

“Very true, Commander, but this is consistent with observed Romulan behaviour,” said Ensign Åke Svensson, his slight Swedish accent elongating his vowels. The ship’s junior contact specialist had been included on the guest list as his superior had been left on Nirophia. “The Romulan government seems quite content to let their ship captains speak for them in diplomatic matters and those of interstellar relationships. Their diplomats only seem to be on station for intelligence gathering purposes or for other governments to make requests of or statements to them. This is entirely like the isolationist and very private Romulan nature,” Åke rounded off his exposition. “I would recommend taking it at face value, and indeed I’ll not be surprised if the Romulan Ambassador to the Federation Council confirms this message when approached. He likely will not volunteer it.”

Those present looked thoughtful at that.

Teodor’s sonorous voice spoke up. “Tactically speaking, the Romulans had complete advantage over us when the revealed themselves. Had they wanted to destroy or capture this ship, or merely test our capabilities in a real battle, they could have done so on no more favourable terms.”

“Would they have succeeded in destroying us?” asked CMO Cao. At the looks she was getting, the slight Chinese woman elaborated, “I only ask to rate their chances for success. If they felt they could not defeat us in battle – having expected a smaller opponent – they might have made all this up as a face-saving matter.”

“A very good point, Doctor,” Sheltarah commented. “Even with that advantage, their victory over us was by no means assured. They might have badly damaged us on the attempt but we could certainly have defeated them, unless they got really lucky with a critical hit through weakened shields.” Turning to her XO, she asked, “Commander, how likely do consider it that the Romulan was just blowing snow at us because he caught a shark instead of a seal in the trap he set?”

Khaleel frowned. “Not very highly, Sir. Consider the elaborate set up, the fact that no one on the Tellarite freighter was even injured in the attack that wrecked their warp drive, and then the timescale involved in a Starfleet ship responding to a distress call. They obviously knew some ships were in the region but it seemed to be that he was shaken by us and by how soon we showed up.” Faris shook his head. “No, they were prepared to wait and were concerned for lives lost. This Romulan was definitely under orders.”

“And if he had his own agenda, Sir?” Teodor asked levelly.

“I cannot evaluate that possibility, Lieutenant. We have no way of knowing if this was yet another renegade ship commander until we query one of their diplomats or naval liaisons, or Starfleet Intelligence.”

“And that will be the purview of Starfleet Command or the Federation Council,” Sheltarah stated decisively. “We will proceed on the assumption that he was a genuine representative of the Romulan government. Now, what of his claims?”

“Pure hyperbole,” Stanhope stated dismissively. “The borders observed today were set up in response to their aggression and it sticks in their craw that we beat them back a hundred and fifty years ago and have continued to beat them back every time they cross those borders, either overtly or covertly. We respect Gorn and Klingon space and don’t sneak over or travel through them to stare at the Romulans from the Beta Quadrant, and this new Nirophian Corridor’s emphasis is on trade with the Hydrans and to explore in directions away from the Romulan Empire. Their claims are baseless and self-serving, giving them a pretext to actively interfere with our operations.”

“I don’t know about that, Sir,” Lieutenant Sofiko Tkeshelashvili countered respectfully in her faint Russian accent. The Georgian Anthropology and Archaeology Officer continued, “I can see their point. While the Hydrans are in the opposite direction to the Romulans from Sector 16447, we’re not going to be satisfied with just that, are we? We’re going to explore in all directions, maybe try to forge closer ties with the Lyrans, attempt first contact with the Sha’Kurians and these ‘nameless ones’ the Klingons are constantly fighting, and make new friends in the area with the minor species and independent planets. So while the Romulans were exaggerating for obvious effect, they are proceeding from what they see as fact.” At Stanhope’s dismissive snort, Sofiko added, “Let me put it this way: how would we – the Federation – feel if the Romulans were setting up colonies, outposts, Fleet bases, and forging ties with inhabited worlds all around our borders?”

“The situation is not the same,” Stanhope objected firmly. “We have no hostile intentions towards them!”

“Intentions, no. But perception is everything here. Our expansion into an area leads to greater stability and in establishing a presence we prevent or at least give pause to the usual Romulan means of expansion: by conquest.” Tkeshelashvili looked meaningfully around the table. “I’d call that ‘hemming in’.”

“Then they should resort to diplomatic overtures and get over their own innate smug sense of superiority and realise they’re just like the rest of us,” Mark shot back. “We’ve proven it to them time and again that we can outsmart and outfight them so how they still believe they’re destined to rule the galaxy because if an inherent natural superiority is beyond me.”

That caused a few restrained, mirthless chuckles but Tkeshelashvili looked annoyed. “The Romulans have never trusted us – or anyone else for that matter – and probably never will. They also think that everyone else, while inferior, think like them, seeing enemies everywhere and always looking for the advantage. A view that is partially supported by the likes of the Klingons, Mirak, Sha’Kurians, etc. We – the Federation – expand more quickly than they do, curbing their natural expansionist ways, and yet have all these peaceful platitudes. So, they think we do nothing but lie and entice and bewitch to gain all these smaller nations which proves their point that we’re untrustworthy.”

“It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy,” Faris spoke up, mainly to break up the back and forth between the second and A&A officers.

“Indeed,” Rodrigo Luis da Costa stepped into the discussion. The Brazilian stellar cartographer brought up a 3D holograph of local space over the conference table before continuing. “Looking at it from a purely cartographical perspective, we are hemming the Romulans in. Us, and everyone else, that is. They have the Gorn to coreward, the Klingons to rimward, and the Federation to spinward, which only leaves them the resource poor systems and stellar deserts of the galactic zenith and nadir, and anti-spinward into the Beta Quadrant.” The holo had rotated and zoomed in on the respective areas as da Costa mentioned them. Now focusing on the Beta Quadrant as his explanation continued, Rodrigo stated, “Even in the Beta Quadrant the Romulans are directly competing with the Klingons for territory and resources, fighting skirmishes with the Gorn and Sha’Kurians, and encountering dead worlds and entrenched holdouts from the ISC war a decade ago. Now, with the opening of this corridor to Sector 16447, the Romulans are going to once again start encountering their ancient enemy: us.

“Combined with everything else we’ve gone over here today, if I were the Romulans, I’d be worried too.”

There was a collective pause for breath around the table at those sobering words.

“This is real then,” Faris commented seriously. “If this is how the Romulans are truly viewing the situation, we can expect to run into them a lot more in the future.”

“Yes,” Sheltarah agreed. “And they’re going to be hindering our own exploratory and first contact missions into this region that they consider their own clan gardens, and they’ll start making outright grabs for any planets they can get their hands on, inhabited or otherwise.”

A pall seemed to settle over the officers present as they absorbed this information; it did not make for a shining future of peace and goodwill between the Federation and Star Empire.

“I will need to confirm the veracity of the Romulan commander’s words through Starfleet Command and their own diplomats. Hopefully, this will just be a Romulan with a personal agenda and this is not the direction their government intends to go in.” She swept her gaze across her assembled crew. “Thank you everyone. Your input was most valuable. Dismissed.”

Her new nodded as one and started leaving the conference room. Faris hung back to exchange a few final thoughts with his captain.

“If the Romulans are going to start seriously gunning for us, what is the Federation going to do? Stop all exploratory efforts into the Beta Quadrant?”

“That is an option the Council may have to consider, Commander,” Sheltarah commented sourly. “After all, Starfleet did decommission all the guard stations along the Klingon border after Khitomer, leaving only the main sector starbases and trading base-stations in place.” She sighed, still unable to believe that had actually happened – and still offering prayers to Uzaveh in gratitude that the peace still held with the Klingons. Bringing herself back the present, she added, “There is still the matter, however, of how seriously to take this declaration. It could be mere posturing, designed to intimidate us unto backing off.”

“But you don’t believe that.”

Sheltarah met her XO’s blue eyes unflinchingly. “No.”

“And the independent and Prime Directive-protected peoples of the Beta Quadrant?” Faris demanded. “What of their fates? Will we abandon them to the depredations of the Romulans as they pursue their ‘natural expansionist practices’? How many species would we be complicit in the enslavement or extermination of?”

Her XO’s strident questions provoked an equally intense reaction from her own emotions. “Believe me, Commander,” she stated with deadly sincerity, “I’m going to make sure we, Starfleet, and the Federation do everything in our power to head off that precise eventuality.”

Faris relaxed slightly. “I’m glad to hear that, Captain. It does seem we have our work cut out for us though.”

“Agreed, Commander,” Sheltarah responded soberly. “But if there’s anywhere it can be done from, it will be from here. Out on the front line, starting with what is decided on the bridge of this ship.

“And I don’t intend to fail in that responsibility.”

A hard smile graced her XO’s face, backed by a resolution she could see blazing from his eyes. “Then we’d best be about it, Captain,” he stated firmly.

She nodded, an answering smile on her own powder-blue features.

“Let’s get back to the bridge. We’ve got work to do.”

Fin