Star Trek: Vanguard - 009 - In Tempest's Wake Read online

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  Harbinger

  David Mack

  Summon the Thunder

  Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

  Reap the Whirlwind

  David Mack

  Open Secrets

  Dayton Ward

  Precipice

  David Mack

  Declassified

  Dayton Ward, Kevin Dilmore, Marco Palmieri, David Mack

  What Judgments Come

  Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

  Storming Heaven

  David Mack

  In Tempest’s Wake (eNovella)

  Dayton Ward

  CONTENTS

  Historian’s Note

  In Tempest’s Wake

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  HISTORIAN’S NOTE

  This story begins in 2269, five days after the destruction of Federation deep space station Starbase 47 (Star Trek: Vanguard—Storming Heaven).

  ONE

  Stardate 5829.6

  Starbase 12

  James Kirk loved looking at his ship.

  It was a rare luxury. Whenever circumstances permitted, Kirk relished the chance to gaze upon the Enterprise, noting each line and curve along with every hull plate and seam. Infrequent travel to or from the starship via one of its shuttlecraft provided such opportunity, but even then duty and schedules often prevented him from enjoying indulgences of this sort. Reviewing a computer-generated image or studying a technical readout, or even wandering its corridors and interior spaces, could not compare to beholding the sight of the Enterprise the way it was meant to be seen—presenting itself to the stars.

  Getting a little carried away with yourself, aren’t you?

  Kirk smiled at his own mild rebuke as he leaned against the railing separating him from the large curved transparent aluminum window overlooking Starbase 12’s cavernous inner docking area. From this vantage point, he could see the Enterprise hanging before him, though his view was not untarnished. Tucked away from open space and held in its docking slip by invisible mooring beams, the vessel was the center of commotion as workbee support craft and maintenance personnel in Starfleet extra-vehicular activity suits moved about it. With the ship’s warp engines and main energy plants deactivated, power was supplied to it via massive cables tethering it to the berth’s control and operations hub. Kirk could see station support personnel working within that hub, overseeing the current inspection and repair tasks. Marring his ship’s exterior were numerous scorch marks and pockmarked hull plates, evidence of the recent confrontation it had endured. Those blemishes would soon be gone, he knew, along with the other damage the ship had sustained in what had been a fierce and costly battle.

  “Captain.”

  Turning at the sound of the single word spoken from behind him, Kirk saw Commander Spock standing nearby. Was the scene outside the view port so engrossing that Kirk had failed to notice his first officer’s approach? For that matter, how long had he been waiting there? Had he made more than one attempt to gain his captain’s attention?

  “I’m sorry, Mister Spock,” Kirk said, clearing his throat. “You weren’t waiting there long, were you?”

  His hands clasped behind his back, Spock regarded the captain with his usual neutral expression. “Three point eight seconds from the time of my arrival, sir.”

  Kirk chuckled. “I’ll try to do better from now on.” Gesturing over his shoulder toward the window and the Enterprise beyond it, he asked, “Any updates on the repairs?”

  “Battle damage repair and other maintenance tasks are proceeding on schedule,” the Vulcan replied, stepping toward the railing to stand next to Kirk. “With the Enterprise, Endeavour, and Sagittarius each requiring attention, the station’s engineering and support staff is somewhat overextended. However, Mister Scott is supplementing their efforts with our own personnel. Estimated time of completion for all outstanding tasks is fifty-eight point seven hours.”

  Frowning, Kirk asked, “Why so long? I didn’t think we were hurt that badly.” He recalled no report from his chief engineer detailing the need for such extensive repairs.

  Spock replied, “Mister Scott is taking advantage of station facilities to replace several major components of the ship’s warp drive and deflector shield generators. Though they suffered no severe damage, there was notable strain on both propulsion and defensive systems during the hostilities.”

  “Well, that’s one way to put it,” Kirk said, recalling the ferocious battle in which the Enterprise had so recently found itself. “Has it really been five days? What’ve I been doing all that time?”

  Ever willing to help Kirk with a question for which he really did not need an answer, Spock said, “You spent most of that period sequestered in your quarters, responding to requests from Starfleet Command to provide reports and debriefing memos detailing the Enterprise’s role in the battle.”

  “Right.” Kirk offered a knowing smile. “How could I forget?” Spock was being polite when he said that the captain had been sequestered. In truth, he had been all but confined to his cabin as he labored to complete what had felt like an endless stream of administrative artillery fired at him by various flag officers prowling the halls at Starfleet Headquarters back on Earth. The only thing more chaotic than the skirmish the Enterprise had survived was the amount of scrambling Starfleet was doing to minimize the numerous and potentially devastating impacts the incident might leave in its wake. Though Kirk’s involvement, along with that of his ship and crew, was at best nominal compared to other personnel, the highest echelons of Starfleet leadership were working overtime to contain what remained a volatile situation. Kirk, so far as he could tell, was at this point little more than a casualty of that process.

  Lucky me.

  It took another moment for him to realize that his first officer was standing in silence as though waiting to be prompted. “Something else, Spock?”

  “I have received inquiries from several of the department heads,” the Vulcan replied. “They are curious as to when they might be allowed to grant full shore leave to the station.”

  Kirk sighed. It was a question he himself had asked, posing the query more than once to the starbase’s commanding officer. In each case, the response had been the same. “Until we’re told otherwise, shore leave for all personnel is not authorized. Only those of us with specific business on the station are allowed to leave the ship.” Kirk was here because he had been ordered to report to the station’s operations level for a debriefing. Spock had been asked to proceed to the starbase’s main computer center, presumably to assist in an update to the Enterprise’s data library systems that had been ordered by Starfleet Command. Despite the apparent urgency characterizing his own summons, Kirk arrived only to be told to stand by for further instructions. At this point, he had no idea with whom he would be talking, or when, or where.

  Hurry up and wait, he mused. Starfleet’s unofficial mott
o.

  As though sensing his impertinent thoughts, a faint but sharp beep from Kirk’s communicator called for his attention. Reaching to the small of his back, he retrieved the device and flipped open its antenna grid. “Kirk here.” Instead of his chief engineer, Montgomery Scott, or even the officer tasked at this moment with overseeing activity on the Enterprise from its bridge, he heard an unfamiliar female voice.

  “Captain Kirk, this is Lieutenant Commander Haystead with Starbase Operations. I’m sorry that you’ve been kept waiting, sir, but I’ve been informed that they’re now ready for you here in our Ops Center on the station’s command level.”

  Knowing the delay was not Haystead’s fault, Kirk replied, “Thank you, Commander. Please tell Commodore DeRoché I’m on my way.” In truth, he had been expecting the summons from Starbase 12’s commander, Commodore Kwame DeRoché, from the moment the Enterprise had docked, but no such directive had been sent until just under an hour ago.

  There was a pause before Haystead said, “Um, no sir, I’m sorry. The commodore didn’t issue the order, though he’s the one who passed on this information to me. I don’t honestly know who you’re meeting, only that you’re supposed to come up here, and it’s expected to happen ‘yesterday.’ At least, those are the commodore’s words, sir.”

  Frowning at Spock, who said nothing, Kirk cleared his throat. “I see. Well, I guess I’m on my way to meet somebody. Kirk out.” He closed the communicator’s cover and returned the unit to his hip. “What do you think about that, Spock?”

  The Vulcan’s sole emotional reaction to the question was to raise his right eyebrow. “I think that you should proceed to your meeting with all due haste, Captain.”

  “Thanks,” Kirk said, suppressing a small chuckle. “You’re a big help.” Gesturing toward the viewing port and the Enterprise, he added, “There’s no telling how long I might be. Go mind the store until I get back.”

  • • •

  Starbase 12’s Operations Center, by Kirk’s estimate, was perhaps three times the size of the Enterprise bridge, with what looked to be that many more workstations. He counted no fewer than two dozen men and women seated at different consoles or moving about the large control room. Situated within the uppermost level of the space station’s cone-shaped primary hull, the Ops Center was circular, though Kirk noticed that the main ring of stations did not line the bulkheads but instead were positioned around the room like islands, in groups of three or four, with aisles separating the islands. From where he stood, Kirk could see down one of the aisles and noted doors set into the wall outside the main work area.

  Mounted above and behind the workstations on the center’s curved bulkheads were ten viewscreens, each displaying images from within and outside the space station. On one of the monitors, Kirk saw a visual feed of the Enterprise and the work taking place on and around it. The angle showed the starship from below, with a pair of workbees sitting on the engineering hull and two Starfleet engineers in EVA suits standing near a section of plating that had been removed.

  Another screen depicted one of the Enterprise’s sister starships, the U.S.S. Endeavour, in an adjacent docking berth and receiving similar treatment. The image depicted the vessel’s primary saucer hull and its forward navigational deflector dish, with the rest of the Endeavour obscured by that berth’s control hub as well as the lattice of a repair dry dock positioned over the ship’s warp nacelles. Kirk knew that the other ship had endured a far worse pounding during the recent fight in which both it and the Enterprise had taken part, and that it had suffered a number of casualties including the loss of almost the entire engineering team. Only through the tireless, valiant efforts of its crew to affect frantic repairs in the face of enemy fire—and, in the case of the chief engineer and his staff, certain death—had the ship survived long enough to complete its mission and make its escape.

  Hearing footsteps approaching from behind him, Kirk turned to see a young, attractive female dressed in a gold duty uniform walking toward him. She was trim and athletic, with brunette hair that was lush and full of curls as it hung around her face and across the back of her collar. Her eyes, dark and wide, seemed bright with enthusiasm. She held a data slate in her right hand, which allowed Kirk to note the lieutenant commander’s stripes on her sleeve. In her left ear was a Feinberg communications receiver.

  “Captain Kirk?” she said as she stepped closer. “I’m Commander Haystead. I’m supposed to escort you to your meeting.”

  With a small grin, Kirk asked, “Do we know who I’m meeting yet?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say, sir,” Haystead replied, pausing to clear her throat. “I know this is unusual, Captain, and for that I apologize, but my orders on this were very explicit.”

  “No apology needed, Commander,” Kirk said. “Orders are orders, even if we don’t always agree with them or even understand them.”

  The young officer’s next words were cut off as she looked away for a moment, her left hand reaching up to touch the receiver in her ear before she returned her attention to Kirk. “That’s our cue, sir.”

  Kirk gestured toward her. “Lead the way.”

  Falling into step behind her, he followed as Haystead cut a path for the aisle separating two islands of workstations on the far side of the Ops Center, maneuvering around various personnel going about their duties. He took the opportunity to steal one last look at the Enterprise on another of the overhead monitors, this one displaying the ship from above and behind it as another workbee maneuvered around its port warp nacelle. None of the activity here in the center or out in the docking bay seemed to show any signs of stopping or even slowing.

  “Is it always this busy here?” he asked.

  Haystead glanced over her shoulder. “Not always, sir, but with the rush to get the Enterprise and Endeavour repairs completed as quickly as possible, we’ve kicked things up a notch or two.”

  “I can imagine,” Kirk replied. With two Constitution-class starships currently under repair and the U.S.S. Defiant lost and presumed destroyed, there were no other such ships in this region. There were frigates and science and patrol vessels, of course, but nothing else matching the Enterprise and the Endeavour for versatility to undertake a host of differing missions. The defensive capabilities of both ships also could not be understated, with the Tholians and Klingons still posing potential threats in the aftermath of recent events. Given the current heated political climate and the ever-present possibility of a new reprisal by the Tholians in particular, Starfleet would want its most capable ships and their crews returned to active service as soon as possible.

  Behind the Ops Center’s primary work area was a curved corridor with doors set into the far bulkhead. Each of the doors featured a plate at eye level inscribed with an alphanumeric designation and a descriptor, such as BRIEFING ROOM 1 or the office of someone assigned to the station’s operations staff. They passed the door labeled with the name of the starbase’s commander, Commodore DeRoché, without breaking stride, and Haystead instead stopped before another door farther down the corridor. Its label was marked with the designation 01-TMP-2 and the descriptor PRIVATE, VISITING FLAG OFFICERS.

  Kirk’s eyebrows rose as he read the description. “Well, this just got a lot more interesting, didn’t it?”

  Rather than replying, Haystead pressed the lone button set into the bulkhead next to the door. A moment later, the door slid aside, and the commander gestured toward it. “This is as far as I go, sir.”

  Nodding, Kirk offered another smile. “If you don’t hear from me in an hour, notify Commander Spock to execute my last recorded orders.” He heard Haystead struggle to stifle a chuckle as he stepped into the room. The door slid closed behind him, by which time Kirk had gotten his first look at the office’s interior. A desk was the room’s most prominent furnishing, though like everything else in the office, it was standard Starfleet issue. There were no photographs, artwork, or other personal effects anywhere in the room save for an open briefcase ne
xt to the computer terminal on the desk. The lack of such items highlighted the fact that this space was for temporary use by persons not typically assigned to the starbase. Kirk noted all of that detail in just the second or two it had taken him to enter the room, by which time his attention had focused on the person seated behind the desk.

  “Admiral,” Kirk said.

  Reclining in the desk’s high-backed chair, Heihachiro Nogura eyed Kirk with a wan smile. He gestured to the chair positioned in front of the desk. “Hello, Captain. Have a seat.”

  As he moved to the proffered chair, Kirk took another glance at the admiral, who seemed to have aged ten years since their last face-to-face meeting. He looked tired, which would be a natural consequence of the stress he had endured in recent months.

  “How are you, sir?” Kirk asked before lowering himself into the chair.

  With his usual aplomb, Nogura replied, “Considering how close I came to getting an entire space station blown out from under me, I suppose I could be doing a lot worse. As it stands, I’m managing.” He paused, looking down at something behind the desk that Kirk could not see. “Want a drink?”

  Startled by the question, Kirk shook his head. “No, thank you, sir.” He frowned. “I’m sorry, Admiral, but I’m afraid I don’t understand what’s going on.”

  “You weren’t supposed to,” Nogura countered, resting his hands in his lap as he began to swivel his chair a few degrees from side to side. As always seemed to be the case when he spoke, he delivered his words in a precise, clipped tone, and his dark eyes felt to Kirk like phasers boring through duranium. “Starfleet doesn’t want me here, but I insisted this debriefing was necessary before we all go our separate ways and resume whatever it is they think are our ‘normal duties.’ So this isn’t an official meeting. There won’t be any formal record, though I’ll write a report for a file that you’ll never get to read. When we’re done and so far as the entire universe is concerned, you and I never met today, and we most certainly didn’t do it here, of all places. Nothing we talk about will ever be spoken of again. Do I make myself absolutely crystal clear?”