Xiong let his conscience speak. “For how this turned out.” He watched the sluggish line moving toward the transport. “I never thought they’d put you all on a slow boat to nowhere.”

“Silly me,” Marcus said. “I thought you might’ve wanted to apologize for selling out your principles and throwing me to the wolves in the name of duty.”

“You don’t really think that’s what happened, do you?”

There was no forgiveness in her eyes. “What do you think happened?”

Realizing he might never see Marcus again, he decided to be as truthful as possible. “I think . . . that you took a stand based on your principles. I think you tried to be a voice of compassion and decency in a time and place where those values can get people killed. I think you’re a great scientist, and an even better person. And I wish there was some way we could live up to your ideals and still accomplish our mission as Starfleet officers.”

“Ming . . .” Her anger melted away, revealing sorrow and disappointment. “You make it sound as if it’s an either-or decision, but it’s not. Saying we have to pick between security and integrity is a false choice. Cruelty is not the path to lasting peace. It can’t be.”

“Carol, I think you’re missing the point. Starfleet’s not doing this because it believes in torture. It’s because, whether anyone outside this station realizes it or not, we’re at war. We’ve tried to communicate with the Shedai, but they’re not interested in talking to us. In almost every encounter we’ve had with them, they’ve tried to kill us. Now, I know you don’t agree with the remedies we’re developing—”

“Remedies? That’s a lovely euphemism.”

Forcing himself not to be baited into a dead-end argument, he took a calming breath and pressed on. “We’re doing what has to be done to protect the Federation, and the galaxy.”

“I see. You’re planning to commit genocide in order to prevent genocide.”

He pushed a hand through his short, spiky black hair. “What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I just want some reason to believe you haven’t let your emotions trump your good judgment.”

Her accusation rankled him. “What the hell does that mean?”

“There’s an old saying, Ming: ‘Inside every cynic is a disappointed idealist.’ You used to be one of the most ethical, principled scientists I knew. But you said it yourself: you saw good people die, and you changed. And I think I know which death it was that changed you.”

Xiong turned to leave. “Have a nice trip.”

Marcus grabbed his sleeve and spun him around. “It was Bridy Mac. Something inside you changed when she died. I saw the difference in you, Ming. It was like someone flipped a switch inside your head, and you haven’t been the same since.”

“I’m just applying the scientific method. New evidence contradicted my theory of morality, so I changed my theory to fit the facts. That’s how I know I’m doing the right thing.”

“Are you sure?” She was pleading more than arguing. “What if you’re doing the wrong things for the right reasons? Would you even be able to make that distinction?”

He felt like she was talking in circles. “Why would it matter?”

“It matters because our actions define who we are, Ming—not just as individuals but as a society. And I’m telling you right now that Starfleet’s approach to the Shedai and those artifacts is immoral. Whether it succeeds or fails, it’ll demean the spirit of what Starfleet is meant to be, and taint the souls of everyone who’s a willing part of it.” She seized his hands. “You’re playing with fire, Ming. You’re meddling with forces that none of us have even begun to understand, and you’re trying to use them in ways that history will never forgive. Mark my words: this vile experiment can only end in disaster. . . . I just hope you realize that in time to stop it.”

Marcus let go of his hands, picked up her bag, and took a few steps down the gangway. She paused and looked back, as if to say a final farewell, but then seemed to think better of it. Without another word she blended back into the line and passed from Xiong’s sight as she stepped through the hatch of the Linshul.

Xiong walked back inside the lower docking pylon and stopped for a while in the observation lounge overlooking the Linshul’s berth. As the Drogher-class transport separated from the airlock and navigated away from the station on thrusters, Xiong considered all that Marcus had said, but he kept coming back to her warning: You’re playing with fire. As the Linshul sped away at impulse, Xiong realized where he had heard Marcus’s warning before.

It was what his own conscience had been telling him since his first day on Vanguard.

24

Despite having visited the Vault only twice before, Vanessa Theriault thought the lab felt strangely off-kilter without any civilians manning its stations. The few that hadn’t been directly dismissed from the project and the station by Starfleet Command’s edict had chosen to leave with Doctor Marcus, in a profound demonstration of ethical solidarity. In their place, Xiong had recruited Theriault and more than two dozen of the best scientific personnel from the station and the Endeavour. Apparently, the project had been deemed urgent enough that Starfleet Command had approved upgraded security clearances for all those who had to be brought up to speed on the true nature of the Shedai and the objectives of Operation Vanguard.

“We’re getting ready to power up the array,” Xiong announced. “Everyone stand by and keep a close eye on your readouts. If you see anything that’s been flagged as a hazard, speak up.” He stepped back behind the clear partition and took his place between Theriault and Lieutenant Stephen Klisiewicz at the master control console. “Initiate start-up sequence.”

Theriault, who was tasked with monitoring transmissions and emissions of energy to and from the array, confirmed, “All readings nominal. Throughput is steady, no distortion.”

Klisiewicz made a few fine adjustments at his panel. “System interface is up. All checksums are valid, and it looks like we have clear signals from all nodes.”

Xiong asked, “How’s Node One?”

That was the designation for the array’s only occupied crystalline artifact. The operating system Klisiewicz had designed using the new intel from T’Prynn had made it possible to monitor the status of every linked node in the array and identify each by a unique number.

“Containment’s solid, boss,” Theriault said. “No change in output.”

“So far, so good,” Xiong said. He rubbed his hands together before setting them back on the master controls. “Okay, folks, time for step two. We’re going to slowly increase the power from standby level to what we estimate is the normal operating level. Look sharp.”

With one fingertip, he gradually traced the outline of a circle on his panel, and it responded by switching from cool blue to bright red at his touch. A low-frequency hum from inside the isolation chamber sent a sympathetic shiver down Theriault’s spine.

“Fifty percent,” Xiong said, still nudging the power levels upward.

The deep droning from the array increased in volume and pitch. Crooked bands of blue lightning hopscotched over the linked crystals. Xiong called out, “Sixty percent.”

“Interface is still five by five,” Klisiewicz said. “Good to go.”

Xiong looked left toward Theriault. “Energy readings?”

His request broke the machine’s spell over her, and she eyed her gauges. “Pass-through is clean, no distortion. Minor fluctuations in output from Node One.” She double-checked the levels against their redlines. “All readings are within rated norms. Good to go.”

“Substations,” Xiong said, his voice echoing from the lab’s PA system, “any red flags?”