We're holding a briefing in one of the Madagascar's endless hollow spaces - myself and some key officers: Joaj, the impeccably groomed Betazoid Sumal Jetuz, my exec Marya Kothe, and Pearl, the android I - inherited - from the late and unlamented Commodore Dan Fallon. And, naturally, as a courtesy, I invited the commander and exec of our escort vessel. Captain Surella's exec is normal enough, a portly and cheerful Bolian. But, as for Surella -
From the neck down, she looks like any other humanoid tac captain - wearing the practical "excursion" uniform with the high boots and the cargo pockets, and an antique phaser with brushed-steel casing on her right hip. But her face is unmistakeable. The sulky mouth, dark intent eyes and heavy brows would tell me her species, I think, even without the forehead ridges and the mane of dreadlocked hair. Quite definitely a Klingon.
She doesn't say a lot during the briefing. I think it's mostly out of her field - we're talking about the radiation spectra being emitted by our suddenly lively anomaly, about the approaches to take, the experiments to run. The Bolian, Commander Thala, turns out to have some useful ideas - he's a science officer with a background in subspace radio. Surella, though, spends most of her time looking at the star maps and, apparently, brooding.
"So," I say, towards the end, "we'll finalize the specs for the probes by 1700 hours tomorrow, and that'll give us four days to prep and test before we get to 4704. I think that's everything?"
It's at this point that Surella speaks up. "Amphicyon will deploy auxiliaries as a screening element as we approach. I understand the Madagascar carries four Arehbes-class frigates as support elements - it would be useful to know your plans for tactical coordination with my shuttles."
"Tactical coordination?" I look hard at her. "Are you expecting to fight?"
"Expecting, perhaps not. Preparing, yes. Always."
I frown. "I was planning to use the frigates to set up a medium-range monitoring perimeter. We can establish a detection grid, to pick up any more impinging radiation pulses. I hadn't worked out the exact details -"
Surella nods at me. "Tactically sound, sir. We should be forewarned as much as possible. Provided your auxiliaries stay in combat effective range, ready to support their mothership, that will work well -"
I'm baffled. "You really sound like you're expecting trouble, Captain."
"I am charged with your protection, Admiral. Besides -" She taps the star map. "The source of the radiation beam that stimulated the anomaly and disabled the USS Southmoor is here, yes? This pulsar. I have read Captain Leaman's report and Science Division's -" her lip curls "- interesting suggestions as to the cause of the phenomenon."
"Our working hypothesis," Sumal Jetuz says in mild tones, "is that the pulsar's radiation coincided with a transient subspace rift -"
"Redirecting the pulsar's synchrotron radiation through subspace, so that it crossed several light years in the blink of an eye, to strike Galactic Object 4704 and, incidentally, cripple the Southmoor," says Surella. "A very precisely targeted random radiation beam, and one which just happened to awaken the dormant anomaly, besides. How many instances have there been of subspace rifts like this? I can think of only one: the Hobus supernova. Which was not a natural phenomenon."
"It did look like one, boss," says Commander Thala.
"Did it?" Surella snorts. "No one at the time thought it could be intentional, so theoretical models were developed which showed how it might be natural. Now, we know those models were nothing but a nonsensical waste of time. I would prefer it if we did not waste time."
"Time spent gathering information is hardly wasted," I point out.
"No doubt. But, sir, I believe we should proceed on the basis that this phenomenon might have been caused deliberately. Information as to how it happened is necessary, of course. But we might also concern ourselves with questions such as why, and who."
Sumal smiles. "You're hypothesizing an actual enemy at work, sir? That does seem a little - well - paranoid."
Surella frowns at him. "One of us has an inappropriate level of paranoia, Commander. If it is me, the result will be that I will make extra, pointless work for myself, chasing shadows. If it is you, the result may well be that we all die. Pointless exertion is undesirable, I grant you. I submit that death is worse."
"Let's take a break," I say. "There's a hundred and one details to sort out on the science side, anyway, and this team's best suited to that. In the meantime, Captain Surella, let's take a walk."
---
There are plenty of places to walk. Tuterian ship design is bizarre, and they like echoing empty spaces. We wind up on a long walkway above the auxiliary warp coils. I stop, and lean on the railing, looking down at the humming circuitry far below. Surella stands silently beside me, her bearing rigidly correct.
"Are you serious about thinking the radiation beam was deliberate?" I ask her.
"I think we cannot discount that possibility," Surella replies.
"What's the reason behind it, though?" I ask.
"I do not know. That is why we should investigate and find out. Sir."
I turn to face her, leaning my back against the railing. "All right, Captain. Give me your tactical insight. What would you like to do?"
Her sulky mouth compresses, her lips turning to thin lines. Then she says, "My role in this affair is superfluous. You command a Sphere Builder dreadnought, sir, with a flotilla of powerful frigates as auxiliaries. My ship is a superannuated relic, inferior to yours in every respect. In a combat situation, I can picture no scenarios where my assistance could make any practical difference to the outcome."
And that must gall her, I realize. "So... you want to be useful?"
"I have a starship. So do you. Given my own choices, I would use both for separate tasks. You must investigate the anomaly, and you have the tools to do so - and to defend yourself against any conceivable threat. So I would like to take the Amphicyon to investigate the pulsar. To find any traces of the origin of the energy beam."
"To confirm your hypothesis about it being artificially generated," I say.
She nods. "I am not qualified to assess your theta radiation and anti-tachyon spectra," she says, "but if there is, or was, a generating mechanism, I am sure I can find traces. Perhaps enough to identify someone.... Once we know who, we may know why." She shakes her head. "Or I may be entirely wrong, and your officer may be right, and this is all some random freak of nature."
"You acknowledge the possibility, then?" I've seen my share of tac officers who were convinced they were right....
"Of course. But nothing would be lost if I were to make sure. Sir." She gestures with her right hand, a wave that takes in the huge ship around us. "It might give me a purpose. You do not need my ship to defend all this."
A Denuos-class dreadnought can take care of itself, certainly. But I think I want to... to probe, a little, here. "You genuinely want to make yourself useful, then?"
"I... would prefer that. Sir." There is a guarded look in those dark eyes.
I think. "I'm going to make you a counter offer, captain."
She stiffens. "You are my commanding officer, sir. You do not need to offer anything."
"Nonetheless. I want to know how we're going to work together, before I send you off to work somewhere else. Let's go to GO4704 and run the initial scans. If science division solves all the problems, well and good, we can all go home. If we still have questions that need answering... well, I'll feel a lot more confident about detaching your ship, if I know how you tackle things. Sound reasonable?"
Her lips twitch. "Again, sir, you are not obliged to be reasonable. But... yes."
"Good." I give her what I hope she sees as a reassuring smile. "I know it's not how they do things in the KDF. But Starfleet - well, it's different."
The guarded look comes back. "I have no personal experience of KDF procedures, sir. I am a Starfleet officer."
"Oh, right, I remember now. Your personnel file was very insistent about that." But it's... odd. I decide to bite the bullet. "So, how did a Klingon end up in Starfleet anyway?"
She seems to relax a trifle. Maybe she's been wondering when, or if, I'd ask. "My father Magar was an ambassador. He was sent to persuade a minor nation, the people of Linthor III, to join the Empire. The Federation also sent a mission, under the leadership of a Vulcan diplomat. During the negotiations, one of the Linthorian diplomats was killed, murdered. Circumstantial evidence pointed to my father as the culprit. The Vulcan, however, investigated the crime, and was able to identify the real criminal - one of the Linthorian's professional rivals - and to exonerate my father and redeem his honour. In gratitude, my father promised the Vulcan a life for a life." She pauses. "When I came of age, it was decided that my life would be the one to make good on my father's pledge."
"Your family - traded you to Starfleet? In payment for a debt of honour?" She seems to accept this so calmly. "Didn't you have any say? How did you feel about that?"
She raises one thick eyebrow in an almost Vulcan manner. "How did I feel about preserving the honour of my House? Not so conflicted as some think I should have been. Sir."
"But -" I can't think what to say. And something else is puzzling me, too - a minor detail, but still.... "This Vulcan diplomat. Did he have a name?"
"He did. We would honour it, if that were permitted, but he himself asked that it should not be made known." She shakes her head, just a little. "He worked long and hard to save my father from death and disgrace, even though it was not in his interests to do so. His action was highly honourable. But he asked that we should not disclose his name, and we have not, and will not. I am told his exact words were, 'You will have the good taste not to mention this to anyone, won't you?'"
I blink. That wording seems familiar, somehow - some ancient Earth text, a comedy of some sort. "Look," I say, "I know he was a Vulcan, but, even so... does it occur to you that he might have been joking?"
"Of course that might be the case, sir. Does it occur to you that that might not matter?" Her combadge bleeps at her; she frowns, and pulls out a tricorder from a cargo pocket. "My apologies, Admiral. A minor problem aboard the Amphicyon.... there are difficulties with inventory, in a ship of her vintage. I should return and resolve the problem. With your permission -?"
"Oh. Yes. Of course. Go ahead. You know the way back to the transporter room?"
"I believe I can find it." She comes stiffly to attention, and salutes. "Thank you, Admiral M'eioi."
I return the salute. She turns smoothly on her heel, and marches off, along the walkway, the sound of her boots echoing dimly from the distant walls.
I think working with Captain Surella is going to be... interesting.
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