She studied her visage for a moment in the mirror above the basin. To her surprise, she noticed three or four gray hairs in among her shoulder-length black locks. Only forty, and already going gray,she thought, chuckling to herself. “So much for not worrying,” she said.
Except it’s not really worrying, is it?She just wished that she knew why Starfleet Command had ordered the captain to stay behind on Algeron. They’d clearly had some purpose in mind, and she simply wanted to understand it. Perhaps she should’ve asked Captain Harriman about it before he’d left the ship, but he hadn’t seemed approachable at the time. As far as she knew, he seldom kept information from her, his professed belief being that his crew could best serve Enterprisewhen they knew what he knew.
“But that’s not always possible, is it?” Sulu asked her reflection in the mirror. Certain information had to remain known only at the highest levels of Starfleet. She recognized the need for classified data; for good reason, nobody aboard Enterprise,and only a very few in Starfleet Command, knew of her mission alongside Captain Harriman to Devron II, much less what had happened there.
Unforgettable images rumbled through Sulu’s mind. The turbulent descent through the rich, roiling atmosphere of the planet. The enormous, towering volcano hurling molten rock and ash high into the atmosphere. The gargantuan and seemingly impenetrable rain forest. The electric-blue disruptor blasts hammering into one of the warp shuttles. The crash landing. Devron II had been an experience of extremes.
Sulu dropped the towel beside the basin and returned to the living area of her quarters. Thoughts of the secret mission—considered successful at the same time that it had been disastrous—recalled those who had carried it out: Captain Harriman and herself from Enterprise,Iron Mike Paris from Agamemnon,T’Prel from New York,Zultu Bini and Claudine Robinson from special operations, and Creyn, from nowhere Sulu had ever been able to determine.
I still keep thinking about Iron Mike Paris,the captain had told her before departing the ship. That had been the second time he had mentioned Iron Mike recently—and those had been the onlytimes he had mentioned him since the Devron mission. She wondered again whether Harriman had been trying to tell her something.
Sulu walked over behind her desk and sat down. She punched at the activation button for the desktop computer interface, which chirped in response. “Computer,” she said, “show me the Starfleet personnel file for Commander Michael Thomas Paris.”
“Working,” the computer replied in its slightly stiff female voice. A moment later, the interface display sparked to life. The left third of the screen filled with a portrait of the officer, the right two-thirds with data about him.
Sulu looked at Iron Mike’s face, and she felt a twinge of something; even a year afterward, the memories of the events on Devron II carried with them an emotional weight. Paris appeared quite youthful in the picture, just as he had at the start of the mission, though she knew that they’d both been born in the same year. A small and seemingly fragile human, with soft features and light hair, Paris looked as though it would have been impossible for him to have genuinely earned the nickname of “Iron Mike.” By the time the mission had ended, though, Sulu had understood the source of the moniker: Paris had acted with unrelentingly strong mental discipline, facing dangers with bravery and selflessness.
The Starfleet personnel summary recounted information about Iron Mike, some of which Sulu had learned prior to the Devron operation. Born 17 May 2271 on Altair IV, in Hume Township. Wife, Victoria Santos. Son, Cole, born only days before Paris had left Agamemnonfor Devron II. Graduated Starfleet Academy with honors in 2292. Served as a mathematician aboard Colombiabefore requesting and being granted a transfer to the command track. Rose rapidly up through the ranks, serving on Excelsiorand Mjolnirbefore being assigned to Agamemnon.As second officer and then executive officer of Agamemnon,decorated seven times by Starfleet, a fact that impressed but did not surprise Sulu.
She read through the list of Paris’s awards, which included such high honors as the Silver Palm with Cluster; the Grankite Order of Tactics, Class of Excellence; and the Archer Ribbon for Conspicuous Bravery. She had expected to see a decoration at the end of the list—something like the Karagite Order of Heroism—given for Iron Mike’s role in the Devron mission, but of course, nothing could have been awarded for an operation that, as far as most people knew, had never taken place.
Sulu pored through the detail of Paris’s Starfleet record, through to his leave of absence from Agamemnon—a leave that, like hers from Enterprise,had been scheduled to last only weeks. No explanation had been given for his time away from Agamemnonbeyond Personal request.Information about—and even the very existence of—the mission to Devron II would doubtless remain classified for years to come, Sulu thought.
And then she came to the next entry in Iron Mike’s personnel record, and her jaw dropped in shock. She looked at it a second time, thinking that she must have initially misread it. The stardate identified a time several months after the Devron II mission, and listed Paris’s return to Agamemnonas the ship’s executive officer.
But that had never happened, Sulu knew.
“Computer,” she said, “what is the current status of Commander Michael Thomas Paris?”
“Commander Michael Thomas Paris is the first officer aboard U.S.S. Agamemnon,”the computer answered.
Sulu stood up quickly, a rush of energy pushing her to her feet. She felt confused and…and betrayed.Something was wrong here, and she needed to know what it was.
She reached down and jabbed at a button, deactivating the computer interface. Then she moved out from behind her desk and paced across the room, her mind attempting to concoct scenarios that might be able to explain what she had just learned. She crossed her arms as she strode up to a viewing port, but though she peered through it, she did not see the stars. Instead, she saw the surface of Devron II: the lava flows, the great waterfall, the wreckage of the warp shuttle, the subterranean compound they’d found in the middle of the jungle.
And she saw Iron Mike Paris, in the moments after he had selflessly risked his life for hers. She saw his tattered flesh through the tears in his uniform, his body badly broken. She saw herself rushing to him, trying to save him, her hands becoming soaked in his blood. And she saw his last, quick intake of breath, and his eyes as the light faded from them.
A year ago, on Devron II, Sulu had watched Iron Mike Paris die.
Azetbur ran at speed across the courtyard, her legs devouring the distance to her adversary. As she neared him, she raised her staff above her head, setting up to wage her attack. She saw him brace himself as she approached, bending his knees in obvious preparation to spring away, his eyes measuring her advance.
With the gap between them closing, Azetbur opened her mouth wide and screamed, her voice loud and wild, a battle cry she hoped distracted from the rapid change she made to her handhold on the staff. Almost on top of her adversary, she brought the weapon down fast, in a move she intended to appear as a direct assault. Her adversary committed himself at that moment, leaping away to her right. But Azetbur thrust the far end of the staff into the grass-covered ground, planting it. Holding tight to the staff, she adjusted her weight and threw her body into an arc around it. She swung her feet out and caught her adversary on his right side, one of her heels landing on his biceps, the other on his chest. The impact sent him flying from his feet.