The Good That Men Do - Andy Mangels [18]
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 has made 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- that zhavey-less swine Naarg, he thought- remained an open wound even now, months after the fact.
A time, he thought, his frost-caked antennae turning