Errand of Fury Book 1 Read online

  “And as a security officer, you are blazing new ground here. According to records, there are no examples of a pregnancy occurring with a security officer on board a starship,” Kirk said.

  “I think that the combination of Klingon and human biology may have led to the failure of the normal birth control methods,” McCoy added.

  Parrish nodded. She knew that there had been very rare cases of pregnancies on starships, but she had no doubt that she was the first starship security officer to have it happen to her. That was partly because of the relatively low concentration of women in her field.

  “Captain, I can still make a contribution,” she said.

  “I have no doubt that’s true, and the fact is that your experience in the recent Klingon incidents makes you invaluable,” Kirk said.

  “Then I don’t see why I can’t remain on active duty for at least another few—” Parrish began.

  “Absolutely not,” Kirk said. Then before she could protest, he added, “I cannot send a pregnant woman into a combat situation. I will allow you to remain on limited duty until we reach Starbase 56. You can train your new squad, but nothing more. And even that duty will be subject to Doctor McCoy’s ongoing review.” Kirk’s tone made it clear that the discussion was over. “But you still have a decision to make and some time to make it.”

  The enormity of her situation hit her. She had wanted a career in Starfleet her whole life. And the fact was that the service needed her now more than ever. But then there was Jon…

  His baby…

  Their baby…

  “Doctor, what is the history here? Am I the first human woman to conceive a Klingon-human child?” Parrish asked.

  “Probably not,” McCoy said. “I haven’t been able to find any case histories yet, but I’m still looking. The fact is that though everything looks fine now, I don’t know quite what we can expect if you go forward.”

  Parrish nodded. Over the roar in her ears, she found herself standing and thanking the captain for his candor. She agreed to see the doctor tomorrow before she reported to duty, and then she was in the corridor, heading for her quarters.

  Two weeks later, Kirk and Spock were walking the corridors of the Enterprise, heading for the briefing room. Lieutenant Uhura had just informed them of a priority-one message from Starfleet Command. There was only one thought going through Kirk’s head, the same one he was sure was going through the head of everyone on the bridge.

  Is this the call? Is this the one? Is this the moment when everything changes? When the war begins?

  The only positive note was that the message was possible at all. Just weeks ago, Starfleet security had been so compromised that high-priority messages and orders had had to be delivered in person. Klingon agents had infiltrated Starfleet at virtually all levels from Admiral Justman’s offices to the decks of the Enterprise.

  Fortunately, Justman’s Klingon assassin had failed in her mission. Admiral Justman had survived the attempt on his life to lead the defense of Starbase 42. The admiral had given his life in that fight, and in so doing had protected the valuable dilithium deposits on the planet below the starbase.

  Had the Klingons overtaken the starbase and the planet, the Federation and the Klingon Empire would probably already be at war, and the Klingons would have had a huge tactical advantage. The time Justman had bought them with his life may well have saved the Federation. It had certainly given them the time they desperately needed to prepare, to mount the necessary defense against the…

  Inevitable. Kirk didn’t like to think that way, but as a commander, he had to be a pragmatist. He did not see any diplomatic solution for the Federation. The Klingons would attack; it was simply a matter of when. That outcome had been assured twenty-five years before at the Battle of Donatu V, where Bob Justman—then only a lieutenant—and a small Starfleet force had fought a larger number of Klingon ships to a draw. For the Klingons, the tie was worse than a defeat. It was a stain on their pride that had to be expunged, had to be avenged.

  There hadn’t been an all-out interstellar war in over a century—since the Romulan conflict—and there had not been any since the formation of the Federation. Kirk’s own great-grandmother had talked about the days before the Federation, but most of the younger crew had never even heard first-person stories of that time. For them, the Federation had always been there and always would be.

  Yet, Kirk knew that the Federation was very young, as political bodies went. And he knew that there was a real possibility it would not survive the coming battle. Their chances were better than they had been even a few weeks before, but Kirk knew the possibility of defeat was real. So did the planners at Starfleet. This would likely be a fight to the death for the Federation. And there would be no truce this time, no end to the fighting until one side or the other scored a decisive victory.

  They reached the briefing room and took their seats. Spock used the computer console to bring up the communication on the large screen at one end of the table. Almost immediately, the screen filled with the image of Admiral Solow.

  So it is serious, Kirk thought.

  “Captain Kirk, Commander Spock,” Solow said, his voice solemn, his face serious and very alert. The admiral’s thinning hair had been white since Kirk had met him. Despite being three decades older than Kirk himself, Solow had always been fit and energetic. He still was, Kirk had no doubt, but there were lines on his face that Kirk didn’t remember from the last time they had spoken just weeks ago. And while his eyes were alert, almost electric, they looked…what? Haunted was the word that came to mind.

  Most of it had to be the looming war with the Klingons. Most, Kirk guessed, but not all. The friendship between Solow and Justman had been legendary, and Kirk also knew that Solow had depended on Justman a great deal. His loss must be particularly hard now.

  “This is not the call, Captain. Diplomatic efforts are still ongoing,” Solow said, obviously reading Kirk’s own expression accurately. “However, there are some serious precautions that we must begin taking. I am transmitting a data packet of new security protocols as well as recent intelligence reports. I’m asking all starship commanders to review the material and provide feedback.”

  “Of course,” Kirk said, nodding. He felt an immediate sense of relief. If Starfleet Command was still refining plans, then there was still a chance that the worst would not happen.

  “In the data packet you will also find a systems upgrade report. These are the refits you can expect at Starbase 56, primarily weapons and shield modifications. As you know, you will also be taking on some new crew.”

  Kirk nodded. They had suffered some losses lately, most recently on Janus IV. They had just held the memorial service two days ago, and Kirk still felt raw.

  Then the admiral did something that Kirk had never seen before. He hesitated. For a moment, Solow seemed to be searching for words. “I made a decision and I wanted to tell you in advance, because I don’t want you to be surprised—”

  Then an aide called to the admiral from offscreen.

  “I’m sorry, Captain, something has come up. Solow out.” The screen went dark.

  Kirk turned to Spock, who returned the look with a raised eyebrow.

  “How long until we reach Starbase 56?” Kirk said.

  “Three hours, forty-seven minutes,” the Vulcan replied.

  “Then I guess I can prepare to be surprised in just under four hours.”

  “Apparently.”

  “In the meantime, please review the refit specifications with Mister Scott and brief me before we arrive.”

  “Yes, sir,” Spock said as he and Kirk got up.

  As they entered the corridor, Kirk realized that while Solow hadn’t delivered the worst possible news, his news had not been good. Weapons and defensive upgrades themselves were not a declaration of war. On the other hand, he knew from military history that wars almost never occurred overnight. They built slowly, advanced by degrees and small steps until the first real explosion came an
d there was no looking back.

  And today they had taken another step closer to the abyss.

  Chapter Three

  EARTH

  2267

  “ADMIRAL SOLOW, there’s been a development,” Lieutenant West said. The admiral’s eyes were on him immediately. West was still getting used to working for the admiral. He still felt unnerved by the man’s attention. There was something intimidating about being on the receiving end of the man’s intense stare.

  “Sir, it’s Ambassador Fox,” West said.

  “A message?” the admiral asked.

  “Yes, sir, but it’s from Paris.”

  “That can’t be. He’s right in the middle of…”

  “Well, he’s returned for an emergency briefing. His team is waiting for you in Paris,” West said. The admiral was already walking through the door and into the corridor. West had to hurry to keep up with him.

  “And, sir,” West said, “a meeting is set for the president’s office.”

  “Fine,” Solow said.

  West had been surprised to hear that Ambassador Fox was on Earth, but he was nonplussed to hear that in a few minutes Solow would be meeting with the president himself.

  The admiral’s personal transporter was only a few paces away. “Sir, who on the staff would you like to attend? I can have them meet you.”

  “Just you, Lieutenant,” Solow said.

  “Sir?”

  “Is there anyone with a clearer understanding of our current situation?” Solow asked as they entered the small transporter room, where an attendant was waiting.

  West gave it a moment’s thought. There were a lot of very intelligent, very capable people on the admiral’s staff. Solow had had his pick of the best minds in the fleet and had made use of them.

  “No, sir, not with respect to the current situation,” West said honestly. “It’s just that I’m still the most junior member of your staff.”

  “You’ll probably piss some people off today. Does that bother you?”

  “Sir?”

  “Did you join Starfleet to make friends, Lieutenant, or to do a job?”

  “To do a job, sir.”

  “Excellent. You’ll get a chance to earn your braids today then,” Solow said, stepping on one of the pads for the two-person transporter. West took his place on the other pad.

  “Do you think Admiral Nogura will be joining us?” West asked.

  “No,” Solow said. “We can’t be in the same place during a security alert.”

  Of course, West thought. Starfleet could survive the loss of both men, but there is no doubt that the fleet would be seriously impaired, and that was something they could not afford with all-out war looming. West found it interesting that Solow and the president could risk being in the same place at the same time. He wondered what that meant.

  He didn’t have long to think, however, because Solow nodded to the transporter operator and said, “Energize.”

  West felt the transporter beam take him. He’d only traveled by transporter a few times, and the last time he had been unconscious after an attack by a Klingon assassin.

  Thus, under any circumstances, transporter travel would be a novelty for him. However, a transporter trip from Starfleet Command directly to the Palais de la Concorde was almost too much to believe.

  A moment later, he found himself looking at another transporter operator who was wearing civilian clothes. Gone were the gray walls of Starfleet Command. Instead, West could see wood paneling and antique furniture.

  A well-dressed Andorian that West recognized as the president’s chief of staff stepped forward and extended his hand to Solow, who shook it. “Admiral, thank you for coming so quickly.”

  “Of course. This is my aide, Lieutenant West,” Solow said.

  “A pleasure, Lieutenant. I am Vilashrel th’Rithsiria, President Wescott’s chief of staff, but please, call me Shrel. Now, if you don’t mind, the president is waiting.” He pointed to the elevator nearby.

  West, Solow, and Shrel stepped inside and the doors closed. A moment later, the doors opened and West was looking out at the president’s office. The room was a half-circle, with windows offering a nearly one-hundred-eighty-degree view of Paris.

  And West had thought the view of San Francisco and the Golden Gate Bridge from Starfleet Command was impressive….

  He had been to Paris briefly before, so he immediately recognized many of the landmarks. The Tour Eiffel, he knew, dated back to the nineteenth century. And Notre Dame Cathedral to the twelfth, making it one of the oldest buildings still in use on Earth.

  Much of the past remained alive in Paris, with architecture from every period of Earth’s history since the Middle Ages as well as some of the most modern facilities on Earth—like the Palais de la Concorde, the home of the offices of both the president and the Federation Council, which, at fifteen stories high, towered over most of the city, seeming to preside over the past, present, and future all at once.

  Once one of Earth’s premier international cities, Paris was now an intergalactic city. The proof of that was the spaceport that West could see in the distance, one of the busiest on Earth.

  Federation President Wescott was arguably the most powerful person in the known galaxy, and he was seated at a round conference table less than twenty feet from the spot where West was standing. The conference table was near the northern outer edge of the room. The center of the room was dominated by the president’s large, circular mahogany desk. The message was clear: this office was the center of the Federation and the desk was the center of its government.

  Though West had seen countless images of the room and understood intellectually that it had been designed to impress visitors, he was still surprised at how effective it was at doing just that. For a moment, he stopped breathing and realized that he was gawking like a first-year cadet.

  Shaking off his bemusement, West focused on the president. Next to Wescott were one Vulcan and two human aides, who were immediately joined by Shrel. Also sitting at the table were Ambassador Fox and three of his aides, whom West recognized. One aide, Fronde, was missing, West realized. It struck him as odd; he had never seen Fox in a meeting without the man.

  Two important men and two groups with them. And into the room of nine people, Admiral Solow and Lieutenant West walked. West should have felt outnumbered, but he didn’t. The admiral was right, just the two of them were necessary. But West still wondered why Solow had not included more of his staff to even out the numbers. Even if the meeting was a waste of time for a few people, it would have been a small one.

  West looked at Solow’s face and saw that it was unreadable, which was no surprise. But he was sure that Solow was sending both Wescott and Fox a message about the difference between how Starfleet operated and how they did. West realized that the meeting, and the subtle shifting of power and influence that would go on there, had begun before they entered the room.

  West found it interesting that though Wescott was human, two of his senior staff were not: one was a Vulcan, another an Andorian. Very interesting choices, he thought. West was suddenly sure that the presence of representatives from those two historically antagonistic races on the president’s staff was no accident. No doubt the choice had been made according to some calculus that West was only beginning to understand.

  As soon as they entered, Wescott and the others stood up. An imposing figure, the president was more than two meters tall. He towered over his staff and was easily the tallest person in the room. His hair was a light brown, with gray starting at the temples. He looked very fit and alert, and West was surprised by how young the man looked. At forty-six, Wescott was the youngest president in the Federation’s history.

  The president’s gaze immediately focused on Solow, and he smiled broadly. “Admiral,” the president said, extending his hand as West and Solow approached.

  “Mister President,” the admiral said as he shook the president’s hand.

  “Good to see you, Herbert. I
wish it were under better circumstances,” Wescott said.

  “I do as well.” Then Solow nodded toward West and said, “This is my aide, Lieutenant Patrick—”

  “West,” the president finished for him as he turned his gaze to West. “I never met your father, Lieutenant, but I suspect I owe him my current job.”

  “Sir?” West said.

  “The entire Federation owes him and Captain Garth for what they did at Axanar.”

  Then West understood. A loss at the Battle of Axanar could have meant the end of the Federation. Instead, the Federation won the battle and survived one of the greatest threats to its existence since its formation.

  “Please send your father my regards, and my thanks,” Wescott added.

  “I will do that, sir.”

  “I see that you’ve made quite a name for yourself in your short time at Command. I have made your reports on the Klingon situation required reading for everyone on my staff. And the ambassador has been telling me how useful your insights have been in his negotiations.”

  The combination of the president’s attention and his words of praise made West feel lightheaded for a moment. Not only had he just met the president, that man had just told him that he was not only aware of but impressed by West’s work. To his chagrin, West felt his face begin to flush.

  “I may have to steal you away from the admiral. You’d make a fine addition to the Federation Council’s xeno-studies department.” The man held West’s eyes for a moment longer, and the lieutenant saw that this might be a genuine offer.

  Then Wescott said, “I think we would all have a great deal to talk about even without the current situation, but we have some urgent business, so let’s begin.” The president sat down, and only then did everyone else take their seats at the round table. “Ambassador Fox can brief you on the breakthrough he has achieved in negotiations with the Klingon delegation.”

  Breakthrough? West thought. The president seemed pleased, and West knew he should have been elated himself. Instead, he found that he was on his guard.