This tale, written in September 1998, is a continuation of my very first classic Star Trek story, “A Passion For Peace.”
The prologue of “The Clearer Path” is a precise retelling of the the original story with the only difference being the point of view characters. As opposed to the original story, which was told through the eyes and thoughts of Captain Kirk and a defecting Romulan, we start here with the same events as experienced solely by two Romulans, the defector once again and the relentless commander trying to stop her—even if it means killing her.
Once beyond the prologue, we pick up two decades later between the events chronicled in Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home and Star Trek V: The Final Frontier.
Since this story is over 17,000 words long, I decided to break it into three parts. I hope you enjoy part one of “Star Trek: The Clearer Path.”
“Star Trek: The Clearer Path” – Part I
Phil Giunta
PROLOGUE
“They just lost aft shields.”
The centurion glanced up from his station, the thrill of a victory close at hand evident in his voice. “And their main power system is rapidly failing.”
With his back turned to his bridge crew, Commander Zarred drew in a slow, deep breath feeling the heat of their stares as they awaited his next order. These are the moments he lived for, the life and death decisions. The choices only he was permitted to make. Right now, two options lay before him. By order of the Praetor, he was to capture the renegade and bring her back to ch’Rihan to answer for her crimes—or he could simply destroy her.
In the endless depths of space, battles are fought and lives are inevitably lost. Surely, the Praetor would understand. Either way, he would be glorified.
“Commander, they are sending a distress call.”
It would appear that the decision had been made for him. “Jam that frequency and open a channel.”
The centurion complied. “Done.”
“Charbarus, this is your absolute final chance to surrender. Your vessel can sustain no further punishment and your distress call is being jammed.” Zarred paused for a moment, allowing his quarry the time to grasp the hopeless reality of their situation. “No one can hear you, Jennera. I need your decision.”
The static that exploded from the vessel’s speakers did little to drown out the fury of the response. “Why not finish it now, Zarred? Whether or not I surrender to you, my life is forfeit.”
“If you and your crew agree to beam aboard my ship, I will personally see to your safety once we return home,” the commander offered. “And I may also be inclined to request a more… lenient penalty from the Praetor on your behalf. We are both, after all, military leaders and I am not without a certain feeling of regret for what is happening here.”
“Spoken like a true politician! I will not be used as a stepping-stone on your path to the Senate. Your own treachery and lies will get you there soon enough.”
Zarred slammed his fist into the nearby bulkhead. “You are in no position to insult! You are a traitor to the Empire like your husband before you, and your life can be extinguished just as swiftly–”
“Commander!”
The Romulan shot a threatening glare at his comm officer who cringed slightly as he continued. “A Federation starship has entered the Neutral Zone.”
No doubt responding to Jennera’s pitiful begging. Zarred motioned to the centurion to terminate the channel to the Charbarus. “Can you determine the class?”
“Impossible at this range.”
Hands clasped behind him, the commander began pacing, circling the centurions’ stations contemplating his next course of action. In order to determine the strength of an enemy, it was necessary to get near him undetected. However, he did not want to let the Charbarus out of his sight else run the risk of failing the Praetor. At which time, losing a seat on the Senate would be the least of his concerns.
Thus, if he were unable to move closer to the enemy, he would draw the enemy closer to him.
“Navigator, cloak!” he ordered. “Loran, discontinue the jam on the distress call and let us see if our Starfleet friends decide to play a hand in our game.”
***
Through the thick, reddish haze of her bridge, Commander Jennera stepped over the lifeless body of her weapons officer as an unfamiliar, yet no less welcome, voice replaced that of Zarred’s on the vessel’s comm system.
“Charbarus, this the Federation starship, Enterprise. What is your present condition?”
Flipping a switch on the panel, Jennera opened her mouth to reply but found herself wracked by a coughing fit as she inhaled the burning air. “Enterprise, our vessel was attacked. Most of my crew is dead. Our life support is nearly diminished. We need assistance, please.”
“Stand by, Charbarus.”
Moments passed that may as well have been an eternity as Jennera attempted to ignore the pain in her chest. Her lungs felt as if they were on fire as she caught herself slipping out of consciousness.
“Commander, either the Dak’l has just cloaked or our sensors are malfunctioning.”
Either possibility would not have been unexpected. Her vessel was little more than a drifting hulk now, but she was certain that Zarred picked up the Enterprise on his sensors the moment it entered the Neutral Zone. Jennera glanced over at Baren, her navigator and sole surviving crewmember out of the seven that joined her just one week ago. Unable to speak, she simply acknowledged him with a nod before the human’s voice returned over the comm system.
“Charbarus, we can transport your crew to the Enterprise if you can gather everyone on your bridge.”
Inhaling slowly this time, Jennera steadied herself against the console. “Give us five of your minutes, Enterprise.”
“Five minutes,” the voice acknowledged. “Enterprise out.”
Pushing herself up, Jennera found Baren at her side. He held out an oxygen mask. “The only functioning one left. I’ll wait here while you retrieve Tivun.”
With a quick nod, Jennera accepted the mask gratefully as she started towards the doors leading off the bridge.
***
“Five minutes. Enterprise out.”
With sudden movement, Zarred pointed to his weapons officer. “Prepare to decloak and fire on the Federation ship the moment she lowers her shields. Target her engines only.”
At that, Zarred once again turned his back to his crew as he stepped away toward the front of the bridge.
Yes, there would be glory here today.
***
Plunging through the door of her cabin, Jennera found herself struggling to keep her balance as she stumbled over massive chunks of debris scattered across the floor. With sudden dread, she glanced up and saw where it had all come from, then peered across the room through the dust ridden air and felt her heart stop. There, a young boy lay motionless, trapped beneath the bulk of the rubble.
“Tivun!”
Jennera’s cry was muffled through her oxygen mask. She called his name again as she approached but the child remained still, only his right shoulder and arm were exposed beyond the bottom of the pile. His face was turned to the side, green blood trickling from his forehead. To her relief, Jennera found a weak but discernible pulse.
Five minutes.
Her dread now turned to panic, she began grabbing pieces of debris and tossing them aside, digging wildly until she reached a length of titanium girder that had fallen across her son’s back. Unable to lift it, Jennera braced herself against what was left of the wall behind them and pushed the beam away with her legs. Wasting no time, she gently hefted the boy and dashed out of the cabin.
***
Raising his head with considerable effort, Baren turned to see his commanding officer return to the bridge, her bleeding son cradled in her arms. Without preamble, she headed directly to the comm panel and, pulling down her oxygen mask, pressed a blinking yellow button.
“We are ready for transport, Enterprise.”
“Acknowledged, Charbarus,” the human’s voice replied as Baren joined her. “Beginning transport… now.”
***
“Targeting enemy vessel.”
The weapons officer peered at the sensor readings scrolling across his monitor as he prepared to open fire on the Enterprise. No sooner had the weapons officer moved his hand over the tactical console, however, than he suddenly halted. “They have anticipated us!”
Zarred spun to face the man.
“The Enterprise opened fire the moment we decloaked!” the centurion reported.
“Helm, evasive!” the commander ordered.
Suddenly, the Romulan vessel was pitched to starboard, throwing Zarred against the navigation console. The commander’s experience told him that it was not weapons fire that struck them. What else then?
As the centurion at the helm worked frantically to stabilize the vessel, he turned to face the Commander. “We’re being struck by some form of debris.”
“Recloak and take us out of range!” Zarred ordered as he struggled to regain his balance and make his way to tactical.
The weapons officer looked up as he approached. “Enemy fire intended for us destroyed the Charbarus. The Federation vessel has already reversed course at warp speed and will be out of the Neutral Zone within minutes.”
“Shall we pursue, Commander?” the helmsman asked.
Zarred drew himself to his full height. He remained silent for several moments staring at the tactical console. “No,” he replied finally. “It is out of our hands now. Set a course for home, centurion. There will be no glory attained here this day.” But for you and I, Jennera, there will be a tomorrow and that day will be your last.
***
“We got ‘em, Captain!”
As a new world formed around her, Jennera began to feel suddenly light-headed. Disembodied voices, abrupt and filled with concern, echoed distantly in her head while darkness began closing in on her vision from all sides. Hands grabbed her roughly as walls shifted skyward and the floor rose to meet her. Her son was plucked from her grasp, yet she was inexplicably too weak to even utter a word of protest. Nausea welled up from the depths of her stomach as swirls of red and blue flashed past. It was then that she realized she was moving, though not of her own power.
Tivun? Baren?
She spoke their names, or at least thought she did. The only sound she heard was that of a gruff voice barking orders and cursing “pointed-eared gremlins”. Something cool pressed against the side of her neck. Almost at once, a tingling sensation filled her entire being and stayed with her even as everything else faded away.
***
Doctor Leonard ‘Bones’ McCoy glanced over his shoulder as the Sickbay doors parted to permit two men. Knowing their intent the moment he saw the duo, McCoy dismissed the nurse to whom he was speaking and stepped up to greet the commanding officers of the Enterprise.
“Don’t tell me you want to speak to our guests,” he began, holding up a hand as they approached. “Because I really don’t want to hear that.”
“Fine, I won’t tell you, then.” Captain James T. Kirk flashed a friendly grin in an attempt to charm his way past the cranky physician, but McCoy held his ground.
“Look, Jim, I don’t need you and joy-boy in here playing twenty questions with my patients. I’ll know when they’re ready to speak and when that time comes, I’ll tell you.”
“What is their condition, Doctor?” asked the Vulcan first officer, Spock, with typical apathy.
“Between the two crew members, everything from minor cuts to slight radiation poisoning and heavy smoke inhalation. The child, though, suffered a mild concussion and–”
“Child?” Kirk echoed in surprise.
“You heard me,” McCoy continued. “He should be conscious within the hour. The woman is drifting in and out but we’ll have her stable soon, and when she is, she’s going to have to donate blood to the boy. It’ll be some time, Jim.”
“Understood, Bones,” Kirk acknowledged as he placed a reassuring hand on McCoy’s shoulder.
“I have to say their resemblance to Vulcans is uncanny,” McCoy commented, peering over at Spock. “Like I didn’t have enough trouble with one of you already.”
“May I remind you, Doctor, that I am not one of them, nor is the reverse true,” the science officer retorted.
McCoy was taken aback. “Sorry, no offense intended, Spock.”
“None taken, I was merely correcting your error.”
With that the Vulcan turned and started toward the door. Kirk simply shrugged as he did the same. When the two were out of earshot, McCoy shook his head and made his way back towards the diagnostic beds. “Sometimes I think he actually enjoys doing that,” he grumbled.
***
Hours later, Kirk and Spock sat in anticipation as three burly security officers escorted McCoy and the two Romulans into the briefing room.
Feeling cleaner and healthier than she had in days, Jennera kept an air of confidence and energy about her as she sat down at the conference table. One of the security officers took up position along the wall directly behind her chair. Baren sat two seats down from his commander, and continued looking over his shoulder at the guard who stood behind him. Finally, he resolved to fold his hands atop the table and stare at them solemnly.
McCoy took a seat opposite Kirk while the last security officer stood just inside the door. At the end of the table, Spock inserted a disk into the conference room computer onto which all statements would be recorded.
Kirk looked over at the Romulan commander who returned his gaze resolutely. “I’m Captain James T. Kirk,” he informed her. “This is my first officer, Mister Spock.” He indicated the Vulcan with a nod.
“Please state your names and ranks for the record,” Spock ordered impassively.
The commander spoke in a hoarse but clear voice. “I am Commander Jennera of the Romulan Empire.” She said no more as she looked over to Baren who looked back at her then quickly over to Spock. “I am Centurion Baren, serving under Commander Jennera.” He spoke quickly, nervously.
“Commander, would you please explain why you were in the Neutral Zone?” inquired Kirk.
“We were attempting to reach Federation space,” Jennera replied matter-of-factly, as if this one sentence would explain everything. As expected, it did not although it caused many glances to dart around the room.
Without missing a beat, Spock continued the questioning. “To what end?”
“We were, and still are, attempting to defect.”
“What prompted this decision, Commander?” Kirk asked. Never mind Spock, his own curiosity was growing.
Jennera looked down at the table for an instant before answering. “My husband, Novan, was a senator in our government,” she began. “He was rather outspoken about his ideas of peace with the Federation. Once, during a senate conference, he went so far as to announce his ideas about reuniting with our Vulcan cousins.”
A look of more than mild surprise, if that was possible, crossed Spock’s face. “Such an undertaking would be rather massive and would mean taking great steps toward a compromise that I doubt your government would favor.”
“You are correct, Mister Spock. They did not favor it.” Jennera’s voice began to take on a darker tone. “Some of his fellow senators, even those he called his friends, began to turn on him. They denounced his ideas first as irrational and insane. It wasn’t long before news of my husband’s activities reached the Praetor through Romulan Intelligence. He ordered my husband arrested for treason.”
Closing her eyes for a moment to hold her composure, she continued. “He was imprisoned for three days without food or water. When the day finally came for his execution, it was decided that it would be a public spectacle as an example to others who supported him. They brought him to the middle of a courtyard in one of our government buildings. His hands were tied behind his back, and he could not even raise his head. The soldiers pushed him to his knees, fired three disrupters at the back of his head. He died instantly.”
“My God,” McCoy whispered.
***
After the briefing, security escorted the Romulans to their quarters leaving Kirk, Spock, and McCoy to ponder their fate.
McCoy was the first to break the silence. “What do you think Starfleet will do with them, Jim?”
Kirk leaned forward in his chair and rubbed his eyes tiredly. “I don’t know, Bones. I’m sure Intelligence will want to question them first. Maybe they’ll put them on a colony somewhere.”
Spock looked over at Kirk but hesitated a moment before speaking. “With your permission, Captain, I would like to contact the Vulcan ambassador and request sanctuary for them on Vulcan. He and I are… familiar with each other. And I hope he will see my logic.”
“Permission granted, Mister Spock,” Kirk said. “May I ask why you want to do this?”
“I, too, have considered the possibility of peace between my people and the Romulans. Although such an undertaking would prove extremely difficult, it can be attained with enough support. Perhaps not now, but in the near future, I would be prepared to assist in accomplishing this goal, especially now that I know there are others on the Romulan homeworld who feel the same.”
McCoy was about to comment on Spock’s use of the word “feel” but decided against it. He was very impressed with the Vulcan’s compassion for the Romulans they rescued today. “As you are so fond of saying, Spock, there are always possibilities.”
CHAPTER ONE – TWENTY-THREE YEARS LATER
A distant voice entered her mind, announcing their impending arrival. In her meditation, she silently acknowledged the information and began to draw her thoughts back to the world around her, or more to the point, the world she would soon be returning to.
Passenger shuttles were not necessarily the optimal choice of surroundings for meditation. However, Jennera had no other options under the circumstances. The Romulan holiday of Kerta was fast approaching and with her strenuous teaching schedule at Starfleet Academy, she was granted little time to prepare.
The purpose of Kerta was to set aside three days to reunite oneself with distant family members or those with whom one had been separated for an extreme length of time. Five years after defecting to the Federation, Jennera and her family had officially been registered as citizens of Vulcan and were settled on the colony of Renar Prime. With a climate more hospitable to non-Vulcans, Renar was founded just a decade earlier in a joint venture with the Andorians.
Not long after beginning her new life there, Jennera’s application to teach at Starfleet Academy had been accepted, albeit reluctantly. She had been given one semester per year teaching military history. As such, the first twelve years were not terribly difficult—nor highly stimulating—spending half a year at the academy and the other with her family.
That all changed six years ago, however, when the commandant asked if she would be interested in teaching military strategy and tactical combat. When the almost unbelievable offer was made, Jennera saw its underlying meaning.
After seventeen years, Starfleet finally trusted her.
The fact that such a sensitive position was being offered to a Romulan was not to be taken lightly. Although she knew the impact that her acceptance would have on her family, she knew in her heart that she would regret it if she turned down the offer.
Since then, as a consequence, she had not been close to her son but these few days a year. Though subspace communication allowed them to keep in touch well enough, the fact that she was not present for Tivun’s accomplishments as a young man had always weighed heavily on her heart.
Now, as the former commander opened her eyes, she took notice of the few scattered passengers that had remained aboard for the entire journey to Renar. Some were engrossed in conversations in alien languages that Jennera would probably never understand while others were simply fast asleep.
It was then that she suddenly felt a sensation as if she, too, was being observed. Before beginning her meditation just after the shuttle departed from its last drop off point, she had assured herself that she was completely alone in nearly the last row of seats. She found out differently when she casually tilted her head to the right and discovered a young human girl, probably no more that six standard years old, staring at her unabashedly. Feeling somewhat awkward by the innocent intrusion, Jennera gave the girl a tentative smile.
“Hello.”
“Hi,” the child replied cheerfully.
“Is there something I can do for you?”
“Nope. You’re very pretty.”
“Thank you,” Jennera bowed her head graciously. “You’re pretty, too.”
At that, the girl giggled and slid across the seat, stopping just beside the Romulan. “I never saw a real Vulcan before, only in pictures.”
“And what makes you think you’re seeing one now?” Jennera asked with mild amusement.
The girl pointed to the woman’s head. “Your ears.”
The Romulan found herself unable to hold in her laughter at the girl’s directness. “Of course.”
There was a brief silence between them as the girl continued to stare.
“Are you alone or are your parents with you?” Jennera asked finally.
The girl pointed once again, this time toward the front of the shuttle. Not surprisingly, she indicated two sleeping passengers. Just then, the same voice that stirred Jennera from her meditation repeated its earlier message adding that they were about to enter Renar Prime’s atmosphere. Peering through the viewport, Jennera could see the planet rapidly growing as they approached.
“You’d better strap in,” the little girl instructed. “Sometimes this gets bumpy.”
“Right,” Jennera acknowledged as she adjusted the seat belt around her waist. “So, I take it you travel the galaxy often?”
“Only once before, but I learned alot–”
“Calista!”
Looking up in unison, Jennera and her visitor saw that the parents had awakened and discovered, much to their annoyance, that their daughter had wandered off. Jennera received the impression that such an occurrence was not uncommon.
The girl’s mother was carefully making her way down the aisle towards them. “Calista Janeway, would you please stop bothering everyone you see?”
“It really was no bother,” Jennera assured her. “She is a very intelligent young lady.”
The woman peered down at her daughter, running her hand over the child’s blond locks. “Thank you. Unfortunately, she likes to make that known to as many people as possible.”
Reaching down, she took the girl’s hand in hers. “Let’s go, space cadet.” As her mother led her back to the front of the shuttle, Calista turned and waved a good-bye to Jennera.
She wondered why the human family was coming to Renar as most of the residents were either Vulcan or Andorian. There were a few humans, mostly scientists and they were all single the last time Jennera was here. Perhaps they were visiting a distant relative as she herself was. Seeing the girl with her parents reminded Jennera of how much she missed her own son, and the husband she lost long ago.
***
A temperate breeze welcomed Jennera as she stepped from the shuttle to Renar Prime’s spaceport complex. Shielding her eyes from the sun’s impenetrable glow, she noticed two familiar faces standing just outside the building’s entrance. In what had long ago become a force of habit when in public, Jennera raised her hand and parted her fingers in the traditional Vulcan greeting as she approached the two men who likewise returned the gesture.
As the humans say, when in Rome…
“It’s good to see you again, mother,” Tivun began.
“Indeed, I’m pleased to see the two of you looking well,” his mother replied. Looking to Baren, she continued. “I trust you’ve accomplished a great deal with your projects since our last communication.”
“We certainly have,” Baren said as he motioned them toward a hovercar parked on the east landing pad. Far behind them, a supply freighter was just lifting off to begin its return voyage. “The modified navigational sensor array I developed will soon be a standard installation in all future shuttles built here and on Vulcan. In addition, Starfleet is examining the design for potential use in their starships.”
“Congratulations.”
“You may want to save some of that for Tivun as well. He has been an incredibly adept student and the fruits of his own labor await your inspection at our workshop.”
“Really?” Jennera eyed her son with a curious gaze. “Now, I truly can’t wait–”
Her words were suddenly drowned out by what at first sounded like an exaggerated clap of thunder. All around them, startled screams and gasps of surprise echoed. Turning their sights to the sky, a fireball spun wildly out of control where the freighter had once been. People began running for cover, anticipating the shower of metal and plasteel that would soon begin raining down.
“Into the shuttle now!” Baren yelled.
As mother and son piled into the rear passenger seats, the veteran helmsman activated the anti-gravity controls and began lift off, throwing the vehicle into full forward thrust. Everyone was pressed back into their seats as the hovercar shot out of the facility. A second explosion rumbled above and it was not long before Baren found himself dodging a shower of charred debris.
Then another sound, at first faint and unfamiliar, made Jennera turn and peer at the spot they just left behind. The sound grew louder as she did so and at that point, it was no longer a mystery. Before anyone could comment, the roof of the craft was slammed, hurling it to the ground. Baren struggled to retain control but the effort was in vain. The collision with the surface appeared to have disabled at least two anti-gravity emitters. It was a tribute to his piloting skill that Baren was able to prevent the car from tumbling end over end before finally coming to rest in a field of Andorian gowdle crops.
Slightly dazed but otherwise unscathed, Jennera leaned towards her son as Baren climbed unsteadily out of the vehicle. “Tivun?”
“I think I’m fine. I can move without pain,” he assured her. “Of course, the biggest piece of the freighter would land on us.”
“That wasn’t debris,” Baren informed them. “Jennera, take a look at this.”
Kicking open the crumpled passenger door, Tivun scrambled out first and turned to offer his mother a helping hand. With surprising agility, however, Jennera sprang from the rear seat unaided before turning to examine the source of Baren’s concern.
The telltale scorch marks bordering the hole in the hovercar’s roof made any further explanation unnecessary. By this time, Tivun had taken several steps away to stare back at the spaceport, which appeared to be under a violent siege.
Small, unfamiliar fighter craft were hovering above, firing down at the complex and severely outgunning the facility’s ground to air phaser cannons. While the trio watched, three of the fighters touched down and released ground troops, some of whom began seizing individuals from the panic-stricken crowd while others stormed the complex itself. Even as questions of who and why raced through their minds, Jennera could not determine the identity of the assailants from such a distance.
“Baren,” Tivun’s voice broke through the chaos. “I think it would be wise if we found a place to hide… right now.”
“This field is too expansive,” the man replied without shifting his gaze from the spaceport. “We’d be on foot for hours. Besides, this assault seems to be concentrated solely on the base.”
“You might think otherwise if you looked behind you.”
In unison, Jennera and Baren spun to find one of the attack ships closing in rapidly from the horizon.
“That must be the one that fired on us,” Jennera surmised.
“Break up and stay low,” Baren said. “This gowdle is tall and thick. Hopefully, it’ll be sufficient to hide us from a visual scan.”
The three parted in widely different directions, putting as much distance as possible between themselves and the crash site. Reducing speed significantly as it neared, the mysterious vessel was upon them within seconds. Baren took the opportunity to observe its design. The midsection of the dark blue, oval shaped hull was parted into two sections, each narrowing almost to points at the ship’s fore. The tips of the sections appeared to contain torpedo bays while a dual gun turret protruded from its underbelly.
Finally, the fighter continued in the direction of the spaceport. Once he was satisfied that it was not about to double back, Baren slowly began making his way toward the hovercar. Within just a few meters, he could see Jennera and Tivun doing the same—until a shadow suddenly fell over them and the ground erupted with unnatural force. Before his mind could even react to the attack ship that decloaked overhead, Baren found himself propelled through several rows of gowdle before landing in a breathless heap. Pain screamed through his chest and shoulder blades as he fought his own body just to rise to his knees.
The spot where he stood only moments ago was now but a small crater in the soil. Above the crackling of burning vegetation, Baren thought he heard the distinctive whine of a transporter beam. Where Jennera had been walking, there was now only flame. Then, just as suddenly, the shadow faded and sunlight returned leaving a cool, soothing wind to spread the fires until the entire field was consumed.
CHAPTER TWO
Captain’s Log: Stardate 8412.3
The Enterprise has been ordered to Renar Prime where we are to rendezvous with the USS Hawkeye. According to preliminary reports, the colony was attacked just eighteen hours ago. The identity of the perpetrators, and their reasons, are as of yet unknown. Upon our arrival, Mister Spock and Mister Chekov will accompany me to a conference with Starfleet Intelligence aboard the Hawkeye.
“Do you recall Commander Jennera?”
Struggling to catch his breath after twenty laps around the ship’s gymnasium, Captain Kirk halted in mid step. Leaning forward, he placed his hands on his knees as beads of perspiration streamed down his face. Finally drawing himself to his full height, he began a cool-down walk as his mind grasped a memory from what felt like a lifetime ago.
“The Romulan defector we pulled out of the Neutral Zone.”
Beside him, Spock nodded. “The same.”
Having entered the gym only moments ago, the Vulcan clasped his hands behind his back as he kept pace with Kirk. “You may also remember that at the time, I mentioned that I would speak with Ambassador Sarek in an effort to arrange for the commander and her son to settle on Vulcan.”
“Come to think of it, yes,” the captain confirmed. “Was your father successful?”
“Indeed he was. However, it was soon learned that Vulcan’s climate was unbearable for the Romulans, having several adverse effects on their health. As such, they were promptly relocated to Renar Prime.”
Hearing that, Kirk stopped suddenly and faced his longtime friend and first officer. “So, that’s why Starfleet wants us involved.”
“It is a logical explanation,” Spock continued. “Further, it may also be plausible to infer that something happened to the Romulans during the attack. Though until the conference, we will remain in the dark.”
***
“Lights.”
Aboard the USS Hawkeye ten hours later, Colonel Victor Dresden of Starfleet Intelligence turned to face the conference room table and waited for those seated around it to shift their attentions from the wall monitor behind him.
When the room returned to full illumination, the colonel rose from his seat to address the attendees. Opposite Dresden, at the head of the table, sat the ship’s Andorian captain, Auran. To his left, Kirk was flanked on either side by Spock and Commander Pavel Chekov. The remaining seats were filled by Auran’s security chief and two more officers from Intelligence.
“The footage you just watched was recorded by the docking facility’s short range sensors,” Dresden began. “The attack ships have been identified as a new class of Orion raiders, consisting of a three-man cockpit, a small cargo hold and one disruptor turret on the dorsal and ventral hulls. They have impulse only propulsion, no warp capability, which means they had to have been launched by a mother ship.”
“Why didn’t the mother ship appear on the spaceport’s long range sensors?” Chekov asked.
“Commander, that’s a loaded question which brings me to the reason for this meeting and why all of you are here. The Orions rarely strike planetary targets so blatantly this far into Federation space. The few instances that have occurred in the past were motivated either by poor profits in the slave trade or because they were hired by a third party to acquire something… or someone. Starfleet thinks that in this case, that third party is the Romulans.”
Kirk shot a glance at Spock in an unspoken confirmation of the Vulcan’s earlier hypothesis.
“What evidence do you have to support this?” Captain Auran sat forward in his chair. “The fact that Orions have cloaking devices? I’m surprised they haven’t started using them years ago. You can’t tell me the technology behind them is so well protected by the Romulans and Klingons that it doesn’t leak out to the black market which is practically run by the Orions. They are, after all, a group of organized criminals and as such, I doubt they would hesitate to equip their vessels with cloaking devices on their own without Romulan involvement or knowledge.”
“And in doing so, it would not take long for the Romulans to discover this and possibly declare war on the Orion syndicate,” Spock interjected. “I assure you, they would not tolerate their technology being acquired through such illegal means.”
“Captain Auran,” Dresden began. “If this were the only evidence we had, then we would agree with you but as Captain Spock has indicated, the Orions, as bold as they are, would not jeopardize their organization so recklessly.”
The colonel paused before launching into the details of the investigation. “Just ten minutes before the assault began, an instructor from Starfleet Academy arrived in Renar Prime to visit her family. She has since been counted among the seventy-four reported missing, all presumably abducted by the Orions to supply the slave market.
“However, we have gathered evidence indicating that the entire raid was staged to divert our attention from their true target, the Academy instructor. A woman who, as our guests from the Enterprise can confirm, defected to the Federation from the Romulan military over two decades ago.”
“Jennera.” Kirk filled in the blank that was evident in the curious stares suddenly aimed at him from Auran and his security chief. By their expressions, the two were more than astonished at the thought of such a person being permitted to teach at the Academy.
“We have agents in Orion space who have confirmed that Jennera is being taken back to Romulus to be executed for treason against the Empire. Needless to say, gentlemen, that is unacceptable. As you can imagine, Jennera gained a great deal of knowledge about Starfleet operations during her tenure and there is no question that she will be interrogated upon returning to her homeworld.”
“Are you saying she hasn’t arrived there yet?” Kirk inquired.
“She has not.”
Dresden turned back to the wall monitor and pressed a button on the control panel beneath it. On the screen, a schematic appeared displaying the border between Federation and Orion space.
“The closest Orion outpost is on a small moon known as Thora,” the colonel explained. “It’s a well known black market site for the sale of slaves. Currently, this is where Jennera is being held. According to last report, a Romulan vessel is en route to Thora to take custody of her. I’d like to make sure they don’t get that opportunity. A defense shield prevents beaming on or off the surface. Thus, any rescue operation will entail landing a ground team.”
“In that case, can’t your agents on Thora handle that themselves since they’re already there?” Auran questioned.
“Certainly they can handle it, Captain, but we don’t want them to. Those agents have gained the trust of several highly placed individuals in the Orion syndicate and have been feeding us information that has allowed us to stop several major criminal activities in the Federation. I will not jeopardize their lives or their connections by ordering them to take any action that would expose them.
“That’s why I’ve called this meeting. Captain Kirk, I am formally requesting your assistance in retrieving Jennera before she is turned over to the Romulans.”
Caught off guard, Kirk hesitated for a moment before responding determinedly. “Of course, I’ll brief my senior staff and have the Enterprise ready in–”
Dresden held up a hand. “Actually, Captain, your ship will not be needed. We have a much more nondescript vessel at our disposal. Rather, I am asking that you, Mister Spock and Mister Chekov join the crew I’ve assembled for this operation. ”
The colonel indicated the two agents seated opposite Kirk, both of whom remained silent throughout the entire proceedings. “Majors Kwan and Lipinski. Kwan will be our tactical and weapons officer and Doctor Lipinski, our medic.”
Kirk exchanged nods of acknowledgment with them as Dresden concluded the conference.
“How soon can you be ready, Captain?”
“Give us one hour.”
“Very good,” the colonel approved. “Needless to say, no Starfleet uniforms or insignia of any kind will be worn. We’ll meet on the surface at the docking facility. I’ll transmit the coordinates to you as soon as you’re ready to beam down. Until then, gentlemen.”
***
Upon returning to the Enterprise, Kirk called a brief meeting with all department heads and filled them in on the situation at hand. After placing Chief Engineer Montgomery Scott in command during his absence, he went straight to his quarters. Changing into nondescript civilian clothing, he packed a few essentials in a small duffel bag and headed directly to Transporter Room One where Spock and Chekov were already waiting.
No sooner had he entered than he addressed the officer at the transporter controls without missing a beat. “Aren’t you on the wrong deck?”
“Aye,” Scotty replied. “I’ll be takin’ my place on the bridge once I’ve seen the three of ya off…”
“How considerate.”
“… and asked ye a favor.”
“Which is?” Kirk asked curiously, half expecting the answer.
“This mysterious ship ye mentioned, the one yer usin’ for this mission, I’d like to get a good look at her if I could, when ye get back.”
“I’ll try to arrange a grand tour, Mister Scott,” the captain assured him. “Did you get the coordinates from the Hawkeye?”
“Received and laid-in.”
Kirk looked at his companions and, after confirming their readiness, addressed the engineer one final time. “Energize.”
***
The fading transporter room quickly changed to an expansive open air docking port. Darkness covered the three men as the sun was just now setting on the opposite side of the spaceport tower, but even shadows could not conceal the damage inflicted on the structure and surrounding region. It was unsettling, Kirk mused, to witness first hand the aftermath of a battle that had been nothing more than images on a screen just hours ago.
“Vhat a mess,” Chekov muttered.
As they took in more of the area, it became clear that the destruction was not contained solely within the boundaries of the spaceport. Just a few kilometers to the right, a sprawling, blackened field scarred the surrounding landscape as countless rows of crops lay burned to the ground, wasted. Having been raised on a farm himself, Kirk grimaced at the sight.
Further observation was interrupted as Dresden emerged from around the corner of the building, having swapped his uniform for a simple black jumpsuit. On a man of his stature, the outfit gave the Intelligence officer a noticeably dangerous bearing even without the phaser holstered to his side.
“This way, gentlemen.”
With no further greeting, he turned and hurried back toward where he had come. By the time the Starfleet officers started after him, Dresden had already disappeared behind the building. No sooner did they catch up to him than they halted in their tracks. Across the landing platform sat a sleek black vessel, approximately five times the size of a Starfleet shuttle and similarly shaped.
A raised rectangular section protruded from atop the ventral hull, which Kirk presumed to be the bridge. Beneath the craft, a pair of massive warp nacelles were remarkably out of proportion with the rest of the ship. A small photon torpedo bay was built into the forward hull while phaser banks were set into the port and starboard bows.
If only Scotty could see this now, Kirk couldn’t help but to think. All in all, it was an impressive ship visually.
“A modified Vulcan design,” Spock announced, as if reading his captain’s mind.
“Correct,” Dresden said. “Her name is the Sotek, and if you’ll all follow me, I’ll introduce you to the engineers who built her.”
Making their way through the gate, it was only a few meters to the entrance ramp. Once inside, Dresden led them to the bridge where two men stood hunched over a console, their backs to the new arrivals, until one turned suddenly as if anticipating them.
“Captain Kirk, Mister Spock,” the man nodded quickly. “It’s good to see you’re both doing well.”
“Baren,” Kirk said, recognition striking instantly. He was genuinely amazed that the Romulan had hardly aged in two decades. It was then that the other man, much younger than Baren, looked up from the console.
“Tivun, I presume,” Spock said.
For himself, Kirk could scarcely believe his eyes. Unfortunately, what he was seeing through them threatened to make him feel old. Fleetingly, he wanted to comment on remembering Tivun as a small child but thought the better of it, deciding instead to introduce Chekov.
While the group became reacquainted, Dresden took the opportunity to call Kwan and Lipinski to the bridge. Within moments, the entire crew of the Sotek was gathered.
“Status report, Kwan,” the colonel requested.
“Captain Auran has been briefed on his mission and has departed,” the woman said. “The Enterprise has been ordered to remain on standby and will rendezvous with us at the assigned coordinates upon our return.”
“What are those coordinates?” Kirk inquired. He didn’t like the idea of total strangers giving orders where his ship was concerned. Nevertheless, the Intelligence man would not relent.
“They will be disclosed upon the successful completion of this expedition.” Dresden stepped back to address everyone. “Before we embark, I want to be sure that all of you are clear as to your individual roles. Although I am responsible for the overall mission, Captain Kirk will take command of this vessel. Baren will be our helmsman, Mister Chekov, our navigator. Tivun will be stationed at the engineering console and Mister Spock will track and analyze sensor data. Any questions?”
“How much time do we have to familiarize ourselves with this ship?” Kirk asked.
“Take all the time you need,” Dresden replied. “On the way to Thora.”