Myriad Universes_ Echoes And Refractions Part 15

"Okay," the boy replied, and resumed swiping the air with his novel appendage. McCoy motioned to David to follow, and together they made their way down the promenade around the perimeter of the stadium, which was lined with endless rows of cots and gurneys.

David raised up his prosthetic hand and examined the fingers as he flexed them repeatedly. He looked over at McCoy. "Doctor, do you believe in karma?"

McCoy offered back a perplexed expression. "First of all, we're both doctors here, so call me Leonard. Second of all...what the h.e.l.l are you talking about?"

David shook his head. "Think about it. The Klingons killed my father. Now, a weapon that I created is killing the fathers of Klingon children." His eyes focused on the patterns in the stone floor under his feet. He felt too ashamed to raise them. "I just want it to stop. I want this all to be over."

"It is over, David," McCoy a.s.sured him. "You couldn't have stopped this, you know. Every weapon that's ever been fired in a war has relied upon technology that usually had benign origins. We always strive to better ourselves with invention and ingenuity, but someone else will always come along and try to use that same technology to create death and destruction. But we can't let those forces stop the advance of science. We just have to trust that, eventually, enough good people will do the right thing."

"I know you're right," David said, "but it doesn't make me feel much better." He stopped walking. Rows upon rows of injured Klingon civilians still lay sprawled out before him. The sounds of pain and suffering still filled the air. He looked up at the ceiling, sucked in his breath, and wept.

McCoy approached him and placed his arm over his shoulders. "It's all right, David," he a.s.sured him. "You're gonna be okay."

David sniffed, and reached up to wipe the moisture from his face. "It's just that...every day when I think I'm going to be okay, something new happens...some new unexpected crisis swoops down like a vulture and rips my heart out."

"Yep," McCoy said. "But the good news is that every day, it grows right back. The only time you should start to worry is if one day, it doesn't." McCoy gave him a pat. "You want to get to work?"

David smiled weakly. His heart remained in its proper place. As long as he still had the capacity to feel, he would be okay. "Yeah, I think I really do."

"Let's get to it," McCoy said, and together they approached a nearby bed where an elderly woman lay. McCoy picked up the chart. "Now, what can we do to fix you, young lady?"

"...and it is the most sincere hope of every citizen of the Federation that, by establishing a peaceful and mutually beneficial coexistence, never again will any world under any banner suffer the tragic loss of life that befell all of us during this terrible period of strife and conflict."

The words of President Ra-ghoratreii echoed through the conference hall at Camp Khitomer, a newly established settlement on a planet in neutral, unclaimed territory. Banners depicting the colors and symbols of each Federation world hung proudly around the outer walls of the great room, but among them, displayed in a prominent location, was the emblem of the Klingon Empire-undoubtedly an effort on the part of the Federation negotiators to appear conciliatory toward their defeated adversaries as they continued to arbitrate the terms of their surrender.

Upon the stage, beside the podium where the president was making his introductory speech to open the session, a conference table had been set. To one side, next to the president's empty chair sat the Vulcan vice president, Sentek, alongside Starfleet Admirals West and Thelin. At the other end of the table, Chancellor Gorkon of the Klingon Empire was seated with his daughter Azetbur, who, as senior councillor, a.s.sumed most of the roles of second in command; his chief of staff, General Chang; and his military adviser, Brigadier Kerla. Throughout the hall, rows upon rows of spectator seating remained unoccupied save for a court reporter and two security officers. Barring a ma.s.sive failure of the treaty negotiations, those seats would soon be filled with diplomats, dignitaries, and press, poised to hear the announcement of peaceable accords between the two galactic superpowers. But for now, the session was closed, for without mutually acceptable terms, the cessation of hostilities remained tenuous and unsettled.

"Relief efforts are ongoing," the president continued, "and the unprecedented cooperation between Federation and Klingon organizations and agencies committed to the welfare of all our civilian populations bodes quite well for the future of our relations as we press forward into this new and undiscovered realm."

Thelin gazed across the table at the leaders of the Klingon people, who gave the outward appearance of being defeated in every sense of the word. Despite Ra-ghoratreii's earnest attempts to keep the tone of the occasion positive and uplifting, Gorkon let his head hang low, his eyes staring down at the table, his ears barely catching a word spoken thus far in the proceedings.

"Yet in the shadow of death, new life is brought forth: Our best scientific research teams have concluded that Praxis is now stable and fertile, and in due time will be quite well suited for resettlement. In fact, it would seem that providence has brought about a most ironic twist, as our data suggests that the planetary core had in fact been growing quite unstable, and that in lieu of radical intervention such as that brought about by the Genesis effect, Praxis might have suffered a cataclysmic geological event within a year's time."

General Chang pounded his fist on the table. Though the chancellor seemed humbled, Chang and his one good eye-the one not covered by a dark, crudely attached patch-still retained a glimmer of spirited defiance. "Ghay'cha'!!!" he growled. "How much longer must we subject ourselves to this infernal Federation propaganda?"

The president paused his address. "Forgive me, General," he said, bowing his head with genuine sincerity. "It was not my intent to be patronizing."

"Patronizing?" Chang laughed softly, and his speech became soft and measured, almost rehea.r.s.ed. "What other purpose can our presence here possibly serve but to be patronized? Our time is over; our age of glory has pa.s.sed, carried on the winds of time. Have we not heard the chimes at midnight? Let us finish it. Let us sit upon the ground, and tell sad stories of the death of kings."

Ra-ghoratreii stepped out from behind the podium and slowly walked back to the conference table. "Perhaps it is better that we dispense with the formalities. Clearly we still have much work to do if we are to find common ground." He took his seat, and folded his hands atop the table.

Chancellor Gorkon lifted his head and momentarily shrugged off his trancelike malaise. "I fear, Mr. President, that the common ground may be so elusive as to be un.o.btainable. We sit here this day only because the High Council will not abide the genocidal elimination of our people."

The president's eyes widened with alarm at the suggestion. "Chancellor," he a.s.sured him. "I cannot stress enough our unilateral opposition to any policy that seeks the annihilation of another race."

"Is that so?" Gorkon replied cynically. "Where, then, would you draw the line if every Klingon who yet draws breath were willing to defend his honor to the death? When would you concede defeat while you still retain the power to wipe out billions in a single strike?" A simpering look crossed his sharp Klingon visage as he slowly shook his head. "Your challenge, sir, is not to compel us to sign whatever treaty you find acceptable. Your challenge is to convince billions of Klingon men and women to set aside their innate desires to seek honor in retribution, and to accept your vision of a brave new world."

Thelin spoke up. "Chancellor, I know that I speak for most Andorians when I say that our volatile pa.s.sions drove us headlong into this conflict, with no thoughts of a peaceful resolution. But I have seen firsthand how the rules of war have changed. I have seen what it means to possess the power, not only to exterminate our enemies, but also to destroy ourselves in the process. We have reached a threshold, beyond which only through peace can either of our civilizations survive."

Chang stood up, his frustration bursting forth from every pore. "And what, pray tell, is so honorable about 'survival'? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all. You speak of peace; I ask, what use is peace when our generation will be remembered with dishonor for all eternity?"

Thelin kept his response calm and measured. "I would suggest, General, that future generations may judge you much less harshly than you antic.i.p.ate," he said. "A great man once taught me that one's legacy is never measured by what one accomplishes in life, but rather by the hope one leaves behind when one is gone."

Chang stared at him for several long seconds before sitting back down. "Empty plat.i.tudes," he muttered. "Hypocritical moralizing from the greatest war criminal that the universe has ever known."

The room fell silent. Seated next to the president, Sentek raised an eyebrow.

War criminal? Thelin pondered. The words struck like a blade through his chest. Was this the reputation he had garnered for his actions during the conflict? Was that to be his legacy in the annals of the Klingon Empire?

"Now just a minute," Admiral West said firmly, extending a scolding finger in the direction of the visiting entourage. "You're talking to a decorated Starfleet admiral. His actions have always been guided by the rules of war."

"Rules of war?" Brigadier Kerla interjected with a nonplussed inflection. "What an interesting choice of words. Here is what we know from our own intelligence reports: that Thelin of Andoria was directly responsible for the murder of at least two senior officers aboard the Katai, that he directed and carried out a series of civilian ma.s.sacres against the Archanis colonies, and that he led the mission to deploy the Federation's new weapon, exterminating the population of Praxis as if they were bothersome insects." He turned toward the president. "What, precisely then, is disallowed under your 'rules of war'?"

"This is ridiculous," West said, leaning back in his chair. He gestured broadly with his right hand. "Shall we run down the litany of acts committed by the Klingon overseers against the population of Earth these last five years?"

"Stop it!" Azetbur shouted. All the delegates at the table turned toward the chancellor's daughter-her eyes narrowed, her teeth grinding with aggravation. "Have you all forgotten why we are here?" she asked softly. "What's done is done. The past is gone. We are not fit to judge our own prior actions. That right is left to Kahless, or whatever deity you choose to serve. What is at stake here today is the future of both our races. What we must decide is whether or not our children will be given a chance to grow up, and find their honor in their own way."

Thelin looked down. How would Uzaveh the Infinite, the Andorian creator, judge him? He had created nothing-he had no progeny, and he had left Andor at a critical time, when he might have helped to solve the crises plaguing the world. From his legacy, nothing was made whole. Instead, his path was marred by swaths of destruction.

Ra-ghoratreii nodded toward Azetbur. "Honorable councillor, at least on that point, we are in agreement. So I beg you, tell me...what must be done to preserve both of our people's futures?"

Chang shook his head. "How naive have we all become? Can you not see the hopelessness of these desires? We are wasting our time here. I have lent my ear to the people of Qo'noS. They do not desire peace. They wish to die on their feet, fighting to the last. Hath not a Klingon pa.s.sions? p.r.i.c.k us, do we not bleed? Wrong us...shall we not revenge?" He clenched his fist, and it shook with the repressed anger of a billion dishonored souls.

Thelin's heart sank as he a.s.sessed his role in the events that had brought them to this juncture. You're opening Pandora's box. David's words, now seeming so poignantly true, echoed through the Andorian's mind. As it happened, Thelin had known little of Earth mythology until his visit with Arne Darvin five years before had motivated him to do some research. But it was all too clear now. Starfleet was his beloved-his Pandora-and like a cursed son of Iapetus he had allowed her to release such enduring evils into the universe. Only one thing remained...and that was hope.

A hope that could be realized only through sacrifice.

Thelin rose to his feet. "The solution seems clear to me." All those present turned their attention toward the Andorian and his suddenly confident demeanor.

Thelin looked to each member of the Klingon delegation in turn. "Unquestionably, the Klingon people will not accept a peaceable accord unless honor can be satisfied. What you require is a pariah-a man who will accept full responsibility for the dishonorable acts against the Klingon Empire, and who will face the consequences."

Ra-ghoratreii raised a hand to silence him. "Thelin! Sit down. You don't realize what you're saying."

The Andorian looked down at the president, his antennae standing rigidly at attention. "On the contrary, Mr. President, I realize exactly what I am saying." And his voice firmly conveyed that realization-the wisdom of a man who, for the first time, fully comprehended his purpose in life. "Tell me, Chancellor Gorkon, would my extradition provide sufficient reconciliation to appease your people, so that they might accept a peaceful resolution?"

Gorkon blinked at him, pausing to consider in-depth the ramifications of this proposal. He looked over at his daughter, who raised her eyebrows with intrigue, and he nodded slowly. "I think, were we to properly frame this act as reparation for an honor debt, it might." He looked over to Chang, who remained silent but appeared mollified. "Indeed, it might. But you must be aware," he continued, returning his focus to Thelin, "your extradition presupposes your guilt. Of course, you have the right to a trial, where you will be found guilty and summarily executed."

"I understand," Thelin said. "But if this is the only way to stop an imminent apocalypse, is it not a small price to pay?"

Ra-ghoratreii held up his hand, becoming exasperated that this matter was proceeding so rapidly beyond his control. "Thelin...the Federation does not simply turn over Starfleet admirals for trial in foreign courts, especially in the wake of a military victory. If you do this, we will disavow any support for your actions."

Thelin faced him with immutable confidence. "What I do here today, I do of my own free will as an individual." And for the first time, he thought, I will know my purpose. I will be the catalyst for reconciliation. I will become whole.

The president stood and faced the Andorian, stepping in close to him and lowering his voice to a whisper. "Thelin...we don't yet know what other options may reveal themselves. If you do this, there's no turning back."

Thelin smiled. "Mr. President, we both know that there are no other options. Let me do my part. The rest is up to you."

The Efrosian bowed his head in a measure of respect that he afforded only the truly deserving few. "I-I'm not sure what to say, except that your sacrifice here on this day will not soon be forgotten." He placed his hand upon Thelin's shoulder. "Do you require time to put your affairs in order?"

"Sir, my affairs are in order. I have no family; yet I count among my children all the young men and women throughout the Federation who will gain hope for the future. For them, I regret having only one life to give."

Gorkon stood, and his daughter immediately did so as well. He pounded his fist against his chest, and then extended his arm in the manner of the Klingon salute. "Thelin of Andoria," he said. "For these last days of your life, you will be the bane of the Klingon Empire-an object of hatred, the lightning rod for the fury of a scorned and defeated race. You are the ransom for the sins of your people. But one day," he said, extending his arms and bowing from the shoulders, "I believe you will be remembered among the honored figures of our history. Qapla'!"

Epilogue.

"Thank you!" David shouted behind him as he stepped quickly down the boarding ramp of the commercial shuttlecraft Ladyhawke. "You'll be back at this time tomorrow, then?"

"Unless you call to tell me otherwise," his hired pilot called back down to him. "You can raise me at the orbital s.p.a.cedock."

The words began to fade, for David had already made his way down off the landing pad and onto the walkway that snaked its way through colorful gardens to the front entrance of the emba.s.sy. He turned and gave the pilot a thumbs-up signal, and the shuttle engines roared to life as the craft ascended through the twilight sky.

Romulus, David thought, as he added it to his ever-increasing list of visited worlds. The evening air was warm, but much more humid than the dry, desert environment he had grown accustomed to, and it tantalized the senses with smells of innumerable types of flora and other living things.

As he approached the large bra.s.s gates, they suddenly swung outward with surprising force, and there stood Saavik, stunning in a flowing gown as the lights of the mansion behind her cast a radiant halo about her silhouetted form. She rushed forward to where David stood and threw her arms around him, holding him so tightly that David wondered if she might be terrified to let go.

"I'm so pleased that you were able to come," she spoke softly into his ear.

"I'm really glad to be here," he replied. "I've wanted to visit ever since you took this a.s.signment." They loosened their embrace, and David held her at arm's length, looking into her eyes, and finding within them an unmistakable glimmer of apprehension. "Saavik, what's wrong?"

She winced, and choked back a sob. "Everything is wrong, David. It's all falling apart." She took a deep breath, and looked up at the sky as starlight began to emerge from under the veil of dusk. "The diplomatic crisis with the Federation is escalating. They're recalling amba.s.sadors from planets throughout both quadrants. They've even pulled Caithlin Dar out of Nimbus III."

"My G.o.d," David said with shock. "I had no idea things had gotten so far out of hand."

Saavik nodded. "There's no a.s.surance that the emba.s.sy here will remain much longer. The bureaucrats are more interested in winning an arms race than maintaining goodwill with the other galactic powers." She looked back into David's eyes and sighed deeply. "I'm sorry to burden you with this."

"No, don't be!" David a.s.sured her. "Your burdens are mine, too."

She smiled. "Have you had an evening meal?"

"Oh, I'm fine. I grabbed a bite on the shuttle."

"Then walk with me," she said, offering her arm to him.

As they strolled through the courtyard inside the emba.s.sy gates, David couldn't recall a time in recent memory when he had felt so much at peace. Quaint lanterns illuminated their path as they pa.s.sed by ornately sculpted fountains, the sound of their trickling water blending beautifully with the rustle of the balmy breeze through the surrounding foliage.

Saavik was calmer now; David's presence seemed to soothe her volatile affect and to allow her Vulcan upbringing to manifest itself. They walked without speaking, but the silence was relaxed and comforting, as it could be only between two people who shared a genuine intimacy. Only when it felt appropriate did she finally break the stillness.

"As it happens," she said, "I am eligible to pet.i.tion for Romulan citizenship. It is my birthright."

"But..." David responded with confusion. "Wouldn't you have to renounce your Federation citizenship? Sever your ties to Vulcan?"

"I don't know. Perhaps..." she said, sounding detached and indifferent. "But I don't know who to believe in anymore. All I know is that if I am to be recalled, and this emba.s.sy is to close its doors, I would rather stay here than return to Vulcan."

"You can believe in me," David a.s.sured her. "If there is no one else you can count on-no one you can trust-you can have faith that I will stand by you."

"Thank you, David," she said. "But I'm afraid we will be worlds apart." Her voice dwindled away to a weak whisper. "Don't worry about me. I've spent most of my life alone."

"Not anymore," he whispered back. He removed his communicator from his vest pocket with his left hand and flipped it open. "David Marcus to Ladyhawke. Captain Dillon, come in."

"Dillon here," the response came back.

"Change of plans, Captain," David said. "Go on and head for home. Looks like I'll be staying here longer than planned." He looked at Saavik and smiled. "Maybe a lot longer," he said softly.

"Roger that," Dillon replied. "Good luck to ya."

Saavik grasped David's right hand and caressed it. "You will do this for me?" she asked. "But...Earth has been liberated. What about your home? What about the Federation?"

David laughed sweetly. "Saavik...I've spent more years of my life with you than I've spent living on Earth. That's not my home. Your home is my home, whatever your decision may be. And besides..." He flipped his communicator closed and tossed it aside, then wrapped his arm around her and drew her close. "I think the Federation will be just fine without us."

A Gutted World Keith R.A. DeCandido

Historian's Note This novel takes place in the year 2373 on the Old Earth calendar, the equivalent of the fifth season of Star Trek: Deep s.p.a.ce Nine and the third season of Star Trek: Voyager, and in the vicinity of the events of Star Trek: First Contact.

A dirty house in a gutted world, A tatter of shadows peaked to white, Smeared with the gold of the opulent sun.

-Wallace Stevens "A Postcard from the Volcano"

1.

s.p.a.ce Station Terok Nor In Orbit of Bajor Carda.s.sian Union "I can a.s.sure you, Dalin, that I am but a plain, simple clothier. I've no idea where the shapeshifter might be."

Corat Damar-who still wasn't used to being referred to by his newly acquired rank of dalin-glared at the placid face and beatific smile of the man in the guest chair of his office. Behind him was a large gla.s.s door, currently closed against the noise and bustle of the Terok Nor Promenade. This whole thing is a waste of time. But Damar was a soldier, and his commanding officer had given him an order, so he followed it, and interrogated Elim Garak.

For all the good it will do.

"According to one of my sources," Damar said, "you were friends with the shapeshifter before he disappeared."

"I was hardly that, Dalin," Garak said. "In fact, Odo and I only spoke a few times. As a shapeshifter, he had no use for my services, and as a clothier, I have very little use for the ins and outs of station security." Holding up a hand, he added, "Present company excepted, of course, Dalin. And may I say, congratulations on your well-deserved promotion. I'm sure the Promenade will be far safer under your tutelage."

"Thank you." Damar said the words as insincerely as he could, which took little effort. He wanted nothing from the tailor save information that he knew he'd never get. The security file on Garak was huge and yet said absolutely nothing. He might have been Obsidian Order. He might have been a target of the Order's recently retired head, Enabran Tain. He might have been protected by Tain.

Damar hated the Order, and hated dealing with people who were even suspected to be agents.

But he had one more spin of the dabo wheel to make before he let Garak go. Holding up a padd, he tossed it onto the table in front of Garak, where it landed with a metallic clack. "And then there are the purchases."