Chapter Text
Stardate 59864.1
Interstellar Space
When her monitor chimed to announce an incoming call, Mariner was in the XO’s office with Boimler, the two of them sitting across from each other at their partner’s desk. They had been working logistical planning for the upcoming mission, lobbing snarky comments back and forth the whole time. Mariner had been getting the worse of the exchange for once, so she was glad of the distraction.
“Huh. Starbase 80,” she observed. “Wonder what Mom wants?”
Boimler shrugged. “I hope it won’t be anything like the last time she handed us a mission.”
“You’re just mad because you didn’t get to come along.” Mariner reached for the accept key before he could raise any objections.
Sure enough, when the call came through, Captain Carol Freeman’s face was center field. At least she was smiling . . . and it was a genuine smile, not the diplomatic pasted-on kind, the crinkles at the outer corners of her eyes in full view. “Beckett! It’s good to see you, hon.”
“Good to see you too, Mom. How are things at the gateway to everywhere?”
“Chaotic as always. Those agents from Temporal Investigations have been here, turning everything upside down.”
“Oh, man, those two are the worst.”
“You know it. I think they’re trying to decide if the quantum portal counts as a time-travel device.”
“Ugh, of course it does! As long as you define ‘time travel’ as going sideways, and up and down, and blue and orange, and some other directions too, as well as forward and back.”
“I think that’s the conclusion they’re converging on too, but they’re taking their sweet time about it.” Freeman chuckled. “Pun not intended. I figure it’s better to let them do their job. That way, they might actually be of some help if things get weird around here. Well, weird-er.”
“So, what brings you to our office? Got another mission for us?”
Freeman’s eyebrows rose. “Your office, plural?”
“Hi, Captain Freeman!” Boimler called, sing-song, waving even though she couldn’t possibly see him. The dweeb.
“Ah, of course. No, this is only a social call. I understand congratulations are in order.”
Congratulations? Oh, right, the Starfleet rumor mill must have gotten to Starbase 80. Only thing faster than subspace radio. “You heard about me and T’Lyn, huh?”
“I did.” Freeman gave her a sharp glance, although it wasn’t an unkindly one. “It seems to be doing you some good, from what I can see. I’m happy for you, Beckett, though I must admit to some surprise.”
Mariner narrowed her eyes, a danger signal. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Only that Lieutenant T’Lyn seems out of character for you.” Freeman smirked. “You used to be in the habit of dating people designed to piss me and your father off.”
Despite herself, Mariner laughed. “That’s fair. I don’t know how well you got to know T’Lyn while you and she were both here, but she’s a very bad girl by Vulcan standards.”
“Oh?”
“Oh yeah,” Mariner said, “quite the cultural rebel. Underneath that icy, stoic exterior is someone who is very much in touch with her intuition and her emotions. She even has a sense of humor. It’s as dry as Vulcan’s Forge, but it’s definitely there.”
Freeman smiled warmly. “I see. Maybe she fits the pattern, after all.”
“You got it. Besides, she’s crazy smart, and she does not put up with my bullshit, and she’s always open and honest with me, and . . .” Mariner had to stop and take a deep breath. “Damn, Mom, I really am falling for this one.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Mariner saw Boimler aiming an unusually sunny smile across the desk at her. She gave him an instant’s warning glare, and turned back to her mother.
“Good. When you get the time, Beckett, your father would like to meet your girlfriend, and I wouldn’t mind the chance to get to know her better. Bring her with you and come visit us at Starbase 80.” Freeman’s smile widened, and became a little sharp-edged. “I know, this is not your favorite place, but it’s quite a lot better than you may remember. All the resources coming this way have helped us to clean it up, make it an installation Starfleet can take pride in.”
Mariner scoffed. “Did you at least get rid of the Pyrithian bats?”
“Oh yes.” Freeman shuddered. “That was first on the priority list. The turbolifts work now too, and the Gatherers are a lot better behaved now that they have the tourist concessions.”
“No promises,” said Mariner. “We’re going to be tied up on Vashti for weeks, but I think Jack might be willing to cut us some leave time if things go as well there as they did on Torrassa.”
“I’ll cover for you,” Boimler volunteered, “and Tendi should be able to fill in for T’Lyn.”
Mariner nodded in thanks.
“What about T’Lyn’s family?” Freeman asked. “You’ll need to make a trip to Vulcan at some point, I imagine.”
“Yeah, but that’s not happening anytime soon,” said Mariner, frowning at the thought. “I mean, if we do decide to make something permanent out of this, we’ll need to square things with her family, but that’s not going to be easy. T’Lyn still talks to her dad once in a while, but I gather he’s not likely to approve of a relationship with a human, much less a woman. Her mom pretty much disowned her years ago. She doesn’t talk about them much. I think she’s a little scared of opening that can of worms.”
“Well, I for one am not concerned. Because she’s going to have my determined, fierce daughter at her side the whole time.”
“Damn straight!”
“All right, hon, I’ll let you get back to duty. I just wanted to see for myself how things were going with you, and give you our best wishes. Come see us when you can.”
“Will do, Mom. Bye!”
After the connection was broken, Boimler remarked, “You know, I think that was the nicest conversation I’ve ever seen you and your mom have.”
“Carol and I get along on an inverse-square law,” said Mariner. “The greater the distance between us, the better our relationship. Although . . . I have to admit, T’Lyn has been helping me deal with a lot of the issues that used to have us striking sparks off each other all the time. For someone who’s not trained as a therapist, my girl is frighteningly good at diagnosing where my brain is miswired, and helping me fix it.”
“Didn’t you say she was trained as a Vulcan healer? I understand they treat mental issues as much as they do physical.”
“No. They thought she might go in for that when she was young, but she went into science and the Expeditionary Group instead. Which I think is one reason her mom pretends she doesn’t exist. T’Lyn has what they call adept’s training, to help her manage her telepathy, but she only ever picked up the basics of healer training.” Mariner shrugged. “I ask her how she does it, and all she ever says is, ‘I pay attention.’”
“Well, I’m glad. She’s been good for you . . . and I think you’ve been good for her too.” Boimler gave her one more warm smile, then turned back to his monitor. “Now, we’d better focus. Vashti is going to be an order of magnitude more involved than Torrassa.”
Senior science officers’ log, stardate 59867.8, Lieutenants (junior grade) D’Vana Tendi and T’Lyn reporting. The Cerritos has arrived in standard orbit of Vashti, a Federation colony world in the Qiris Sector, 2.4 parsecs from the Romulan Neutral Zone. Vashti has agreed to accept Romulan migrants, and the UFP High Commission on Refugees has designated the planet as a Romulan Relocation Hub. Not only will the planet receive a quarter of a million Romulan refugees on a permanent basis, as many again may stay here temporarily before being further resettled on worlds deeper inside Federation space. Cerritos is one of three ships being deployed to improve local infrastructure and housing stock before the arrival of the first wave of migrants.
Vashti is a marginally Class-M planet which resembles Vulcan. Most of the planet’s surface is arid desert or exposed bedrock, with no world-spanning oceans, although there are several small seas. Humans find the planet more hospitable than Vulcan, with lower surface gravity, a cooler climate, and a thick atmosphere rich in oxygen.
The local biochemistry is fully compatible with human or Vulcan life, with cellular biology dominated by standard DNA and RNA processes, along with the usual list of amino acids and carbohydrates. About 20% of the planet’s surface is covered by vegetation, including several varieties of trees that grow to truly remarkable size. Animal life forms tend to be small, with many pseudo-avian and pseudo-mammalian species capable of gliding or flight. There are no dangerous predators, although some species of small biting or burrowing animals are considered a nuisance.
The current population of Vashti is 5.1 million. 79% of these are human, most of them adherents of Hinduism, Buddhism, and similar dharmic religious traditions. 16% of the colonists are Vulcan, and the remainder are from a variety of Federation worlds. The planetary government is a representative democracy, centered around a Constituent Assembly whose members are elected on an annual basis. The colony has a strong sentient-rights charter and a tradition of respecting diversity, which may be one reason it was so willing to accept Romulan refugees.
Although the Science Department will not be the focus of the ship’s mission on Vashti, we look forward to lending our support as needed.
“Curious,” said T’Lyn, as she finished editing and archiving their log entry. “Lieutenant, what do you know about the religious traditions dominant among the humans on Vashti?”
“They mostly come from a place called India,” Tendi answered, turning away from a lab bench to watch T’Lyn where she sat at her desk. “I’ve never been there, but I’ve known humans from that part of Earth. The last head of Ops was one of them. Remember Commander Singh?”
“Yes.”
“I read about the dharmic religions in the Academy,” Tendi continued. “They’ve spread all over Earth by now, and to the stars. There’s a lot of variety. Commander Singh was a Sikh, but most Indians are Hindus of various kinds, a lot of other humans are Buddhists, and there are some other sorts too. It’s interesting that they all seem to live together peacefully here on Vashti. As I understand it, they haven’t always gotten along well back on Earth.”
“Human history is full of conflicts over religion,” T’Lyn observed. “Although I should not belittle them for it. Despite our ability to sense the presence of the divine in the universe, Vulcans have rarely agreed upon its nature, and before the Time of Awakening we also fought over such differences of opinion.”
Tendi opened her mouth, then her brain visibly caught up with what she had heard. “I’m sorry, did you say Vulcans can sense . . .”
“It seems to be a by-product of our telepathic abilities. Aside from the presence of other corporeal sentient beings, we constantly have a sense of something that inhabits the universe as a whole. Sentient, always present, even watchful, but silent.” T’Lyn shook her head slightly. “It would be illogical to deny the sense, but it settles fewer questions about reality than one might think. Most modern Vulcans continue to observe ancient rituals and traditions, but we do so because they are of psychological and social value, not because we believe a deity expects them of us.”
“That’s interesting!” Tendi’s eyes shone, as they often did when she was learning something new. “We Orions have hundreds of little goddesses and gods that still get attention. Guardians of place, personal protectors, tricky beings that have to be placated if you want luck, that kind of thing. Most of us think there’s a Goddess above all, but she keeps her distance and doesn’t interfere in mortal affairs. Though she’s useful to swear by when you’re angry, or pray to when you’re in trouble. It’s probably a good thing we can’t ‘sense the divine’ like you can.”
“Why is that?” T’Lyn asked, genuinely curious.
“Well, Orions generally aren’t as sneaky and paranoid as Romulans, but most of us still wouldn’t be comfortable with the sense that something is watching us all the time.”
“Yes, I can see why that might be disturbing.”
Tendi’s eyes went wide at a sudden thought. “Hey, do you think this thing you sense might be Q?”
T’Lyn frowned slightly in distaste. “Highly unlikely. I have never encountered Q, but from the reports I have read, it is nothing alike. Which may be one reason Q has never been recorded as harassing Vulcans. We would not pay it the attention it craves, or provide any amusement for it.”
“True. Q seems to prefer pestering humans.” Tendi turned back to her work, making a small adjustment to the equipment on her bench. “I’ve never heard the name Vashti before. Is it from one of the dharmic religions?”
T’Lyn called up an encyclopedia article on her padd, speed-reading it. Her eyebrow rose. “No. Apparently Vashti is a figure from a completely different human religious tradition, one which is not represented among the human colonists.”
Tendi shook her head. “Humans are weird sometimes.”
“I concur.”
Stardate 59869.5
Standard Orbit over Vashti
Aboard the USS Hiram Roth
Mariner shimmered into existence on the transporter pad, already looking around at the room.
Big airy transporter bay, everything’s spit-and-polish . . . and is that a mural on the side and back walls? Ugh, some kind of Federation heroic-realism style. All bright shiny faces, on a bright shiny planet, looking up at bright shiny Starfleet ships in the sky. I mean, I love Starfleet too, but get over yourselves, dudes.
A Haliian male stepped forward, tall and burly, in Command reds with four pips. “Captain Ransom, welcome to the Hiram Roth. I’m Kaleel Ren, task force commander.”
Ransom smiled as he stepped off the transporter stage and took Ren’s hand. “Looking forward to working with you, Captain. My officers, Lieutenants Boimler and Mariner.”
Ren nodded politely to each of them. “We’re still waiting on the San Clemente to send their staff over. I suspect Captain Tharin likes to interpret punctual as last-possible-moment.”
Ransom chuckled. “He has a name for it. Don’t worry, he’ll be here on time. Exactly on time.”
Ren indicated a young human woman standing close by. “In the meantime, Lieutenant Hughes will show you to the conference center. We’ll get started as soon as Captain Tharin graces us with his presence.”
“Right this way, sir,” said Hughes, leading them out of the compartment.
Mariner kept her head on a swivel. She had never been aboard one of the Envoy-class diplomatic cruisers before.
New class, a post-Dominion-War initiative, she thought. My career took its nose-dive by the time I would have had any chance to serve on one of these. I’m not what Starfleet would consider its best foot forward, after all.
In fact, she wasn’t impressed. Every panel and every line shouted Academy clean. There were more murals on the walls, all of them in that same heroic-realism style that was doubtless generated by computer. She wouldn’t have been surprised to see crew holystoning the deck plates. Even Lieutenant Hughes was a gorgeous little thing, with absolutely perfect posture and grooming, striding along and looking as if she wanted to start power-walking at any moment.
If anyone on board this ship has ever seen so much as a Drookmani scavenger armed with harsh language, I’d be surprised.
“Right in here,” said Hughes, bowing at the door to one of the most spacious and sumptuously decorated conference rooms Mariner had ever seen.
She followed Ransom through the door, still looking around. Little cluster of Starfleet uniforms already seated at one end of the conference table, likely Captain Ren’s staff. A couple of ensigns setting padds and drinks out on the table. At the far end of the room, a knot of civilians, all standing and paying court to . . .
No. No fucking way.
Mariner had a momentary impulse to run, or failing that, to freeze in Ransom’s shadow. She suppressed the urge, staying right behind Ransom and to his right as he entered the room and crossed over to the Starfleet contingent, she and Boimler being good little wing-men.
A glance to the far side of the room, and he hadn’t noticed her presence yet. He didn’t seem to be taking any notice of anyone in a uniform, in fact.
Ransom was smiling, shaking hands, introducing himself and his co-first officers. Not noticing that Mariner had gone stiff and silent all of a sudden. Boimler, on the other hand, was as always more sensitive. He asked no questions out loud, but he was giving her a very puzzled look.
Just then, Captain Ren came striding through the door, a tall Andorian thaan with captain’s pips and two more junior officers following. “Well, we’re all here, finally,” said Ren, with a sharp-edged smile directed at Captain Tharin. “Let’s get started —”
“What is she doing here?” came a harsh voice, from the far end of the room.
Mariner looked, and sure enough, he was staring directly at her.
“Commissioner, is there a problem with one of our officers?” asked Ren, bewildered.
He pointed at Mariner, and demanded, “Captain Random . . .”
“Ransom.”
“Captain Random, that officer has no place in this mission. If she’s one of yours, I want her returned to your ship and kept there for the duration.”
Give him credit, Ransom immediately drew himself up and set his jaw. “I don’t know who the hell you are . . .”
“I am Commissioner Charles Enright Quinn, with the United Federation of Planets High Commission on Refugees, and this is my mission. I don’t want that officer anywhere near it. If you need a reason, I suggest you look up her service record, specifically on and about stardate 53472.”
“I’m perfectly familiar with Lieutenant Mariner’s service record,” said Ransom, “and the events of that date have no bearing. She is a dedicated and capable officer, and I will employ her as I see fit in pursuit of this mission. Commissioner.”
“Captain Ren?”
The Haliian cocked his head, looking unsure as to what he had stepped in, but he showed no sign of yielding. “Sir, this is indeed your mission, but you are not in the Starfleet chain of command any more. It’s your job to give us direction. It’s our job to make sure you succeed. Nothing in your charter gives you the authority to make personnel changes in Starfleet.”
Quinn continued to give Mariner a hostile stare. “If that’s the way you want to play it, Captains. Be sure I will be watching very closely, and if anything goes wrong – anything at all – and Lieutenant Mariner is involved, I will see her and you in front of a Board of Inquiry.”
“Understood,” said Ren. “Let’s all sit down and get started.”
Under cover of the bustle of Starfleet officers and civilians finding their seats, Boimler leaned close and whispered in Mariner’s ear. “What the hell? I’m never surprised any more when you turn out to have odd connections, but they’re usually not this hostile.”
Mariner shook her head, avoiding any glance down the length of the conference table. “It’s a long story,” she murmured. “Six years ago, I was a full lieutenant, assigned to the Yosemite as the helmsman, and Quinn was the ship’s captain.”
“Yosemite,” Boimler mused. “Wasn’t that the Oberth-class ship that . . .”
“Yeah.”
“Oh.” Boimler took a deep breath. “Oh, shit.”
Mariner only nodded. Oh, shit indeed.