Introduction
This story came about from a combination of re-reading the first two Honour Harrington novels and the rather excellent Lost Era tale 'Serpents Among the Ruins' by David R. George III, and regaining contact with my good friend Adrian over at http://www.uss-sheffield.co.uk/ (http://www.uss-sheffield.co.uk/), 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. Low 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 be noticed to get aboard. At first I thought of a story set after the Tomed Incident and concurrent with the missions of the USS Sheffield, but with that I still had no clue about what story I wanted to tell.
Then I read 'Serpents Among the Ruins', which describes the Tomed Incident 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 Aljeterius, Nirophia and the self-named Corridor, and the astropolitical scenery on its far side amongst others. Deftly woven into this tapestry are my own crew for Aljeterius and its revised history.
So, here we go. A voyage into the unknown, in true Kirk style. Let me know if you like it. Have fun with this, because we sure are!
Chapter One
Captain’s Log, stardate 12303.65.
The Fearless has been re-assigned to Sector 16 after the successful completion
of our trouble-shooting mission to Melana III on the Klingon border. Sector 16 is a
previously unimportant region of space first charted in the 2180s and only recently
gaining prominence with the Metar Crisis of the early 2290s. Now, it is the staging
point for a new wave of exploration into the more populated sectors ‘below’ the
Klingon and Romulan Empires.
This date marks the first anniversary of the completion of our shakedown cruise and
I am pleased to note that after almost fifteen months in commission my ship is
responding at 105% efficiency, and my crew has become akin to a well-oiled machine.
The scores of Federation races comprising my crew – many of whom I’ve never
served with before – quickly settled in together and over the intervening year have
built upon that solid foundation to become one of the finest crews I have served with.
Commander Faris has proven to be quite the asset as my XO, displaying an uncanny
ability with people skills; he seems to instinctively know the mood of the crew and has
his fingers on the pulse of the ship’s lounge. Many times over the last year he has
adeptly defused minor incidents that threatened to disrupt ship’s routine had a less
involved XO been unaware of them or dismissed them as ‘outwith the scope of their
duties’.
This has, however, resulted in the man being labelled what the Humans call “a
gossipy old woman”, though fortunately meant in an affectionate manner.
Chief Engineer L’Trell reports no major maintenance needs though, as usual, his wish
list does seem to be as bottomless as the Void itself. He apparently attended the
‘Montgomery Scott School of Tweaking and Jury-rigging’, but this is why the Fearless
has an efficiency rating of 105% and not the Fleet average of 97%.
Lieutenants Gemignani and Xirral both concur that the crew’s mental health are also
above the standard, with the holosimulator, gymnasium, games rooms, and computer
library access usage reflecting only the normal pursuits of a diverse group of over-
achievers; no disquieting trends are evident among the crew’s recreational activities.
Taken as a whole, my ship and her crew stand ready to face whatever the galaxy
decides to send our way.
*****
“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, Mira’Kzinti, 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 24 years ago but the class hadn’t been in front-line Fleet service for 20 years yet. There were less than 25 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.
Well, people were wondering where we'd all been. Here's some of what I've been up to. I hope you enjoy, and comment.
Chapter Three
Captain’s Personal Log, stardate 12306.45.
After five days of planning our operational deployments, emergency procedures and logistics
needs with Commander Skallash and his staff, the Fearless is ready for her mission in the
Corridor. I have found Skallash’s staff to be an eclectic group but they have an undeniable
synergy in line with the finest ideals of the Federation. Our differing viewpoints, values, and
mindsets combined to make short work of our understanding of the tasks before us and the
steps we need to take to accomplish them. I feel fully confident in the ability of Aljetarius to
‘have our back’, as the Humans say.
Five says of shore leave on a planet offering both modern conveniences and more primitive
pursuits has done good things with crew morale. Already high, the rock-climbing, white-water
rafting, bird watching, rambling, paragliding, and numerous other outdoors activities have left
the crew with many more stories to regale their colleagues with as well as fulfilling their
appetite for “fun” activities dangerous to life and limb. Suffice it to say that crew morale is as
high as it has ever been.
I myself – as well as my fellow planning staff – were also able to take advantage of this
untamed M-class planet’s many benefits. My own trip to the southern polar region was a
welcome reminder of home after the constant tropical beach environment of the ship’s
common areas.
I’m just glad I went alone. It wouldn’t have done my dignity any good for even my fellow
Andorians to see their captain rolling around naked in the dry, powder-fine snow just – as
the Terrans say – ‘for the Hell of it’.
*****
“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.”
A look of surprised amusement danced across the security chief’s fine-boned features, both black eyebrows holding a reunion with his hairline. Frédéric’s eyes narrowed playfully as he responded to his subordinate. “Well! Aren’t we the uppity junior officer, Eitan. Looks to me like someone is asking for an extra sparring session to work off their high spirits, yes?”
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.
“Maybe if I wouldn’t patch you up so easily, you’d be more careful with your body,” she stated pointedly, fixing him with her black-eyed glare.
“But, Doc…” he protested weakly.
“You heard the lady, Mr. Ben-Eliyatin. Let’s go.”
Eitan blew out a frustrated sight, 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.”
“Quite all right, Lieutenant, and I share your frustrations and concerns,” Khaleel returned evenly. “Now, based on what we do know, what suggestions do we have for approaching their government?”
*****
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 wristchrono 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 deserved effect after all, she considered. “Commander kar-Tachek, sensor sweep. What can you tell us about local space?” she asked next.
The Arkenite female directed the Fearless’ powerful short range sensors to actively scan the vicinity, and data streamed back into her systems. Apparently, however, not a whole lot of it could be utilised as useful information. “Readings match to within five percent against the stellar data given to us by the Klingons, Captain,” kar-Tachek reported in her electronically echoing voice. “No unexpected changes or anomalies. I am detecting orbital debris, however.”
“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. Five minutes later she had a preliminary report. “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 speculating 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 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. “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, but then kar-Tachek spoke up.
“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.”