Star Trek: That Which Divides (9 page)

Her attention was drawn to the sound of the exercise chamber’s door sliding open, followed by a set of fast-moving footsteps echoing across the deck plating. Vathrael looked up to see Subcommander Sirad, her executive officer, enter the room while carrying a computer data tablet. As always, Sirad presented the epitome of a well-groomed Romulan officer. He did not walk so much as marched, his every movement a testament to military precision. His uniform was tailored to an exacting degree around his trim physique, to the point that Vathrael often wondered if the subcommander had himself sewn into the garments each day. His hair was cut in a short style that left the sides of his head exposed, trimmed to what Vathrael was certain was mathematical exactitude. The boots he wore were polished to a shine so bright that other officers joked about being able to see their reflections in them, though such observations were of course never made in Sirad’s presence.

“Commander,” he said, coming to a stop before Vathrael. His body was ramrod straight as he nodded in greeting. “I apologize for disturbing you, but we have received a priority message from Fleet Command.” He paused, and Vathrael knew that his hesitation was due to the presence of Terius standing nearby, although the centurion had remained silent since Sirad’s arrival. Whatever message her executive officer had brought her, the paranoid bureaucrats who populated the halls of power at Fleet Command likely considered it to be of a sensitive nature regardless of
its actual content. It was Vathrael’s experience that such administrative drones preferred to compartmentalize and classify any and all information as being worthy of secrecy, doubtless in a bid to maintain their illusion of relevance to those higher in the chain of command. Such thinking had been entrenched within Romulan government and military affairs since long before Vathrael had first donned a uniform, and she was certain it would continue long after she bid farewell to the service. She had come to realize that fighting such institutional inertia was a waste of time and energy better spent on other pursuits.

Regardless of her personal feelings, the regulations pertaining to such matters were explicit, and Vathrael knew that Sirad would observe them until the protocols were changed or the universe succumbed to entropy, whichever of those events should first come to pass.

“Centurion,” Vathrael said, glancing to her subordinate, “if you will excuse us.”

Terius offered a crisp nod. “Of course, Commander. Thank you again for the contest. Perhaps a rematch at some appropriate time?”

“Perhaps,” the commander replied. After the weapons officer had taken his leave, Vathrael once again regarded her second-in-command. “All right, Sirad. What bidding do you bring us from our masters at Fleet Command?”

After first checking to verify they were not being overheard, Sirad said in a low voice, “We have been ordered to leave our patrol vector for a new assignment. The Federation has taken an interest in a star system which lies in an area outside their territory but in proximity to Romulan space. Fleet Command suspects that Starfleet may be considering establishing a presence there.”

Frowning, Vathrael nodded. “And our superiors believe this represents a grave danger to the security of the empire?”

“That would seem to be a possibility, Commander,” Sirad replied. “Would you not agree?”

“Things are not always as they might first appear,” Vathrael said before drinking once more from her bottle of
matnaral
. “What would seem to be a foregone conclusion reached within a comfortable office on Romulus is often at odds with what faces the commander and crew of a vessel operating under orders dispatched from that office.” Encounters with Starfleet vessels had been sporadic in the more than three
fvheisn
that had elapsed since Romulan ships had begun probing Federation territory for the first time since the war with Earth. Vathrael and the
Nevathu
had themselves been party to one such meeting, which had begun from misunderstanding and ended without violence. Such had not been the case during other incidents, and it was the opinion of many within the higher echelons of Romulan government and military power that another war with the humans and their allies might soon come to pass. For her part, Vathrael did not believe hostilities to be quite so imminent, regardless of whatever statements might be issued by Fleet Command. “What do we know of this system?”

“Very little, as it turns out,” Sirad replied, holding up his data tablet so that he could read it. “Its entry in our stellar cartography database does not even give it a name, but according to what we have learned from Starfleet reports, it is listed in Federation computer files as the Kondaii system. It contains eight planets, only one of which supports any sort of intelligent life. The message from Fleet Command
includes information on a spatial anomaly within the system—some form of interspatial rift that conceals a small planet. The rift is not believed to be a naturally occurring phenomenon.”

Sighing, Vathrael could not help smiling as she shook her head. “Sirad, I know you were once a science officer before transferring to the command hierarchy, but kindly take pity on someone who has always been little more than a soldier, and translate that into some language she might comprehend? Am I correct in assuming what you meant to say was that this mysterious incongruity is artificially generated?”

“That is Fleet Command’s contention,” Sirad replied, “based on information obtained from the interception of subspace communications sent from the Starfleet vessel tasked with observing the anomaly.”

This gave Vathrael pause. “A Starfleet vessel is already on station? Well, that will certainly make things more interesting. I assume that we also received instructions regarding stealth?”

Lowering his data tablet, Sirad nodded. “Yes, Commander. We are to avoid confrontation, and gather as much information as possible about the anomaly and whatever technology is responsible for creating and maintaining it.”

Vathrael grunted in irritation as she moved to a laundry bin to deposit her perspiration-dampened towel. “There was a time when the mere mention of our empire’s name and the presence of but one of its warships instilled fear within any would-be adversary. Now? We slink about like rodents foraging for food in the dark, hoping to latch onto some scrap left behind by those whom we should have beaten into submission in the first place.” Noting the
wary expression on her executive officer’s face, she smiled. “What’s wrong, Sirad? Surprised to hear me saying such things?”

“I will admit that it does seem somewhat out of character, Commander,” Sirad replied. “Though your record of service is unmatched by all but a few senior officers, your views on the appropriate uses of military action are well-known. Some have even dared to label you a pacifist.”

“So I’ve heard,” Vathrael said. “Such people are ill-informed, at the very least, and you should know that even though you’ve only been aboard a few short
khaidoa
.” While she had never shirked from her duties as an officer in the Romulan military, she did not share the enthusiasm expressed by many of her contemporaries when it came to armed confrontations with the empire’s interstellar rivals. She had no reservations about defending against the actions of an enemy, and at a younger age she even was comfortable with playing the role of the aggressor if it served the empire’s needs. Growing older had given her a clarity of thought she had lacked in her youth, and while she still believed in her solemn duty to protect the Romulan people, she had come to understand that the Federation was not a threat to the empire, nor had it ever been. Despite the propaganda being disseminated by her government, Vathrael knew that conquest was not the way of the Earthers and their allies. This, even though most of the planets that now comprised the Federation all had some past history of violent conflict, within their own civilizations as well as with other spacefaring races. Given the opportunity, the Federation would happily seek peace with the Romulans or any other rival. Though Vathrael was a creature of duty, born and bred for the uniform she now wore as well as all
the responsibilities that came with it, she respected and even envied the prospect of a life and a culture that did not revolve around the tenets of war.

Perhaps one day
, she mused,
though certainly not today
.

Sensing Sirad’s gaze on her as he waited for instructions, Vathrael forced away her momentary reverie and returned her attention to the matters at hand. “Well, then, I think we’ve indulged ourselves long enough. Set a course for the Kondaii system and engage the cloaking device. Let us go and see for ourselves what has so intrigued our Federation friends.”

She could only hope that they might do so without starting another war.

Standing at the edge of the tarmac that was but one of the eight landing fields servicing the Havreltipa mining colony on Gralafi, Samuel Boma could not help feeling small and even insignificant as he regarded the massive ore transport before him. It was one of three that had occupied the field at the start of the day. Two had since departed, bound for Dolysia with their cargo holds filled to capacity with tons of the valuable erinadium mineral. Other freighters would soon take their place as well as that of the ship now sitting before him, as part of the continuous cycle of transferring personnel, supplies, and ore to and from the Dolysian homeworld.

“Wow,” he said. “Couldn’t you find anything bigger?”

Standing next to him, Drinja Shin te Elsqa, the colony’s administrator and his newfound friend, affected an expression that Boma recognized as one of confusion. “I am sorry, Samuel,” she said, “but I am afraid I do not understand your comment.”

Boma grunted as he adjusted the makeshift sling he wore over his left shoulder, feeling a short stab of pain in his right arm as it rested in the sling’s cradle. “I was noting the size of your freighter. It’s quite something, Shin.” Like most of the structures comprising the main Havreltipa settlement, the freighter was a functional, aesthetically
uninviting vessel, positioned so that it spanned the width of the landing pad. It was supported by eight struts, which elevated its enormous bulk several meters off the ground. Each of the supports terminated in a wide, multi-jointed foot, which Boma figured was designed to afford the ability to land atop different types of terrain.

“I see,” Shin said. “Your statement was meant to be . . . ironic?” She shook her head. “I must apologize; even with the wonderful technology you command, the many nuances of your language are proving difficult.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Boma said, reaching out with his undamaged arm and resting his hand on the Dolysian’s shoulder. “I’ve been speaking it my entire life, and I still make my share of mistakes. Besides, you’ve been thrown into the deep end with all of this. It’s not wrong to be a bit overwhelmed by it all.”

Again, Shin frowned. “Into the deep end?”

Boma shook his head, releasing a small laugh. “Sorry, Shin. It’s a human expression. Basically, it means that you’ve been confronted with a task or situation for which you’ve had no preparation, and yet you still have to find a way to be successful. Dealing with aliens from another planet? I’d call that the deep end, all right.”

As though giving further consideration to the turn of phrase, Shin finally nodded. “Yes, I suppose that is an apt description.”

Despite the physical and emotional toll the past two days had taken on him, her solemn delivery evoked a broad smile from Boma. “If it’s any consolation, I feel the exact same way.” As the senior of the three members of the
Huang Zhong
’s crew to survive the ship’s crash landing on Gralafi, it had fallen to him to interface with the
Dolysian miners who had come to their rescue. Almost none of them had ever before encountered anyone from the Federation, owing to the isolation forced on them by the barrier surrounding the planetoid. Though the colonists had been getting a crash course in the latest current events during the weeks since the Pass had been open and convoy operations had been under way, that was no substitute for actual interaction with these visitors to their homeworld. In contrast, the people on Dolysia had been living and working with Federation representatives since the establishment of formal relations more than a year earlier. A scant few of them were among the new personnel transferring in to the mining colony during the period when the rift was open. Fewer still were among the group of colonists assigned to the rescue detail who had made their way to the wreckage of the
Huang Zhong
once word of the ship’s troubles was communicated from the homeworld to Administrator Shin at the offices of the Jtelivran Mining Conglomerate here in Havreltipa.

Shin had wasted no time mobilizing colony resources in response to the emergency call, leading the team that had journeyed to the crash site. As the team leader, she had become the unofficial spokesperson for one of the more atypical first-contact scenarios on Federation record, with Boma himself holding up the other side of that meeting. Luck, fate, or perhaps something else, had seen to it that he, along with Ensign Suresh Kari and Master Chief Petty Officer Christine Rideout, lived through the
Huang Zhong
’s horrific crash. Some of the crew had died on impact or in the immediate aftermath, while others succumbed to their injuries during the ensuing hours. Though Commander Hebert and most of the bridge crew
had perished in the crash, Captain Arens and the ship’s Dolysian advisor, Rzaelir Zihl du Molidin, had survived, at least for a while. Zihl had passed away first, and Boma had held his captain’s hand when he died, promising to tell his wife that he loved her even as the life faded from his longtime friend’s eyes.

Good-bye, Ron
.

With no way to know why he had been spared, sustaining injuries no more serious than a broken right arm, it had fallen to Boma to greet Shin and the contingent of Dolysian miners who formed their rescue party. Once the initial anxiety on everyone’s part had passed, the medical personnel Shin had brought with her team wasted no time treating the three Starfleet officers. Though none of the injuries were life-threatening, there still was sufficient timidity on the Dolysian doctors’ part, resulting in a very careful, moderate course of treatment. Tranketh Nole su Dronnu, the mining colony’s senior physician and the one in charge of the rescue party’s medical effort, had even taken the time to inquire about proper handling of the
Huang Zhong
’s dead. She had tasked her people with caring for the remains, sparing Boma the additional grief of having to place the bodies of his friends and shipmates into body bags. The eleven casualties had been ferried back to Havreltipa and stored in the medical facility until such time as they could be transported to the
Enterprise
for their final journey home.