So Take These Broken Wings

Chapter Three: We Can Take What Was Wrong and Make it Right

So Take These Broken Wings

                                                    By Linda

Chapter 3: We Can Take What Was Wrong and Make it Right

He had shut down thrusters and was drifting past the hulk.  Though he could easily have taken Shadow Wing right inside through the huge blast hole, he stuck with his plan to go through the loading port that the engineering department had used to take equipment on board.  This way, he thought he might not be bumping his boat disrespectfully into bodies.  The only time crew was in this area was to load or unload from adjacent storage holds. 

He activated mag docking and continued to scrape along the hull, adjusting the magnetic pull as he passed over metal plates roughened by small arms fire, ignoring the high pitched sound of gouging metal that rang inside his boat.  There.  Alignment with the port.  He winced as he limped back to the work suit locker, cradling his wounded arm with his unwounded one.

It took him a whole Rehansu hour to work his wounded body into the suit.  He then unlatched his boat’s door and worked at opening the scorched port.   Inside the dark, cold corridor, the light on his suit showed no people, only tumbled over racks of equipment, as he moved through two storage spaces in the dead ship.  Ah, here it was.  And a mechanized handcart conveniently close, even if wedged under a fallen pile of metal boxes. 

He rejected the arc welding equipment; it was hot welding stuff which used oxygen and was good only for inside a ship.  The electrodless plasma welding equipment was what he needed.  It took him another two hours to extract and load the cart, one handed.  Then it became easier to move the cart with the quarter charge left in its battery.  The battery died just ten yards from the port, so it took him another hour to drag the equipment through into Shadow Wing.

He was exhausted.  And his trust in the humans was constantly fluctuating.  Was he a fool?  He could come back and hail them, saying he wanted to dock to unload.  And then...he could self destruct, taking their ship with him.  Why not?  His family was safe.  They would become Vulcan citizens and he would not be a traitor.  He hated the thought of being a traitor, but...    All those winter evenings huddled around the weak electric fire in a drafty farm house, his grandfather telling tales of ancient Vulcan lore.   The longing for their lost world, the world of their origins, their roots, had gripped him as a child, molded his psyche. 

He detached the mag clamp and drifted away from the huge dark ship, a ship that had once pulsed with light and life.   Engaging thrusters this close to the dead hull was no longer a problem and fresh scorch marks did indeed appear on its surface from his maneuverings.  The glorious ship he once had taken such pride in, was absolutely cold and dead!  Dead as his former crewmates, some of whom had been the closest friends he had ever had.  Dead as the captain who had ordered him and Tanak away on the attack boats to avenge their dying ship. 

Tanak had been blasted to pieces by small arms fire almost out the docking bay door.  Vorush had been fortunate to speed off and hide behind the debris of other ships, taking shots whenever he could, before all the ships that could still move had left the battlefield.  Then for months, he had wandered the graveyard, avoiding dead wrecks, finishing off the last sparks of life hidden aboard wrecks of the enemy. He had found none of his own kind still alive to keep him company.   After the first week, he had started to conserve his resources, occasionally raiding wrecks where he could find food, batteries, and what tools he could move with one dislocated shoulder and broken arm that ached with every effort to move around.  Sometimes now, he could lie still with eyes closed and be pain free – pretending he was not wounded and not completely alone. 

As he moved away from the wreck he had just raided, he was able to read her name: Raptor’s Nest.   He saluted her one last time, the faces of his close friends flashing through his mind.     

....

T’Pau paced from one end of her spacious office to the other.  The hem of her formal reception robe brushed the high pile of the carpet.  She still felt out of her league in such clothing and in such government spaces, to the point where at least once in a Vulcan month she had to return to the desert in a thread bare robe and trekking foot gear to kick up a little sand under a merciless sun, breathing in scorching air laced with sand particles.  This re-oriented her to her humble beginnings and the thoughts she had back then of what was wrong on Vulcan and what should be done about it.

A trek to the desert was now overdue.   She stopped and looked out the deeply tinted window glass at the city.   The hundreds of buildings shimmering in the midday heat reminded her of her awesome responsibility to the several billion people on her world.

Surak?  Am I doing your work well?  Your people are retreating into meditation and repression of their emotions more than ever before.   For a long time we have not eaten the meat of land animals, but that was only practical since we have little of it on this planet.  Yet now, people are even rejecting the plentiful seafood from our only large sea and the products of animals that come from non-kill animal husbandry.   Light seafood eaters are becoming vegetarians.  Vegetarians are becoming vegans.”

She resumed her pacing, continuing her imaginary conversation with her hero and near god-like sacred mentor.   Having brushed his katra held in other people’s minds, she thought a  connection with the great man had been permanently established.  At least she hoped so.

“I have received a declaration of war from the Rehansu, noble Surak.  Fortunately I have cleansed our world of their spies.  We have disbanded most of our space fleet in an effort to follow your instruction that we should become pacifists.”

She steepled her hands.  “But that leaves us at the mercy of other aggressive fleets!  And now Those-Who-Marched-Under-the-Raptor’s-Wings have openly threatened us.  Surak!  We are becoming dependent on the humans and their allies for the protection of our world!”

She sat heavily in the high-backed chair behind her desk, resting her head in one hand. 

“I should have known that the attempt to keep the humans ignorant of the nature of their foe was futile.   Our capturing Rehansu civilian ships as retaliation for the capture of Vulcan merchant ships might temporarily work as a tactic to hide what the Rehansu look like.   But we have not enough ships to go clean up all the battle fields quickly, a job we said we would do for the alliance.  As to who the Romulans really are, Archer knows.  Are you still guiding him as you guide me?  He has kept silent on the matter.  But I fear others know too.   Yet to keep on good terms with the alliance partners, who we will be dependent on to protect us...we MUST maintain secrecy about this.”

She took a few deep breaths and placed her finger tips on the desk to help put her thoughts in logical order.  These few humans that did know or would find out, could probably be reasoned with to maintain silence for the good of future alliance relations and the growing popularity of Admiral Archer’s idea of a federation.   Archer was being guided by the thoughts Surak’s katra had planted in his mind.  T’Pau believed this.  Archer, was doing Surak’s work.  Such a federation, as long as each species had sovereignty over their own home worlds, was the best protection against invasion by repressive empires such as the Romulan and the Klingon.  Vulcan’s best interests were with this federation idea.    

She depressed the buzzer for her secretary.  “You may send Ambassador V’Lar in now.”

....

“Well, Commander Tucker, have you been listening to our negotiations with the Romulan?”

Trip sighed.  It was good to hear Hoshi’s voice.  He listened to her brief summary of what had happened since their last communication.

“Roger.  Come pick me up.  And tell Malcolm to warm up his laser weapon for a cutting job.  Hoshi, I think this will work.  The cutting part at least.  I’m not sure we can trust this Romulan.  Sounds like a sneaky Romie trick to me.  Is he really going off to get welding equipment or to get a better weapon?   Over.”

“That is Malcolm’s take to.  But I have developed a sixth sense about alien voice inflections.  I am cautiously optimistic.  I have visual on you now.  I am bringing the ship to all stop.  Malcolm is at access port 1, port side, to help you in.  See you soon.  Out.”

An hour later, Trip was saying “Nice job, Malcolm!”  Trip clapped the man on his shoulder as   the hundred-fifty feet of strut spun backward away from the wreck of the Andorian ship, taking the attached nacelle with it. 

Trip returned to the ship’s controls as Malcolm activated the tractor beam, completely missing at first, then washing over the nacelle and its strut, bringing it spinning toward them.  Finally, as Trip see-sawed their ship, Malcolm got the detached nacelle moving directly behind them in the beam and slowed it to a stop.  Malcolm switched off the beam and the thing hung there.

Trip grinned.  He felt better whenever there was work to do instead of just wait time to be endured.  “Okay now, let’s do some prep work on our ship’s broken strut.  We can do that with the small cutting tools on board.  Then we don suits and do some prep work on that strut of our new nacelle, which you cut so cleanly and to just the right length, Malcolm.   Hoshi, how would you like some training in out-of-hull ship repair to add to your resume?”

“Just as long as no one gets the idea I want to switch to engineering, Sir,” she smiled.

Malcolm thought that in their cheerful banter, his two shipmates needed a bit of a stern reminder.  “Best you train her now, as I will soon have to turn my attention on the Romulan.   He is due to return soon.  I want to keep one hand on a weapon when he’s around.”

With that sobering thought in mind, all three of them got busy with the engineering prep work.

....

Malcolm had stood by at the weapons for two hours.  It was time to switch with Hoshi who looked like she could use a break from physical labor.   She had just gotten out of the bulky out-of-hull Andorian suit and settled at a console with cup of tea, when the Romulan returned.

Vorush saw the new nacelle next to the human’s Andorian ship.  He slowed to assess the situation.  One figure in an out-of-hull work suit was on the broken end of the ship’s nacelle strut doing the kind of work usually assigned to enlisted people.  Yet these three were officers.  They had told him their ranks.  He was a bit nervous about that.   He had never trusted officers, just obeyed them.  That was just one of the things that kept him undecided.   He activated the coms.

“Andorian vessel, this is Shadow Wing.  I have returned. Over.”

“Shadow Wing, Vorush, this is the Andorian ship, Hoshi Sato, speaking.  Were you successful in retrieving the welding equipment?  Over.”

“Andorian-ship-Hoshi-Sato, of course I have been successful.   I will now dock with you, my starboard side to your port side.  Tell your fellow crew people to come aboard and take the equipment.  I need medical care.  I do not wish to do further labor.  Can you break badly set bones and reset them?”

Hoshi sighed.  Yes, they all had field medical training.  For humans.  Vulcans were humanoid and she had seen Phlox work on T’Pol.  “Yes we can.  And we have had some limited medical experience with Vulcanoid physiology.  On our home ship, we have a Vulcan crewmate. Over.”

“Really!  I am impressed.  And it just goes to show what the intelligence in our fleet has suspected all along: the Vulcans are silent partners in this alliance.  No matter,” he laughed, “I am in no position to pass this information on to my former fleet. May I dock now?  Over.”

“Hoshi to Vorush.  You may dock at this time. Out.”

Vorush was a bit dizzy with a further lose of blood after his exertions and was in some pain.  Disoriented and a bit fearful, he still had his finger on the self-destruct mechanism.   As he felt the bump of the two ships joining, he still was undecided.  Though he mourned personally for only a few of his crewmates on Raptor’s Nest, duty to his old shipmates was at war with the urge to see his wife, an engineer’s mate on the Industrial Workers Transport IV, and their five-year-old daughter, again.   He had to test this situation more, before he made his decision.

He hailed Hoshi again.  “So.  Here we are.  Let us dispense with coms protocol.  I have something important to tell you before I finish docking my boat.   I could kill you all easily with the weapons I have on this boat.  Why am I hesitating?  Why have I gotten equipment to help you?”

Hoshi frowned.  This was one crazy unstable alien.  What did she really have to offer him? 

The pause gave him time to craft more thoughts.  “I am not afraid to die.  I offered my life many times.  I am no coward.  All I see in you is soft kindness.  How can you be worthy of the sacrifice of my life, my honor, if I defect to you?”

She bristled with a deep anger.  Sacrifice?  “You don’t know what sacrifice I am capable of!  I too have put my life on the line for my people!  When I was captured by the Xindi and tortured...I tried to kill myself.  Why am I telling you this?  I have not talked about this to anyone before.  Not even Malcolm.  How can YOU be worthy of the sacrifice of MY life, MY honor!  Am I wasting my time here?”

He sighed.  “The Xindi?   The only honorable and worthy thing that humans have done for the rest of the universe, even us Rehansu?  Yes, we know of this.  We respect this.”

“Really?”  She was calming down.  Maybe there was a way to proceed here.  “Let me tell you what the inside of a Xindi ship looks like.”

She told him and in accurate detail.

“You are correct.  We found one that had been wrecked and abandoned.  I helped with the dismantling and study of it.  Perhaps there is more to you than I thought,” he grudgingly admitted.

They continued to talk in their uneasy standoff.  A pinpoint of trust hanging on a great deal of respect was growing in his battered and cautious soul.  He let down his guard a bit and told her of his people’s love/hate attitude toward the Vulcans on the ancient world of their origin and how they yearned to reclaim that origin.   “There are those on our world who resist Vulcan influence.  But there are those like me who study Vulcan languages and culture and understand more than you think.”

“And we are greatly curious about you.  We are trying to understand you even as we are engaged in mortal conflict with you,” Hoshi said.

“You can never completely understand us.”

“Probably not.  But we can, and are, learning to cooperate with alien cultures.   You have noticed how quickly cooperation as opposed to domination is moving the alliance forward?”

“Too quickly.  My people fear that.”

“Why fear that?”

“That is not our way.”

“But it prevents destruction of individuals who are different and creative in technical invention and even politically innovative thought.  These are the people who move culture forward change it for the better.  If you kill off these people, like your culture seems to do, just because you are afraid of them, your culture eventually stagnates and dies.   Left alive, their creativity and sharing of knowledge makes life easier for everyone.”

“Too have a stable society; you must have conformists, order, and elimination of nonconformists.”

“But it is the nonconformists who improve society.”

“Nonconformity distracts one from one’s duties.  It makes you dream of other things, makes you soft and ripe for conquest by those species like us who keep our wits about us through discipline.”

“We have discipline too.  Control over our more violent impulses and discipline to sit and listen to the concerns of others.  It takes concentration and intelligence and time to understand how others see the universe and to craft solutions to mutual problems through negotiation.”

“Conquest gets the job done quicker.”

“Conquest only temporarily subjugates people while resentments and rebellion simmer and eventually destroy what conquest has established.”

He did not answer right away.  But he aliened his ship with the tractor beam.  Then he said “I am just a very minor cog in the Romulan fleet.  I have already been written off as a sacrifice whose only reward is honor in dubious memory.  My family, which is my legacy, is no longer under Romulan authority but on some backwater Vulcan colony world.   After centuries of freedom from Vulcan repression, they are once again second class citizens under a dominant Vulcan culture, a related culture, but not completely their own.  They need me and I do not have the creativity nor the willingness to see beyond this immediate situation to the lofty issues of interstellar struggles.  I am all talked out.  But at least I am alive and they are alive.  There is hope in this, no matter how much I have doubts about it.   Going back to my fleet, there is no hope.  My cooperation with you so far would be tortured out of me and I would die in disgrace.  So I will go with you, reluctantly, but I will go with you.  We will see what happens.”

Hoshi smiled, though he could not see that.  But she hoped that he would feel the smile in her words.  “Why don’t you come aboard our ship?  You don’t even have to dock your ship.  We can beam you in and tow your ship. “ 

She wasn’t sure, after his threat, that she wanted that ship any closer.

He raised his finger off the destruct mechanism, choosing life and hope over death and revenge.   At least for now.

Note:   It took me a longer time between this chapter 3 and chapter 2 than it did between chapter 1 and 2.  I had a knee operation and didn’t feel like writing.  But the last chapter is done and I promise to post it, Chapter 4, about a week after chapter 3. Thank you for sticking with the story!