Therefore the only solution to the problem was to launch a wholly unconventionalcampaign.
“Show me the most recent reports from Chief Technologist Nijil’s office,” Valdore said. “How far has he progressed on his warship‑cloaking research since my…sabbatical from duty began?”
The bleak look on Terix’s face grew even bleaker. “Unfortunately, this new stealth technology remains adequate to conceal only small devices, such as mines or probes. It could be decades before it will become practical to use it to conceal an entire ship. I fear that the setback we suffered as a result of the loss of the original prototype cloaked bird‑of‑prey nearly three fvheisnago may well have ensured that.”
Valdore scowled at the bleak memory of the explosion that had vaporized the experimental cloaked bird‑of‑prey Praetor Pontilusafter its extremely power‑intensive stealth system had caused a catastrophic antimatter containment failure. But he understood all too well that such losses, however tragic they might be, were necessary for the protection of the Empire.
“What about telepresence drones, then?” Valdore asked, barely suppressing a wince as he mentioned the project that had nearly brought his career–and his life–to an ignominious conclusion.
The centurion brightened. Switching the image on the screen to a schematic diagram of a modified T’Liss‑class bird‑of‑prey, he said, “I am pleased to report that Doctor Nijil’s section hasmade significant progress in this area, Admiral. The telepresence systems used in the earlier prototypes have been rebuilt and greatly refined. In fact, several new drone ships now stand ready for combat duty, except…” The younger man’s voice trailed off, and his earlier expression of discomfiture returned.
“Let me guess. Nijil has no telepathic Aenar pilots in his care at the moment.”
Terix nodded unhappily. “We currently have no telepaths rated to fly these ships, Admiral.”
Why am I not surprised?Valdore thought. He had seen for himself how reticent Nijil had been about pushing his lone Aenar pilot past the point of brain damage or death, even when such extremes were demonstrably necessary for the success of the mission. Nijil was an obsessive, committed tinkerer when it came to the inanimate metals and ceramics and electronics that made up his hardware creations. But he was frequently far too soft for his own good–and for the good of the Empire–when it came to making harsh but necessary demands of the living, breathing “wetware” that sometimes had to be sacrificed to the cause of either science or warfare.
Valdore wondered if he could manage another Romulan slave raid against Andoria’s Aenar subspecies without drawing undue attention to the Romulan Star Empire–and without precipitating a concerted counterattack by several Coalition worlds before he felt confident that the Romulan military was ready to handle it.
Of course, such situations are tailor‑made for intermediaries,he thought. He already knew whom he intended to contact about obtaining–discreetly–all the Aenar pilots he might need. With a career military man’s crisp economy of verbiage, he instructed Terix to contact the particular man he had in mind and to report back to him the moment he succeeded in raising him via a secure subspace com channel.
Dismissed, Centurion Terix placed his right fist over his left lung, his elbow over his heart in a textbook‑perfect salute. He turned smartly and exited the room, leaving Valdore alone with his thoughts, and with the dathe’anofv‑sen–the Honor Blade–that hung at his side. He drew it from its scabbard and considered its deadly brilliance as he balanced the fine weapon in the palms of both hands. He hoped that the actions he was about to undertake wouldn’t force him to feed the blade’s hungry, gleaming edge with his own life’s blood, though he knew he wouldn’t shirk from such a duty should honor demand it of him.
Finally satisfied that he now had at least an inkling of the strategy and tactics he would have to outline for the Praetor and his tribunes tomorrow morning, Valdore finally felt sufficient confidence to contact the only other people in the universe whose approbation meant more to him than that of either his military or civilian superiors.
Sweeping the stacks of papers and data slates to one side of the table, he activated the communications terminal before him and waited for the images of his wife and children to appear on the screen.
Five
Monday, February 3, 2155
Andoria
HRAVISHRAN TH’ZOARHI STOOD QUIETLY in the frigid breeze that moved continuously through the dimly lit, iceencrusted cavern. He closed his eyes and exhaled, sending plumes of vapor curling upward over his head. Having been raised in some of Andoria’s coldest climes, he found the chill wind stimulating and life‑affirming, evocative of the simpler, happier days of his childhood. A time long before life’s inexorable and unforgiving circumstances had seen him take up arms to defend his people. Or had forced him to bury his beloved bondmate Talas, whose murder at the hands of a treacherous Tellarite diplomat– thatzhavey ‑ less swine Naarg,he thought–remained an open wound even now, months after the fact.
A time,he thought, his frost‑caked antennae turning downward, when I was still just plain Shran.
But he found it difficult to extract any real, substantive joy from the raw, visceral sensation of cold air that flowed all about his body. For one thing, the tingling in his incompletely healed left antenna–it was still not quite three‑quarters regrown after Jonathan Archer had cut it off in a ritual Ushaan‑Torbattle–was a constant irritant, as were the headaches and feelings of vertigo the damaged sensory organ still caused on occasion. And despite the small crowd of quietly joyous people that now surrounded him–warm, welcoming folk who hadn’t hesitated to take him in after the Andorian military had summarily cashiered him for losing his command, the Kumari,to a Romulan sneak attack–he felt isolated, alone. However sightless the Aenar standing all around him might be, there was just enough tenebrous, microbe‑generated light in the spacious chamber to spotlight Shran’s uniqueness here; Shran was the only blue‑skinned mainline Andorian in the entire underground city of the Aenar.
Aside from their obviously unusual pigmentation–all of the perhaps five thousand Aenar who still dwelled beneath Andoria’s northern wastes were albinos–there was little to distinguish these people from their cerulean‑hued cousins, at least visually. And like their far more common blue Andorian, the Aenar could not reproduce without the participation of four distinct sexes: shen, thaan, chan,and zhen. Also like Andorians, the Aenar possessed frost‑white hair and prominent cranial antennae that not only provided EM‑band sensory input but also swayed and danced in response to their emotions.
Watching the slow, stately approach of the shelthrethparty, Shran considered the emotions that most distinguished Aenar from Andorian, perhaps even more than did the albino people’s unique and formidable telepathic abilities. For the Aenar were as gentle and pacifistic as Shran’s folk were passionate and contentious. Despite their diminishing numbers, an augury of imminent extinction in Shran’s estimation, the Aenar seemed to have made their peace with a hostile universe in a way that Shran had never managed to do, and probably never would. He often envied them their upbeat outlook and their gentle serenity.
But he also sometimes quietly raged at them for their entrenched belief in passivity.
Yet he couldn’t help but wonder just now if either Andorian or Aenar was destined to survive without the other.
Without any conscious volition he could recall, Shran had begun the morning by mentally composing a poem about what was to occur on this day. Or perhaps it would one day become a song, with lyrics set to dirge‑like music, inspired by Shran’s own losses as much as by Jhamel’s poorly suppressed grief for her brother Gareb, whose death had closely coincided with that of Talas. However it came out in the end, he already knew with certainty that if he ever managed to see it to completion it would be a sad, morose thing indeed.