STAR TREK: The Lost Era - 2298 - The Sundered Read online

  According to Kasrene, the Tholians were not the only intelligent species on their world, though they were the dominant one. Their starfaring capabilities, though decades less advanced than those of the Federation by some accounts, still made them the only major interstellar player for several sectors in every direction.

  Except, of course, for whomever they’re fighting with near that interspatial fissure, Sulu thought.

  His attention was drawn away from his reverie by the fidgeting of Mosrene, a Tholian junior ambassador. Something was clearly bothering him, and his body language was betraying it. Sulu noted that none of the other three diplomatic-caste Tholians appeared similarly twitchy; they seemed calm enough that for all Sulu knew, they might have been lulled to sleep by the proceedings. But Mosrene’s tail switched, and his forelegs tapped intermittently against the tabletop. He’s never going to make it past junior ambassador if he doesn’t learn some self-control, Sulu thought, mentally smiling while his face showed only rapt attention.

  Sulu noticed that next to Burgess, Tuvok was displaying the most intense interest in the proceedings. Doubtless his Vulcan nature—and his curiosity as a science officer—were keeping him enthralled. Kasrene began talking about the rigid caste systems on her planet. Most castes were generationally mandated, though rare intercaste unions allowed for some crossovers in the offspring. Among the more prominent castes were the warriors, like Yilskene, who had yet to leave his flagship; the politicals, who ran the machinery of government back on Tholia and throughout her subject [53] territories; and the diplomats, like Kasrene and Mosrene, whose mission seemed to be to keep the warriors, politicals, other castes, and neighboring species sufficiently mollified to prevent the sectors bordering the Tholian Assembly from plunging headlong into war.

  Sulu was surprised to hear that scientists, engineers, and mathematicians numbered among the lower castes. He wondered if this might at least partially explain why the development of Tholian technology was so slow in comparison with the Federation.

  The door chimed, and Sulu saw Akaar move toward it. It opened, revealing Chekov and Rand standing in the threshold. Chekov, looking as though he’d just seen a ghost, stood in silence while Rand whispered in low tones to Akaar. Sulu saw Akaar stiffen slightly, and watched a frown cross his features. Akaar let out a quick breath, then moved swiftly in Sulu’s direction. In a few terse, whispered syllables, the huge Capellan relayed Rand’s message to him.

  Sulu stood, feeling numb. Though the news shocked him, he did his best to reveal nothing with his facial expression or body language, though he doubted the Tholians could interpret either. As he moved toward the door, he noticed Ambassador Burgess turning her head toward him.

  “Is something wrong, Captain?” she said, an expectant look on her face.

  His eyes narrowed as he tried to read her neutral expression. You know damned well that something’s wrong. Because you’re more than likely the cause of it.

  Noting that Kasrene and Mosrene were also apparently looking toward him, Sulu said, “I’m afraid that a rather urgent matter has come up that requires my immediate attention. Please excuse me.”

  He had taken another three steps toward Chekov and Rand before Ambassador Kasrene spoke up, stopping him in his tracks. “Captain, I believe I understand the nature of this [54] ‘urgent matter.’ It is the fact that Admiral Yilskene has intercepted and destroyed all four of your probes. Is this not so?”

  Sulu stood near the door, glancing significantly at Chekov. Burgess did tell them, he thought. At least, she must have told them of her suspicions. Looking around the room, he took in Akaar’s slightly bulging eyes, Tuvok’s raised eyebrow, and the blanched features of Chapel, Chekov, and Rand.

  “We did indeed launch sensor drones deep into your territory,” Sulu said to Kasrene, staying as close to the truth as he deemed prudent. “We’ve observed some fascinating interspatial phenomena out here.”

  “No doubt, Captain. And perhaps you’re also concerned about what this revelation may mean to our negotiations here,” Kasrene said. “Truthfully, after we were informed of the probes last cycle by Ambassador Burgess, we had many discussions as to the proper course of action to take.”

  Sulu strained not to give Burgess a withering glance. She and I are going to go ’round and ’round over this later.

  Kasrene tilted her ungainly head slightly to one side. “Doubtless you’ll justify these actions based upon your previous encounter with our species, even though that was twenty-four of our generations ago.”

  “Starfleet has had almost no contact with Tholians since that time,” Sulu said. “We’re trying to keep our minds open.”

  Finally, Kasrene spoke again. “Very good, Captain. Though you had no reason to expect that we would react well to your actions, you risked your well-being in the pursuit of pure knowledge. You’ve shown wonderful initiative. I admire that. We admire that. Doubtless your probes showed—”

  Kasrene was interrupted by a tap on the forearm by Mosrene, and she ceased speaking. The group of Tholians all reached out and touched for a moment, and went silent.

  Sulu realized that they were communicating using their limited telepathic abilities; therefore there was no way to determine what they were saying to one another. As he looked [55] around the room, he saw tension etched onto everyone’s faces. Even Tuvok’s normally placid expression showed some concern. They were all standing on the precipice of war, and their potential enemies sat in front of them, silent but for the gentle rustling of their enviro-suits. Kasrene was moving the most, apparently agitated.

  Sulu shot a quick glance at Rand, who was still standing near the door, awaiting orders. Flicking his eyes to one side, he signaled for her to return to the bridge. He knew that she would put the ship on a silent yellow alert, calling all personnel to their stations. She wouldn’t raise shields or charge weapons yet, but she would be ready to do so at a moment’s notice if Yilskene’s flagship were to power up its weaponry.

  Returning his gaze to those still in the room, Sulu caught Burgess looking at him for a moment. But she averted her gaze before he could sustain the eye contact. If we survive this, I will make certain you’re cashiered out of the diplomatic service.

  Finally, the Tholians broke their huddle, three of them settling back into their outsize chairs. Mosrene still seemed agitated as Kasrene swiveled her multifaceted head back to face both Sulu and Burgess.

  “As I was saying, Captain—”

  Mosrene touched Kasrene’s arm again, but she brushed him aside and ignored him. “Doubtless your probes showed that there has been conflict along the far boundaries of our territory. I suspect that while your past dealings with us give you little reason to trust my word, your actions at this time give us little reason to trust you. However, we feel it is—”

  Mosrene interrupted her again with another touch. Kasrene swiveled her head toward him, her eyespots glowing slightly brighter. She uttered a multisyllable word that the universal translator didn’t quite parse. No need. Sulu could recognize an exclamation of “shut up!” in any language.

  Kasrene spoke again, addressing the rest of the room. “The outer reaches of Tholian Assembly space have been [56] under relatively sustained attack for the last seven of your months. This is one of the reasons why we chose this time to approach the Federation, despite the dissension this matter has caused within the chambers of our Castemoot. However, we recently captured one of the aggressor’s ships. Members of our medical caste subsequently discovered that—”

  Mosrene again moved forward, but this time he was more aggressive with his interruption. Rather than grabbing Kasrene’s arm, he reached around her, grabbing at the area which would have been equivalent to a humanoid’s upper chest.

  Kasrene let out a slight squawk as Mosrene moved his gloved limb away from the ambassador’s chest. A hair-thin, crystalline-hafted blade was now visible protruding from the front of Kasrene’s enviro-suit. Instantly, the noxious fumes from within the compromised su
it began to hiss outward into the surrounding air. Dark smoke began to roll outward from the incision.

  It took Sulu about half a second to realize that Mosrene had just assaulted Kasrene, perhaps fatally.

  PART 2

  CASTAWAYS

  Chapter 8

  Thursday. 1 May 2053

  Even with the computers enhancing every incoming signal, chaos and static ruled the entire radio spectrum, from the long wavelengths all the way up into the near microwave band.

  There’s no way this can be good, Zafirah al-Arif thought, brushing a hank of jet black hair away from her eyes.

  The sounds of radio static receded into the background, like the eternal presence of a distant ocean. Zafirah’s throat went dry as she watched the blue world on the small monitor she had tied into the Vanguard colony’s largest optical telescope.

  “Please tell me this isn’t what it looks like,” she said, turning toward Kerwin McNolan.

  The russet-haired Irishman crossed Zafirah’s cramped office to get a better look at the small monitor that sat on her jumbled desktop. He abruptly turned two shades whiter than usual, his unlined face a mask of disbelief.

  Disbelief, Zafirah realized, but not surprise. She knew that a goodly plurality of Vanguard’s 844 permanent residents were fairly apolitical types, mostly engineers, EV construction jockeys, and science-oriented academics.

  But she also knew that almost everyone living inside the [60] massive O’Neill colony—nestled beneath the skin of a near-Earth stone-and-nickel-iron asteroid—had seen today’s events coming for years. Nobody who had so much as glanced at the recent headlines beamed from Earth could be surprised by the drama now unfolding far below.

  McNolan’s thoughts seemed to echo her own. “My God,” he said, his rough voice choked with uncharacteristic emotion. “They’ve finally done it. Those crazy bastards have finally done it.” Looking revolted, the diminutive engineer shoved the slender monitor up against the wall as though it harbored a deadly bacillus. He looked away when the image on the screen persisted.

  Zafirah wanted to look away as well. But she found it difficult to tear her gaze from the almost stately procession of city-sized white blossoms that was lighting up the Earth’s night side. Absurdly, it reminded her of a garish electrical parade she had seen at an amusement park in the European Union during her childhood. Particularly arresting were the towering orange mushroom clouds and columns of gray ash that had begun to rise and spread themselves along the planet’s terminator.

  Dawn was breaking across India, Pakistan, and the Gulf of Oman. Soon daylight would fall upon the remaining Eastern Coalition nations—and would reveal how much or how little was left of Zafirah’s native Arabian Peninsula. Tears came when she thought of Sabih and his huge, dark eyes. And little Kalil, who was always so curious, so trusting. She hoped that death would not linger when it came for them.

  This may be the last new day the human race ever sees.

  Along with its deadly freight of thermal energy, neutrons, X rays, gamma rays, and an irresistible blast wave, the detonation of a high-yield nuclear device unleashes something else: a fierce electromagnetic pulse that can scramble every electronic device—from radio transceivers to computers to [61] the electronic ignition systems of automobiles, planes, and hovercars—within dozens of kilometers of Ground Zero.

  Detonate scores of such devices simultaneously across every inhabited continent and the effects quickly engulf the planet. Hundreds of spots on the Earth’s surface briefly become hotter than the Sun’s photosphere, and the world-girdling electronic noosphere that comprises twenty-first-century global civilization abruptly crashes. Like a human being whose head is suddenly perforated by a high-powered rifle round, a world can die without even knowing what had hit it.

  But Zafirah was also grimly aware that such a neat, tidy death would come only to a relative few. The lucky ones, she thought. Kalil and Sabih are among those blessed few, Inshallah.

  If Allah wills.

  Certainty was steadily growing within Zafirah that she had just witnessed the suicide of humanity’s emerging global culture. But even if every human being on Earth had been instantly exterminated—an unlikely eventuality, even in a full-scale nuclear exchange—she knew that Vanguard was home to 844 of the best and brightest individuals that H. sapiens had ever produced. And there were five other L-5 colonies whose people and resources could also be brought to bear on the problem of saving whatever remained of Earth’s civilization. After all, Earth’s industries had for years depended upon the L-5 colonies’ labs and factories for a good number of modern necessities, from genetically engineered pharmaceuticals and crops to ultrastrong nanotube construction materials that could be created only in microgravity environments, to the exotic subatomic particles that promised mankind the eventual conquest of the stars.

  Fortunately, the electromagnetic blast that had silenced Earth was confined to the planet’s atmosphere. Here in space—inside an asteroid orbiting a Lagrange point that [62] stayed perpetually some 383,000 kilometers from both the Earth and the Moon—the pulse could not reach.

  Simultaneously haunted and buoyed by these thoughts, Zafirah ran alongside McNolan into the lift, which swiftly rose forty-six levels. She felt their weight decline to nearly nothing as the lift progressed toward the asteroid colony’s core, the region least affected by the spin that created the nearly Earth-normal gravity experienced by those who worked and lived on the outermost levels.

  The lift soon deposited them on a catwalk overlooking the cavernous central chamber, a great, yawning abyss that stretched across the vaguely carrot-shaped asteroid’s entire fourteen kilometer-long axis. Illuminated by sunlight brought through the colony’s enormous transparent aluminum end-caps and reflected deep into the great rock’s interior by a series of internal and external mirrors, the passage formed a rough cylinder some fifty meters in diameter. Deep gouges and striations were visible in the nickel-iron walls, marks left by the automated, diamond-tipped diggers that had scraped the radioactive layers away after Vanguard’s builders had hollowed the asteroid out using shaped nuclear charges.

  How easy it was to forget the true purpose of such devices, Zafirah thought. She wondered if the Kaaba, the ancient, cubical shrine at the sacred heart of Mecca, a place that had been holy since before the time of the Prophet, had survived.

  Grasping thé catwalk’s handholds as though her very life depended on them, Zafirah closed her eyes tightly. Visiting this shaft of vast emptiness—essentially a giant straight cylinder whose ends vanished to pinpoints in two directions, neither of which seemed to be up or down—always gave her an intense feeling of vertigo. She preferred to stay nearer to the asteroid’s crust, the direction that the great rock’s spin—and her inner ear—told her was “down.”

  “You all right, Zaf?” McNolan asked, recovering some of [63] his customary singsong lilt. “You look like you’re about to send your lunch out on an EVA.”

  When she felt his hand on her arm she opened her eyes. She assayed a weak smile. “If I do, I’ll try to warn you first. But I’m afraid we’ll have to take the express route regardless. I don’t want to waste any time getting to the Director’s office.”

  McNolan looked like he was considering carrying her back into the lift, then calling a groundcar to take them across one of the higher-gravity levels instead. That would have been quite a detour, however, since the Director’s office lay some eight kilometers away, near the asteroid’s south pole.

  But when the director had called, she’d told all the senior staff to assemble around her as quickly as possible. Zafirah knew as well as McNolan did that flying along the freefall axis was by far the quickest way to get where they needed to go. Besides, she could already see several other raptorlike shapes in the distance, their broad, amber-colored wings pushing near-weightless human forms swiftly southward along the wide tunnel’s seemingly infinite length.

  Still feeling green, Zafirah nodded toward the emergency locker bes
ide the lift, where several sets of three-meter-long wings hung.

  “Pry it open, Mack. We’re going flying.”

  Zafirah often thought that Kuniko Mizuki, Vanguard’s director, might be the most ancient human being she had ever encountered. Because the director spent most of her time in the colony’s light-gee, coreward levels, her sallow skin was no doubt far smoother than it would have been had she lived on Earth. But the slight woman’s eyes held depths of wisdom and memory that Zafirah had never seen in anyone else. Zafirah wasn’t sure of Mizuki’s precise age, but guessed that she might have watched Neil Armstrong on live television as he left humanity’s first bootprints in the lunar dust.

  [64] Today, it seemed to Zafirah that the director’s years wore heavily on her.

  The department heads and their staffs were still filing in, arriving from points all over the asteroid, having dropped whatever business or pleasure they’d been occupied with when the nuclear hammer had fallen upon Earth. At least twenty people were crowded into the director’s spacious office-cum-conference-room thus far, and all eyes were riveted to the huge flatscreen monitor that dominated an entire wall.

  Thanks to a satellite relay linking Vanguard to one of the orbiting Earth-science telescopes, the planet’s entire day side was now in view. No new explosions were evident, though hundreds of surface fires were visible, even in the waning daylight. Huge gray plumes of dust and detritus—particulate material thrown aloft by the nuclear conflagrations—had spread out greatly, obscuring giant swaths of what had to be the Pacific Ocean and the western coastlines of the Americas.

  It was immediately clear to Zafirah that very little sunlight was reaching the ground, and that it would probably take months for that situation to change.

  “We seem to be witnessing Doctor Sagan’s nightmare,” said Director Mizuki, now looking and sounding even older than Allah Himself. “A full-scale nuclear exchange. A cloud-generated icehouse effect is starting right before our eyes. That will be followed by massive crop failures and world famine.”