“Survivors?” Valdore asked.

The centurion appeared relieved that he now had somewhat better news to impart. “Fortunately, Doctor Ehrehin and several key members of his research team were safely evacuated just before the conflagration escaped the containment measures.”

Valdore nodded, thankful for whatever good news he could find. After all, the Unroth disaster could have been far, far worse. “What are the prospects for getting the project back on track?”

A subtle expression of fright crossed Terix’s forehead once again. “A new prototype is several khaidoaaway, Admiral. Even if the new stardrive had passed all its tests and were to go into mass production tomorrow, Coridan would still be far ahead of us. So far, only the internal political dissension that now divides the Coridanites has prevented Coridan Prime from sharing its warp technology with Earth, or any of the other Coalition worlds.”

Now Valdore understood both the suddenness and the urgency that had motivated both the Praetor and the First Consul in their decision to free him and restore his military commission.

They saw him as the Empire’s deliverance.

It was therefore Valdore’s mission either to expedite the work of Ehrehin and the Empire’s other premier warp engineers, or to buy them whatever time they might need to gain the technological upper hand. Using whatever means might prove necessary.

Valdore stared at the brown‑and‑blue world that now filled the screen that dominated the wall before which Terix stood. Coridan Prime itself was clearly the key to this business, because of its technology and its vast dilithium resources–both of which had to be denied to the worlds of the still‑forming Coalition of Planets. The central world of the Coridan system must be the primary target for any attack,he thought. Regardless of Earth’s political role in the alliance.

But he also knew that a conventional military campaign against Coridan could generate many undesirable and unintentional consequences for the Empire. Coridan was home to some three billion people, whose wealthy, resource‑rich society would doubtless be roused to considerable wrath should Valdore initiate a direct attack that could be traced back to Romulus.

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.