Ucarro Major II,
Salem Sector:
Darren Kolchak stopped
to tighten the scarf around his face, and his hold on the panting furred animal
in his care, before continuing onward, desperate to get under cover before his
pursuers caught up with them. The creature, an emaciated Rigelian jackalope,
reminded him of the baby deer that used to come out from the woods outside his
childhood home in the Adirondacks and beg for treats. They were brave little
things.
This little one was
brave too, and clever, no doubt; but it had no idea what was happening to it,
or the world around it. Darren had more cognisance. He suspected he would have
been better off being ignorant.
The proximity alert
on his wrist unit made him quicken his pace, back to the closest of his hiding
spots: a sand-covered gulley against the sun-bleached skeleton of a huge
pachyderm creature lying in the sand, along with dozens of others, the remains
of a mighty herd of animals that crossed these plains- what, only a week or two
ago? When this part of the planet was, at least for a short term, alive?
Kolchak dropped to a
particular spot, reaching into the ochre sand, finding the latch and lifting it
up carefully, just enough to let him and his latest charge slip in, with
precious little sand following. He dropped into the darkness of the small hole,
the interior of his escape pod, the jackalope still chittering to itself,
allowing him to continue to hold onto it while he removed the canteen from his
belt, pulled down his scarf and drank sparingly, not sure how long the pod’s
recycling units would hold out.
Outside, the sound of
one of the drones approached.
He willed his heart
to keep from bursting from his chest, as if it might be heard outside. And he
waited. He knew how to wait; he’d had enough practice in the last couple of
weeks.
The jackalope
struggled out of his grasp and dropped to the floor of the hole, sniffing
around easily in the dark, getting a sense of its new surroundings. Kolchak
carefully poured some water into the cap of the canteen and set it down beside
him, near where he knew the animal would-
He heard it scrabble
up and began lapping greedily at the repast. Enjoy it while it lasts,
Furball.
He listened at the
hatch door, trusting in the diffusive properties of the kelbonite particles in
the surrounding sand to confuse their sensors. His phaser was still at his
side, at the ready, though he knew that once he used that, there’d be no doubt
that he was still alive out here. And then…
Don’t think like
that. Morituri, as a former editor liked to tell him. We
Who Are About to Die. Of course, that was usually before he sent him on
a dangerous assignment. Now Kolchak worked freelance.
So instead he sent
himself on dangerous assignments.
Yeah, that sounded so
much better.
*
Station Salem One,
Deck 4 – Broadway:
As he strode down the
walkway that wound fully around this deck of the station, Commodore Esek
Hrelle’s head spun slightly from the cacophony of scents and sounds around him.
Commander Haluk had arrived the day before with the one hundred Starfleet
Academy and Technical Academy cadets and their support staff, along with the
Federation Commissioner and her staff, everyone had settled in and were now
exploring their new home… or in the case of many of the cadets, were now
stopping and staring in his direction.
His Adjutant, Lt Zir
Dassene, walked briskly beside him, reading from her PADD as she did so. “You
have a call scheduled at 1100 Hours with Admiral Sutekh at Starfleet Operations
regarding the potential installation of a Starfleet depot on Nepenthe.”
“Sounds like fun.”
Hrelle stopped at the newly-opened stylist shop, run by some of the Paserak
refugees he agreed to let stay on the station after discovering them hiding
here; how good will hairless reptoids be dealing with cutting hair and fur?
“And what about-“
“The meeting with Lt
Salvo regarding the disposition of our new prisoners has been moved to 1300
Hours,” she interrupted, “As a window’s opened for your Strategic Briefing to
Admiral Raner at 1245 Hours.”
“Only fifteen minutes
with Raner? Seems a trifle short.”
“Her Adjutant’s told
me that she’s going on a long-overdue leave after her call with you; as long as
we’re not reporting our imminent destruction, she won’t want to stay around for
pleasantries. Sir, we’re going to be late for the Squadron Briefing.”
Hrelle grinned, his
tail swishing behind him, and continued walking towards the lifts up to the
Command Decks; the young Orion woman was exceeding his expectations of her in
this new role. “And what about-“
“I’ll be meeting with
Chief Sakai and his team at 1400 Hours, while you have lunch with your family
while Sasha is still on-station. I can handle the Chief, so long as I watch out
for whoopee cushions-“ Zir stopped and glared at a small group of cadets, who
were staring and nodding in their direction, muttering between themselves,
before jumping as she barked at them, “ARE YOU SQUABS VOLUNTEERING FOR EXTRA
DUTY? IS THAT WHY YOU’RE STANDING THERE?”
The group was
practically tripping over each other to get somewhere else.
Hrelle had to struggle
to keep from laughing as he watched her shaking her head, muttering to herself,
“Damn cadets. Sorry, Sir, you’d think they’d never seen a Commodore before.”
“Actually,” he
informed her, “They were talking about you.”
Zir frowned at him.
“Me? Are you sure, Sir?”
He reached up and
flicked the tip of his pointed left ear. “These aren’t just for show. Don’t
worry, they weren’t being rude or disrespectful; they’re actually in awe of
you.”
“In awe?”
He nodded. “One of
the female cadets referred to you as a ‘Green Goddess’. ”
She turned a darker
shade of olive, as she pretended to study her PADD again. “I’ll make sure the
Cadet Showers only produce cold water. Commodore, we’re going to be late to the
first Squadron meeting.”
“So? All those
Captains work for me, they won’t complain.”
“There’s also the new
Federation Commissioner,” she reminded him soberly. “You agreed to let her sit
in, Sir, despite my initial misgivings about including her in Starfleet
matters.”
“Duly noted.”
“You only get to make
one first impression, Sir,” she added.
He smiled and waved
her towards the turbolifts. “Yes, Ma’am.”
*
Hrelle looked around
him. His Conference Room was twice the size of the one he had on the Surefoot,
though as he looked around at the assembled officers and staff, he was glad for
the space to diffuse the collected scents. “Thank you all for coming here to
this first Sabre Squadron One Briefing.”
“It’s the least we
could do, Commodore,” Weynik noted, smiling. “Given that, you know, we were
ordered here and everything.”
Hrelle smiled back…
and noted the slightly disapproving reaction from Ryo Nam-Seon, the sector’s
new Federation Commissioner, a shockingly young-looking human female with prim
sable hair and a purple suit that seemed even more starched than her spine, as
she sat next to Zir.
He hadn’t much of a
chance to speak with her before now, but had read her profile: Terran-born,
from the Chinese Federated States, with a notable career supporting the
Federation Bureau of Planetary Treaties, before accepting her present position
of authority: a redoubtable promotion for one her age, even if it was
located in a remote sector of the UFP. Whether she could manage it was another
story.
He put his thoughts
aside and focused on the business at hand. “I’d love to make this a regular
occurrence for us to all meet in person, but strategically that won’t be
prudent. So better get used to seeing my beautiful furry face on your ships’
viewscreens.”
He nodded to Zir, who
brought up a map of the sector on the wall behind him, producing highlighted
sections of it timed to his speech. “I’m aware that for some of us, we’re not
yet at optimum, and work is still underway, both on our ships and our crews, so
I’ve tailored your individual assignments to take note of this as much as
possible.”
He started with
Captain Godleski, a broad-jawed, freckled Terran woman with ginger hair
ponytailed behind her. “Sonia, you’ll be taking the Prospero to Axyllus,
to examine and resupply the Federation Archaeological Team that’s been based
there for the last two years, excavating the ruins of the native civilisation.
They’ve also
requested assistance with safely reaching a newly-discovered underground
pocket, and to that end, you’ll be taking along with you one of my young
Science Officers, Ensign Stalac-”
Nam-Seon cleared her
throat politely.
Hrelle and several
others looked to her. “Yes, Commissioner?”
The young woman
leaned forward, eyes wide as she focused on him, her dark lips curling
slightly. “Pardon me for interrupting, Commodore, but as I understand it, the
Axyllan Ruins are a particularly vital and prestigious archaeological
resource.”
He waited for her to
continue, before prompting with, “Yes, we are all aware of that, Commissioner.
What about it?”
Her smile broadened,
as if guessing she had to use smaller words for his benefit. “Well, Commodore,
don’t you think a junior Starfleet Science officer might not be the most
appropriate person to deal with such an important task? I understand the
redoubtable Professor Tallus is now stationed on Salem One. She would certainly
be more fitting than some... less qualified individual.”
Hrelle saw Weynik
react to the mention of his mother’s name, but ignored him for now to focus on
Nam-Seon. “Professor Tallus is a civilian who will assist us on an ad hoc
basis when required, and will most likely visit Axyllus at a later date, after
she’s established herself on Salem One. As for Ensign Stalac’s qualifications:
beyond his brilliance in multiple scientific fields, he’s a Horta. If it
involves something underground, then he’s the best among us to handle it.”
“Ahh,” she responded
serenely. “You didn’t make that clear beforehand.”
“He didn’t have to,”
Weynik quipped, smirking. “The Commodore’s running this show. If you need to
know something, he’ll tell you.”
Nam-Seon gave the
Roylan a look, but said nothing further, leaving Hrelle to turn to another
familiar face: Neheru, the Kelpien who years before introduced Hrelle to the
Sabre-class vessel that would eventually become the next Surefoot, and
who served as his Second Officer until he had been wounded in the Battle of
Khavak.
Hrelle was pleased to
see him back, hale and hearty, the tall, salmon-coloured humanoid older and
more experienced enough to command a Sabre of his own. “Neheru, you’ll be
taking the Tangshan to Bandera III. There’s a pre-Warp humanoid
civilisation there, and a Federation Anthropological Team with a Covert
Cultural Observation Post. They should have been rotated out before now, but as
you can imagine the War delayed matters. Assist them in shutting down their
post, and bring them and whatever data they’ve collected back here. Now-“
Nam-Seon cleared her
throat again.
Hrelle turned back to
her. “Yes, Commissioner?”
She smiled politely.
“Pardon me for interrupting again, Commodore, but I would have thought that,
given the sensitive nature of our covertly monitoring a pre-Warp civilisation,
that you would have warned your subordinate against accidentally revealing our
presence or technology to the local inhabitants.”
“No, Commissioner, I
didn’t,” he admitted, “For the same reason that I’m not warning everyone here
against being drunk on duty, or signing up with the Orion Syndicate: because
we’re all professional and it’s not necessary. Still, if it’ll assuage you…” He
turned back to Neheru. “Try not to end up appearing as a god to the Banderans
if you can help it.”
Neheru steepled his
elongated fingers and curled his lipless mouth in amusement. “Pity, I had
ordered a large marble statue in my image for them to worship, but I suppose
I’ll just save it for my quarters.”
The other Captains
chuckled at that. Nam-Seon didn’t, but Hrelle decided to let it pass as he
moved on to Captain Blum, the former Chief Engineer of the border ship Tempest,
who had risen in rank and position thanks to the losses suffered in the War. He
was another old friend of Hrelle’s, and Hrelle had noted how the man’s thick
beard had collected some grey along the way. “Marvin, you and the Ulyanov
will be proceeding to the Deertail Cloud, to repair and replace the
navigational hazard beacons set up around it.”
Zir brought up the
image of a curled, purple-red swirl of gas as Hrelle continued. “I need to stress that under no
circumstances are you allowed to enter the Cloud itself. No deeper than 1175 particles per cubic metre, if you can absolutely help it. Same goes for the
rest of you, and any cadets who might be out on their own and looking to get nosy.”
Blum smirked. “Ahh,
you’ve saved the glamorous work for me.”
Nam-Seon cleared her
throat again.
Hrelle looked at her
again. “Yes, Commissioner?”
The woman frowned.
“Commodore, the data package I was given about Salem Sector when I accepted
this assignment mentioned the Deertail Cloud, but didn’t go into too much
detail. I know they can sometimes be navigational hazards, but the way you’re
describing it, perhaps it warrants a more thorough study-”
“No.”
She blinked. “No?”
He shook his head.
“No. Deertail’s sleeping, and doesn’t want to be disturbed; ships that do
disturb her end up being crushed and spat out. Everyone who’s lived in this
sector long enough knows this, and knows to avoid it. The beacons I set up
around her twenty years ago when I captained the Furyk and made contact
with her are just there for the curious and the stupid.
The true nature
behind Deertail is Classified, to protect her from possible exploitation. And
that’s all I’m prepared to say on the subject.”
Nam-Seon blinked, her
skin flushing as she took in the revelation. “I… see.”
“Good.” Hrelle looked
at Captain Arrington now, another human closer to his age, with honey blonde
hair, sharp nose and icy blue eyes. “Lucille, you’ll be taking the Al-Razi
to the Ucarro Minor system, specifically to the ninth planet, a Free Port on
the boundary between open space, the Salem Sector and the Paserak Homelands.
It’s your typical wretched hive of scum and villainy; we have no jurisdiction
over it, but it’s been useful at times.
Like now. The Paserak frequent Ucarro Minor on their way to their Homelands, and I want some discreet intelligence gathering, monitoring their communications, movements, etc. Our Paserak residents on Salem One have talked about some recent internal conflict among their people, though they were reluctant to go into further detail-”
Nam-Seon cleared her
throat again.
Weynik made a sound
himself now, but Hrelle turned back patiently to her. “Yes, Commissioner?”
“Pardon me for
interrupting again, Commodore, but the Federation does not make a habit of
spying on its neighbours.”
That produced a
reaction from some of the Captains, most notably Weynik, who asked her, “And
what storybook did you read that in, Missy? You’re in the real world now-”
Hrelle raised a paw
to his friend to cut him off, before continuing, more gently, to Nam-Seon, “I
hate to contradict you, Commissioner, but the Federation, every galactic power,
does that very thing. And with good reason; as much as I respect the Paseraks’
privacy, what happens with our neighbours can affect us profoundly, and we
can’t afford to not be prepared.”
Arrington nodded
knowingly. “Can we expect trouble, Commodore?”
“My own personal
experience with them was that they only use their weapons in defence… but
whatever’s going on with them now might have changed that policy. Defend
yourselves if necessary, of course, but otherwise stick with the Better Course
of Valour.”
He then turned back
to Weynik. “And on a related note: following up on the Kzinti attack on the
Paserak ship near Salem One, I want the Katana to backtrack the route
the raiders might have taken; the Kzinti might have used our absence from the
sector to set up a hidden base nearby to more closely monitor us. If they have,
then assess the situation, deal with them yourself if you can, draw back and
alert us if you can’t.”
“So, Commodore,”
Nam-Seon interrupted, “You have no problem with our spying on others, just when
the situation is reversed?”
He looked at her
again, feeling his patience wearing. “Only when the ones spying on us are more
likely to use the knowledge they gain to launch attacks. Now, if you’ll excuse
me?” He focused on the Vulcan female beside Blum. “T’Varik, I want you to take
the Surefoot to the Ucarro Major system, next door to Ucarro Minor - specifically,
you’re going to the second planet in the Ucarro Major system.”
He glanced behind
him, as Zir manipulated the images to display a small, cloud-covered planet to illustrate his subequent words.
“Ucarro Major II is a Class-K planet used by Zorin Interstellar Industries as a
training and testing platform for their Terraforming Division.”
T’Varik raised an
eyebrow. “Have they requested assistance from us, Commodore?”
“On the contrary: the
response we received from Zorin’s local Project Manager, a Mr Paul Reiser,
assured us that they were fully self-sufficient in supplies, transport,
security, all that credits could buy, and have been throughout our temporary
withdrawal from the Sector, and that there was no reason to waste our time
visiting.
But you’re not going
there for their benefit, but to investigate what happened to the SS Whisper,
a private courier vessel hired to transport a passenger to Ucarro Major: a
Federation News Service journalist named Darren Kolchak. According to his
associates at the FNS offices on Triacus, Kolchak was set to do a feature on
Zorin Interstellar’s Terraforming Division, but the Whisper allegedly
never arrived; the automated perimeter satellites set up by ZI on the edge of
the Ucarro Major system reported spotting the ship on long-range sensors, being
attacked and destroyed by the Marauder Pack we apprehended on Scesity before
arriving here.
I want the Surefoot to go and find out what really happened-”
Nam-Seon cleared her
throat again.
“You really should
get the Station Hospital to check that out, Commissioner,” Weynik suggested
dryly.
Hrelle pressed his
paws into the surface of the table, feeling his hackles rise, accepting just
how right Zir had been in doubting the wisdom of having the other woman
present. “What is it now, Commissioner?”
“Commodore, Zorin
Interstellar is a prominent company, with a reputation for delivering on
contracts for exploration, shipping, mining and others, and like many private
corporations have supported the Federation infrastructure while Starfleet
focused on the Dominion War.”
He shrugged. “Yes,
and?”
Nam-Seon folded her
hands on the table. “And frankly, I find it disquieting that you’re reacting
with such suspicion without good cause.”
He nodded, glad that,
if she was going to be a burr in his fur, that she had taken this route. “I
understand completely, Commissioner. And if you hadn’t interrupted me – once
again – then I would have gotten to the part where I explained that at the time
Zorin Interstellar claimed the Marauders were attacking the Whisper, the
Marauders were actually at Telamon, many, many light years away. We confirmed
this from their own ships’ logs.”
Nam-Seon swallowed.
“I… see.”
“Good. Now, knowing
how efficient Lt Dassene is, I’m sure she will have already sent the
appropriate mission packets to your respective ships, so I’ll let you take
advantage of your remaining time at the station before departing. Dismissed…
Commissioner, would you remain for a moment, please?”
Nam-Seon had started
to rise, but then settled down again… next to Zir, who had chosen not to leave,
until Hrelle prompted, “Lieutenant, would you ensure that Lt Cmdr Hrelle
receives all updated intelligence on the Kzinti and their technology, to assist
in the Katana’s mission?”
“Of course,
Commodore.” Zir nodded and lifted up her PADD, without moving.
“Perhaps you could
get that done in your office?” he clarified gently.
She looked up again,
her skin darkening as she glanced at Nam-Seon and understood. “Ah, of course,
Sir.” She rose and departed with everyone else.
When they were alone,
Hrelle looked back to Nam-Seon. “Would you care for some tea, Commissioner?
It’ll help that tickle you seem to have in your throat.”
“No thank you,
Commodore.” She shifted in her seat. “Commodore, I apologise for my numerous,
needless disruptions to your Briefing. I must look like some sort of idiot to
you and your Captains.”
“No, Commissioner,”
he assured her, seeing and believing her contrition. “Just someone eager to
make a mark and prove herself in a new role with some heavy responsibilities;
we’ve all been there… though I’m glad you stopped before you started
criticising the décor or the scent of my fur shampoo.
But I didn’t ask you
to remain behind to scold you. For one thing, as the Federation’s senior
representative in the sector, technically we all work for you.”
She smiled, the
tension easing a little from her face. “Still, I must seem like some upstart
opinionated child to all of you, sitting in on the grown-up’s table acting like
she belongs there.”
“Not really,” he
promised, with genuine concern, “Nor will anyone hold your age and lack of
experience against you. As a matter of fact, I could use your assistance,
regarding Zorin Interstellar.”
“Oh?”
He nodded.
“Starfleet’s access to private records is limited; as the Federation rep, you
have pull we lack. I want to know more about why they chose Ucarro Major II.
There’s plenty of worlds closer to the hub of the Federation that could be
used; why did they come out here?”
She looked up again
and rose. “I’ll find out what I can for you, Commodore. Thank you for your
patience. And I hope you won’t take it personally if I don’t sit in on any more
of your Squadron Briefings. I have a great deal of work ahead of me.”
He rose as well,
offering a paw. “I understand; you and I will of course have our own private
briefings.” He smiled. “I might even get a whole paragraph in without
interruption.”
*
“USS Surefoot,
Captain’s Personal Log, Stardate 54199.76, Captain T’Varik, Recording: we are
proceeding to the Ucarro Major System as per Commodore Hrelle’s orders. Our new
Chief of Engineering, Lieutenant James Madison, appears to be fitting in well
with the rest of the crew, or so I have been informed by my First Officer. I
will accept their word on this, being focused on another new arrival to my
life…”
*
T’Varik stepped out
onto the Bridge and adopted a relaxed stance… and noted how the shorter,
younger Vulcan male at her side copied her pose, intentionally or not. “This is
the Bridge, designated in the technical specifications as Section Deck
2-Fore-1. The design of the Sabre-class vessel is atypical for Starfleet vessels,
in that there is an elevated section in the rear, which contains support
facilities such as the Atmospheric Control Room, Deuterium Injection Engineer
Bay, Waste Recovery Control Bays and others, that serves as Deck 1.”
Her nephew Srithik
nodded sagely, studying the layout and the crew. “I have noted this in my
studies of Starfleet, Aunt. Is there a logic behind placing such a vital part
of a starship on the outer edge, rather than in a more secure location deep
within the vessel?”
T’Varik noted the
amused reaction from some present to the use of the term ‘Aunt’, and ignored it
to reply, “That has been suggested, and it is recognised at least
partially as a psychological holdover from the design of nautical vessels,
where the command centre needed to be elevated for visual navigation purposes.
However, the present
location of a starship Bridge has its advantages, in that Bridge Modules can be
easily removed and replaced or upgraded, and offers easier evacuation by
lifepod for vital personnel when required.”
He nodded again. “I
understand. Thank you for this opportunity, I will repair to my quarters and
not disrupt your life any further.”
From her place at
Tactical, Lt C’Rash Shall turned, the coal-furred Caitian female glancing at
the boy, and then her spouse T’Varik with a familiar smirk. It was one T’Varik
had seen numerous times, since Srithik arrived from Vulcan to live with them
instead of his mother, and the young man kept promising to be as invisible and
inconsequential as possible.
T’Varik faced him again,
folding her hands behind her. “Nephew, allow me to clarify our domestic
situation: your presence does not disrupt my life. It completes it.”
Srithik breathed in,
allowing the level of emotion one would expect from a Vulcan his age to show on
his face. “You honour me.”
T’Varik felt the
subliminal purr from C’Rash, but chose to focus on her nephew. “Commander Haluk
has told me about the level of interest you have shown in joining Starfleet. Do
you believe you have a preferred specialisation?”
“Science.”
She nodded, expecting
that.
“Or Engineering,” he
added quickly, his olive skin flushing slightly. “Or possibly Flight
Operations.”
She raised an
eyebrow. “You will have time to choose later; we will focus on your first
choice for now. Lt Kitirik?”
From one side of the
Bridge, a short, lime-green reptoid male in Sciences Blue rose from his station
and approached. “Respected Captain?”
“Nephew, this is the Surefoot’s
Chief Science Officer, Lt Kitirik. Kit, I am aware that you are preparing your
scans of Ucarro Major II, but would you be so kind as to seat Mr Srithik at the
Auxiliary Science Station and familiarise him with the standard Starfleet
layout and functions?”
“I would be most
delighted, Respected Captain.” He beckoned to the younger Vulcan with a webbed
hand. “Come, Sir. Should you choose to focus on the Sciences, I would be happy
to enlighten you further. I am considered most proficient at the various
disciplines, especially Physics… though I do not want you to think I was
fission for compliments.”
At the Operations
station beside Tactical, Second Officer Lt Giles Arrington groaned. “Kit, he’s
only just got here, give him some time before you hit him with your puns.”
T’Varik approached
C’Rash. “Tactical analysis of the system?”
The Caitian returned
to business, leaning in, her tail curling around T’Varik’s leg as she indicated
the readouts. “Typical binary system: small Type 4 black star circling in an
elliptical orbit around a Red Giant; the black star causes periodic subspace interference,
and Zorin Interstellar have seeded a ring of perimeter satellites to compensate
for it. Inside the system, just two planets and an asteroid belt. Nothing
outstanding or suspicious.”
T’Varik looked to
Giles. “Hail the Zorin facility.”
Seconds later, he
frowned and shook his head. “No response.”
She looked to the
viewscreen, where the desolate-looking yellow-red planet, looking drier beneath
the glare of the red giant sun, filled the screen. “Scan for possible
malfunctions at their end.”
“Scanning… thirty-six
humanoid lifeforms detected within their main Command and Living Facility, some
larger pressure domes, processing plants, cultivators, all automated-” They
frowned, keying up an image. “Captain, near the planet’s northern polar cap,
some large refinery has been destroyed, some sort of explosion-”
“Yellow Alert.”
As the appropriate
colours appeared overhead, T’Varik stepped down to the centre of the Bridge,
where her First Officer, Lt Cmdr Bellator, rose to their feet, the Nova Roman
glancing in the direction of Srithik, “Should we escort your nephew to his
quarters?”
“Negative. Lt Michel,
maintain Defensive Pattern One.”
“Scanning,” C’Rash
reported. “No ships in sight.”
T’Varik nodded. “Lt
Arrington, open a channel: Zorin Facility, this is the USS Surefoot.
Respond immediately or we will beam down and assume control.”
The seconds passed –
allowing T’Varik to hear Srithik whisper to Kit, “Excuse me, Sir, is my aunt
always this aggressive?”
“This is Standard
Operating Procedure, Young Sir, under the circumstances,” the reptoid informed
him, in equally hushed tones. “For now, it is best to remain silent and not
distract others.”
“And we’re finally
getting a transmission from Ucarro Major II,” Giles added. “Guess they were all
at lunch.”
“Onscreen.”
Seconds later, the
image of the planet was replaced by one of a generic control room, with people
moving and talking behind an anxious-looking, middle-aged Bolian male in a
utilitarian jumpsuit. “Starfleet vessel! Apologies! We’ve been having
problems with our communications grid!”
“Crap,” T’Varik heard
C’Rash mutter under her breath.
“Understood,” T’Varik
assured him aloud, her memory recalling the personnel records listed by Zorin
for this planet. “You are Dr Odas Rexxil, the Project Officer. Where is Mr
Reiser?”
He swallowed. “He’s
at our Erenhow Station! He had assured Starfleet that you didn’t have to come
here! No one was expecting you to show up after that!”
“A mistaken
assumption,” T’Varik informed him coolly – noting a reaction from Lt Michel to
the reply from the Bolian. “We are conducting a search for a missing vessel,
the SS Whisper.”
He reacted. “Them?
You were told that they never showed up! Look, Captain, we’re conducting highly
classified experiments here, and with Mr Reiser off-site, I don’t think I can
authorise you coming here!”
T’Varik raised her
chin. “Your authorisation is not required, Doctor Rexxil; Starfleet has a legal
and moral imperative in these situations. Speaking of which, we have noticed
the damaged polar facility. Do you require medical or engineering assistance?”
Rexxil looked
nervously off-camera, before replying, “No, no! We just want you to go and
let us clean up here!” He ended the transmission.
T’Varik pursed her lips.
“Lt Michel, initiate Orbit Pattern Beta. Mr Kitirik, begin your scans. Lt
Arrington, send a message to Salem One and update them as to our present
location. Lt Shall… watch our backs.” She turned to Bellator, noting the
pensive expression on their face. “Lieutenant Commander?”
They ran a hand
through their shock of purple hair, before reaching down and retrieving the
PADD at the side of their seat, tapping on it. “While you were engaged with Dr
Rexxil, I was reading the lips of the personnel behind him.”
T’Varik raised an
eyebrow. “I was not aware of your skills in that field.”
Bellator was
replaying the transmission on their PADD, focused on the recording as they
replied, almost absently, “As a child I contracted Ototoxic Encephalitis and
lost my hearing for a number of weeks; I hated not knowing what people were
saying around me.” Their frown deepened. “They’re angry at being left to deal
with us while Reiser is ‘just out of sight’. But I thought they said he was at
another station?”
The Vulcan turned
back to the helm. “Lieutenant Michel, do you have anything to add to what you
have observed?”
Now Astrid Michel
turned in her seat at the Helm station before them, the young coffee-skinned
human female breathing in. “Yes, Captain: when many Terran corporate executives
want to stay out of reach, their people will tell others that they’re at the
‘Erenhow Offices’ or they’re speaking with ‘Mr Erenhow’. ‘Erenhow’ is an
anagram of ‘Nowhere’.”
“How do you know so
much about corporate executive slang, Astrid?” asked Crewman Osgood, one of the
newer arrivals on the Surefoot, from his Auxiliary Engineering station.
T’Varik saw the
subtle reaction on Michel’s face, knowing of the human’s childhood believing
herself to be the daughter of the Terran industrialist Charles Michel, of
Michel Shipping… and of the unfortunate events which followed the revelation
that she wasn’t.
The young woman’s
subsequent Counselor reports indicated she had worked through many of the
psychological repercussions of that trauma, but it was obviously still a
proverbial sore point with her. “It is immaterial, Mr Osgood; please stay
focused on your duties. Thank you, Astrid.”
“Respected Captain,”
Kit spoke up from his station. “You need to see this.”
The Vulcan drew up,
along with Bellator and C’Rash, as the reptoid called up images and maps on the
screens above him and continued. “Respected Colleagues, Ucarro Major II is
registered as a Class-K planetoid, adaptable for humanoid use with pressure
domes and life support systems. Its rotation is too slow and its orbit is too
close to the sun to naturally develop a Class-M biosphere, or to be a viable
candidate for terraforming.”
T’Varik leaned in,
studying the maps more closely. “And yet, there are large pockets of plant and
animal life, along with networks of shallow pools of plankton producing an
oxygenated atmosphere, at least within sheltered areas.”
“Yes, Respected
Captain. The various biospheres are definitely artificial in origin, with
mixtures of lifeforms of Terran and other origins – microbes, insects, fish,
reptiles, birds, small and large mammals – and all appear to be less than a
year old. Perhaps much less.”
“That’s not
possible,” Bellator declared. “The fastest terraforming program known to seed a
planet to such a level would take a minimum of thirty years.”
“The fastest legal
terraforming program,” T’Varik clarified, turning to Kit, her voice tightening.
“Scan the planet, and the Zorin installations, for evidence of protomatter… and
Genesis Wave energy. Focus on that destroyed processing plant; if protomatter
had been employed as part of a Genesis-type transformation, there may be traces
there.”
“It doesn’t make
sense,” C’Rash growled at her spouse, as Kit complied. “Every Federation
industry this century knows they can’t get away with breaking the Protocols.”
“That is assuming
this has occurred.” She stared at the screens again, frowning now. “Whatever was
done here… this planetoid was never designed to sustain a Class-M biosphere for
an extended period of time.”
“You are correct,
Respected Captain.” Kit continued his work, even as he confirmed her
suspicions. “Its size, orbit, rotational speed, none of these are compatible.
The biosphere has been collapsing for the last two weeks: the atmosphere and
moisture is either burning or bleeding away into space, and all of the flora
and fauna is slowly dying. But why would they attempt to terraform it?”
“They might not have
meant to,” Bellator reminded him. “It could have been accidental; the dangerous
instability of the process is one of the reasons for the Genesis Protocols…
again, assuming they’ve used Genesis here.”
Kit nodded - and then
turned. “Respected Captain, the Zorin facilities are now generating shielding
that is blocking scans and transporter beams!”
T’Varik stepped back
to the centre of the Bridge. “Lt Cmdr Bellator, run a check on any Starfleet
Intelligence reports involving thefts or purchasing of contraband protomatter
or Genesis-related technology. Lt Shall, devise protocols for safely bringing
down their shields without harming anyone planetside. Lt Arrington, ready
Security and Engineering Away teams to prepare to beam down for inspection
purposes, and update Salem One as to the situation.”
“Respected Captain,”
Kit interrupted. “Request permission to beam down to the planet. I have
identified activity from Zorin aerial surveillance drones in one of these
habitable zones, and evidence of higher lifeforms. I believe it warrants closer
investigation.”
“Is it safe, Kit?”
C’Rash asked. “You said yourself that everything was dying down there.”
“Yes, Respected
Colleague, but I believe I can survive there long enough to obtain potentially
vital evidence as to the situation here.”
T’Varik nodded.
“Agreed, but you will not beam down alone; Ensign Thykrill and Crewman O’Reilly
will offer Security support. Will you require more assistance?”
Before he could reply, Srithik turned in his chair and rose. “I would be willing to accompany Lt Kitirik to the planet, Aunt. I have been studying the data as well and-”
“No,” she
interjected. “You will remain here.”
He nodded and sat down again. “Of course. It would be more logical if I stay and act as your Assistant Science Officer-”
“It would be more
logical if you continue to watch, listen and learn,” she corrected gently. “I
have qualified crewmembers to do the rest… but know I appreciate your offer to
assist. Mr Kitirik, proceed.” She turned as Kit rose and departed, as an alert
came from Ops. “Mr Arrington?”
“The Zorin facility
is hailing us again, Captain.”
“Onscreen.”
The Zorin control
room filled the viewscreen once more, but this time Dr Rexxil had been replaced
by a Zakdorn male in a civilian suit, the jowly, hangdog expression on his
oatmeal-coloured face a stern mask. “You are Captain T’Varik of the
Starfleet vessel Surefoot?”
“I am. Please
identify yourself.”
“I am Simrash Vada,
from Zorin Interstellar’s Legal Division; Mr Reiser remains unavailable, but I
will be speaking on his behalf. With immediate effect, you will cease and
desist any further activity involving this planet, our installations,
equipment, personnel and activities here, or you and your crew may face
criminal prosecution.”
She remained unmoved.
“Prosecution? On what charges?”
“Captain, you must be
aware that many private corporations within the Federation cooperate with
Starfleet Security and Starfleet intelligence on some highly sensitive, highly
classified projects.”
“I am. Are you
stating that you are cooperating with Starfleet in such a manner here?”
Vada seemed to
straighten up further, accentuating his considerable height. “I am not prepared
to either confirm or deny that. But I will state categorically that it
would be in everyone’s best interests if you depart... now. If you do, I
believe we would be prepared to forget that you were here, and not get
Starfleet Security involved.”
T’Varik nodded at
that. “A most generous offer, Mr Vada. If you will supply us with the Project
Reference Code confirming Zorin Interstellar’s involvement with Starfleet in a
classified operation, as per Federation Security Directive Book 19, Section
433, Paragraph 47.8, we will verify your status here, and be on our way.”
The Zakdorn reacted
slightly at her quick – and correct – quotation to the appropriate
regulations, but otherwise said nothing.
“You have no Project
Reference Code,” T’Varik finally concluded. “You have attempted to deceive us.”
“That is a slanderous
allegation, Captain!” Vada snapped. “If you review your logs, you will find that at no
point did I make any false statement, whatsoever; I cannot be held responsible
for how you interpret my words.”
“You appear to be a
proficient legal representative for Zorin,” she noted dryly. “Mr Vada, under
Starfleet Directive 11361, we are authorised to conduct a full inspection of
your facilities, as you are currently suspected of employing technology and materials
in violation of the Genesis Protocols. You will lower your shields with
immediate effect and allow us access, or you and everyone else present will be
placed under arrest.”
Vada began to
respond, but then a deeper, smoother masculine voice spoke up first. “Now,
now, Captain, ease up on the threats.” A gaunt, middle-aged human male with
curly black hair stepped into view, dressed like Vada in civilian clothes, and
smiling affably as he held out his open hands. “We’re all on the same side
here.”
She focused her
attention on him. “Mr Paul Reiser, I presume?”
He beamed at her. “Got
it in one.”
“It is good you
managed to return so quickly from Erenhow… or were you in fact Nowhere?”
Reiser chuckled, as
if not having been caught in a blatant deception. “You’d have to excuse that
little mix-up, Captain, I can assure you it wasn’t intended. Now, you’re
worried about Genesis technology being used here? Well, let me promise you,
that’s not the case. Genesis is almost a hundred years old! Zorin Interstellar
is in the business of looking ahead, not backward, working with leading edge
technology! Max Zorin intends to bring the Federation into the Twenty-Fifth
Century!”
T’Varik raised an
eyebrow. “I am certain the Federation can find its own way there without his assistance.
But to return to the matter at hand, we will still need to inspect your
operations; the evidence we have found to date still strongly suggests Genesis,
despite your assurances to the contrary.”
Reiser pursed his
lips. “Well, Captain T’Varik, of course we’ll fully cooperate… but I can’t
tell you how much your suspicions hurt me.”
Her brow furrowed.
“Well, Mr Reiser, I can’t tell you how little your reaction matters to me.
Teams are preparing to beam into your main facility, to examine your records and
inventory, and to question your personnel. You will drop your shields and
unlock your computers with immediate effect. I will not ask again.”
“Allow me to clarify
the arrangement for the record before we comply, Captain,” Vada interrupted. “Zorin
Interstellar denies the utilisation of any Genesis-related materials and
technology, and in substantiation of that, will fully cooperate in allowing
your people to inspect our facilities here for Genesis… and nothing more.
And in return, you
will all sign Non-Disclosure Security Agreements regarding what you might
observe here, and agree to take no punitive action towards any extraneous or
ancillary infringements you might witness.”
She nodded. “That
sounds like a straightforward arrangement. We will beam down our inspection
teams in two minutes. Surefoot out.”
“Pack of lying
kussiks,” she heard C’Rash mutter under her breath as the viewscreen image
returned to that of the planet.
T’Varik chose not to
censure her.
*
Seconds after the
transmission ended, another transmission was secretly sent from the planet,
piggybacked along status updates to the perimeter satellites. The satellites
began drawing together and reconfiguring their arrays, while also redirecting
the transmission towards the neighbouring Ucarro Minor system.
More specifically, to
an Orion vessel, where in the Shipmaster’s luxuriant cabin, the ship’s owner
was busy with a hired woman from the Free Port on the planet, before being
interrupted by a buzz from his intercom.
Nesrac Sur cursed,
pausing to reach out a thick olive hand to touch the intercom at his bedside,
growling, “This had better be worth interrupting my fun, Mollar!”
“Apologies,
Shipmaster, but we’ve received an urgent signal from those Zorin people! There
is a Federation starship in orbit they want destroying, now! They offer us a
hundred bars of gold-pressed latinum to get it done!”
“Another one? Can’t
they clean up their own messes?” Nesrac Sur grunted, looking up at the woman
straddling him, a fleshy red-haired human woman. “I didn’t tell you to stop!”
He glanced back at the intercom. “A mere hundred bars? That’s insulting! What
ship are they looking to have blown to shit this time? Another transport? Some
garbage scow?”
“They said it is the USS Surefoot-”
The Orion grabbed the
woman by the waist and practically threw her off him in his haste to swing out
his legs and sit up, his heart racing. “THE CAITIAN’S SHIP? Signal our
acceptance of the contract, and summon all crew! Shore leave is cancelled! We
leave within an hour’s cleft, or I’ll skin our Steersman alive!” He cut off the
intercom and rose to his feet, barely looking behind him. “Get back to your
owners planetside, or you’ll spend your time here servicing my crew for free.”
He barely heard her
dress and depart, too busy was he dressing himself… aware of how aroused he
remained. Not because of the listless human sow the agency sent him – he may as
well have saved himself the slips of latinum and settled down for the evening
with his right hand again – but of the prospect of facing Captain Esek Hrelle, the
former Lion of Salem Sector… the Caitian scum who had driven his father, to
humiliation, time and again, before breaking his spirit and taking his own
life, to save him some shard of dignity.
Nesrac Sur had kept
track of Hrelle as best he could over the last few years, hearing of the scum’s
exploits in the Surefoot. He had also heard rumours that Hrelle was
returning to Salem Sector…. Rumours that were obviously true.
The prospect of
exacting sweet revenge on Hrelle was overwhelming. And to do it in Daalan Sur’s
old ship, too…
Yes, that would be most
enjoyable.
*
Kit breathed in the
hot, dry, sandy air of Ucarro Major II, coughing a little as he adjusted to the
lighter gravity. The general climate of his homeworld of Qarar was similar to
this, and he had half-hoped to feel like he had come home… a situation he was
unlikely to ever actually experience for real, given the current political
climate there towards minorities like himself.
But this world was
different. There was a sickly taste to the air, driven by a rising ochre-orange
sandstorm that diffused the line between the dead land and the dead sky. The
skeletons of trees and shrubbery wavered, more malleable than the actual
skeletons of animals that stuck up here and there.
“Ssstrewth,” hissed
Crewman Kevin O’Reilly, a Gorn male abandoned by his people as a hatchling and
raised by a human couple in Australia, before joining the Starfleet Enlisted
Services. He looked around, his pebbled reptoid skin seemingly oblivious to the
dust-laced wind. “Thiss iss worse than Sssummer Bay in Augusst.”
Beside him, the
Andorian Assistant Security Chief Atario Thykrill had her phaser drawn, her
free arm raised to shield her azure face, her antennae dipping in protection.
“Lieutenant Kitirik, are you looking for anything in particular, or are you
just here for a new exfoliating routine?”
Kit examined his tricorder, glancing around. This section appeared featureless, and growing more obfuscating by the moment as the storm picked up. He pointed in one direction. “I am detecting anomalies ten metres away. Please, Respected Colleagues, follow-”
He stopped as he
detected the whine overhead, and he glanced up to see several flying objects
approach from different directions. Before he could comment on it, energy beams
shot from them to the Away Team. “DROP!”
He followed his own
orders, hitting the sand belly first, kicking up more sand as he reached for
his phaser, even as he heard Thykrill and Kevin already firing from behind. Kit
raised his arm up, his marksmanship training returning to him as he aimed at a
four-winged drone with sensor and weapons pods. The wind was making its flight
path erratic, but Kit treated it like a mental fractal exercise, compensating
and striking.
It sparked and
smouldered and dropped to join the others.
“Lieutenant!” Thykrill called to him, before he heard her add, “Thykrill to Surefoot: we’ve been attacked, prepare to beam-”
“Belay that, please!”
Kit countermanded, rising again and holstering his phaser as he looked around
once more. “The drones have been neutralised, and I have detected no more in
the immediate area.”
Over his combadge,
C’Rash’s voice carried. “Kit, are you sure you’re safe?”
He began moving
towards the rest of the Away Team. “Yes, Respected Colleague: the drones did
not deliberately attack us, but rather have been seeking someone or something
else here.”
Kevin looked around
again. “What the bloody hell iss out here to find? I sssee nothing.”
“It is hidden,
Respected Colleague.” Kit strode past them, dropping and kneeling beside a
flattened slope of sand, webbed fingers digging in… and lifting up a metal
plate, revealing a darkened interior. “And, hopefully, still alive.”
Thykrill and Kevin
drew up, phasers pointed down at the figure of an unconscious human, and a
small furred creature with tiny antlers looking up at them and hissing in
protest.
*
Salem One, Deck R2 -
Commodore’s Office:
Hrelle leaned back at
his desk and studied the recording of the human on the screen: an older,
pale-skinned male with slicked-back blonde hair, his eyes hidden behind dark
sunglasses as he schmoozed at some fancy function with a paltry buffet table.
“That’s Maximillian Zorin?”
Sitting on the other
side of his desk, Nam-Seon nodded. “Swiss-born, his family line can be traced
back eight centuries with some renown, apart from some rumoured collaboration
with the Nazis during the Second World War, and later with the Augments during
the Eugenics Wars.
Thirty-three years
ago, he had taken his family fortune and purchased numerous small shipping,
mining, colonising, security and construction companies, incorporating them
under one banner: Zorin Interstellar. And, by financial measures, he’s done
very well for himself. I met him once, at a charity event on Luna: he comes
across as charming, confident, very assured.”
Hrelle glanced at his
wife Kami, who sat beside him, staring intently at the events on the screen,
making an almost subliminal sound in response to the Commissioner’s assessment.
He knew that look, and decided not to interrupt her scrutiny. “When did he move
into terraforming?”
“Two years ago,”
Nam-Seon replied. “Zorin Interstellar branched out into terraforming. They
haven’t headed any projects of their own, but rather have contracted their
staff and personnel out to others, scouted planets with the potential for
terraforming, that sort of activity.” She looked up at the screen. “It’s…”
Her words trailed
away, prompting Hrelle to prompt, “Go on, Commissioner, please.”
She looked back at
him. “As part of my duties, I’ve studied business and finance, to better
understand the needs and motivations of private entrepreneurs. Their strategies
tend to lean either towards investments that take longer to reap dividends but
are more secure, or towards riskier but quicker profits. Vulcans, Betazoids and
Rigelians lean towards the former; Ferengi, Klingons and Andorians lean towards
the latter. Humans are usually a mix of both.
Mr Zorin’s history,
and the times however, suggests someone who prefers short term ventures. Quick
acquisitions, profits. Terraforming seems too long-range an investment.”
“He has no children,
does he?” Kami asked suddenly, still staring upwards.
Nam-Seon looked at
her. “No, Counselor. Why?”
“When you reach a
certain age,” Hrelle suggested, when his wife didn’t respond directly. “You
begin to think about the legacy you want to leave for your descendants. What
can you tell me about Zorin Interstellar’s work on Ucarro Major II?”
“Not much more than what you’ll already know: based on the paperwork filed, they’re employing the planet as a testbed for experimental atmospheric processors and cultivation and dissemination arrays, to grow and spread oxygen- and water-producing bacteria.
The Project Manager on Ucarro Major II is Paul Reiser, been with the company
for fifteen years… albeit most of that in their Exploration Division, managing
private planetary surveys on behalf of colonisers. Of course, exploration was
downgraded all around, while the War commenced.”
Hrelle nodded,
finally looking at Kami again. “Anything to add?”
She nodded, still
staring at Zorin’s image… and barely suppressing a shiver. “He’s a psychopath.”
Nam-Seon looked at
her. “What?”
Kami nodded absently…
and from his vantage point, Hrelle could see her claws extending and retracting
anxiously as she elaborated. “He displays all the classic signs of psychopathy,
at least in humanoid terms: a lack of emotional development or empathy,
ruthlessness, insincerity, deceit, self-aggrandisement.”
“Are you sure?”
Hrelle asked, looking up at Zorin again.
Her tail was
twitching through the hole in the back of her seat. “Of course, I can’t be 100%
certain without a formal assessment… something I doubt Zorin, with his money
and influence, has ever had, or would ever consent to. The disorder typically
appears in less than one percent of any given population, but modern medical
protocols can almost always detect and correct those who exhibit the disorder
from a very early age.”
“But how can he
function in society with a mental illness like that?” Nam-Seon asked.
Kami leaned forward,
visibly calming herself. “It’s not a mental illness, Commissioner, it’s a
personality disorder, and would not be flagged for a legal response unless it
was demonstrated that it proved dangerous to himself or others. And in Zorin’s
case, those traits have also allowed him to succeed in business, by also
exuding ambition, fearlessness and confidence. You said it yourself that he
came across as charming, confident, assured. Personally, I wouldn’t want to be
someone who got in his way. Actually, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere near him,
ever.”
Just then, Hrelle’s
intercom chimed, as Zir’s voice broke the tension. “Commodore, sorry to
bother, but there’s an incoming transmission from Captain Arrington at Ucarro
Minor.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant,
one moment, please.” He looked to the women in his office. “Thank you both, if
there’s anything further you want to add, let me know.” As Nam-Seon rose, he
added, “Oh, and Commissioner? That’s very good insight about the nature of
Zorin’s choice of investments; I think you’re going to do well in this role,
just have confidence in your strengths.”
She flushed a little,
smiling, “Thank you, Commodore.”
She departed, Kami
shooting him a quick wink and a purr as she followed. As they left, Hrelle glanced
up at the wallscreen once more, seeing Max Zorin smiling for the media. He
thought he could now see how false the man was being, how piecrust thin the
charm was… but he assumed that was just bias on his part, following his wife’s
assessment. “Put Captain Arrington through, Zir.”
Zorin disappeared, replaced by the Bridge of the Al-Razi, and Lucille in her chair, facing him. “Commodore, sorry to bother you-”
“No apologies
necessary, Captain, but I wasn’t expecting a report so soon from you. Anything
new about the Paserak?”
The blonde-haired
woman leaned back in her chair. “There’s quite a few of their tribe ships
gathered at the edge, not trading at the Free Port or interacting with other
ships, but more like they’re amassing for a large-scale operation. We’re still
working on decrypting their communications… but I didn’t call you about them.”
“What, then?”
“There was an Orion
vessel here, that almost without warning fled the area. At first I thought it
was because of our arrival, but we monitored its flight trajectory, and we
believe it’s heading towards Ucarro Major. We’ve attempted to alert the Surefoot,
but we’re getting subspace interference from the system, probably the system’s
black star.”
Hrelle sat up
further, opening another channel. “Operations: can you raise the Surefoot?”
Seconds later, his
Station Chief, Captain Sternhagen, reported, “We’re trying, Commodore, but
there’s subspace interference.”
“Keep trying.” He
looked back at Arrington, his pulse quickening and his tail twitching through
the hole in the back of his chair. “Any ID on the Orion vessel?”
“A Natahv-class blockade runner, called the Green Death-”
The name summoned
with it too many memories, and made him rise from his seat, pressing his fists
onto the surface of his desk. “Forget your current mission, Captain! Pursue the
Orions!”
“Are you sure, Sir?”
“That ship is
captained by an old enemy of mine, he must have heard I was back in the area,
maybe still commanding the Surefoot, and he’s gunning for revenge! It
can't be a coincidence, especially as we can't reach T’Varik and the Surefoot
now! You have my full authorisation to take any steps necessary to protect your
sister ship and yourselves! Get moving!”
Arrington didn’t even
stop to acknowledge before cutting the transmission.
Hrelle took a moment
to remember, remember his past encounters with the Green Death, and its
Shipmaster, Daalan Sur. He had humiliated the Orion on more than one occasion,
when Hrelle was the Lion of Salem Sector. He had lost track of him, forgotten
about him. Obviously, Daalan hadn’t forgotten about Hrelle.
And if the Surefoot,
if T’Varik or any of the crew, were hurt, or worse, today because of the
actions of the past…
*
C’Rash tensed as the
Zakdorn lawyer approached her again, repeating himself. “Lt Shall, I believe
you’ve been here long enough to be satisfied that we are not employing Genesis
technology. You may leave now.”
The Caitian made a
sound and turned away, staying focused on her Away Team, sitting at various
stations in the Zorin facility’s control room… and on the scents of fear of the
Zorin personnel since Starfleet arrived, when Vada had practically thrust a
legal PADD in her face, demanding that C’Rash and the others sign the Security
Agreements before moving anywhere.
C’Rash complied, and
ensured the others did, but since then, Vada had been like a burr in her tail
since then, constantly trying to hurry them up, deflect or distract them. And
that other prick Reiser had made himself scarce before Starfleet had even
beamed down… though there was a camera mounted in the upper corner of the room,
watching everything, and she’d bet her sweet little tail that he was on the
other end somewhere right now, watching and listening. This was turning out to
be one lousy afternoon-
Vada stepped back into her eyeline. “Lieutenant, we are extremely busy-”
She faced him fully.
“Tell me what happened to that refinery at the polar cap. Tell me about the
life that suddenly appeared out there. What’s that all about? Where’d they come
from?”
The lawyer grimaced.
“There was an accident two weeks ago, a fusion battery overloaded. Thankfully,
no one was injured or killed, but it released corporate by-products into the
planet’s atmosphere. We are still trying to recover what we can!”
“‘By-products’? Those
are fully-formed plants and animals out there, dead or dying! We’re not talking
about genetically-engineered oxygen-creating bacteria and algae, and a careful
build-up of a planetary ecosphere over the course of years! No one’s seen such
a rapid change of environment since Genesis! So, how’d you do it without
forbidden technology?”
The Zakdorn blanched. “I can’t possibly answer that, Lieutenant. I’m not the expert here-”
“No, you’re not.” She
turned and strode down to the other end of the control room, where the Project
Officer Dr Rexxil stood with his associates. “Doctor: in twenty words or less,
tell me what you’re working on.”
The Bolian stepped back, his azure skin darkening and the sharp tang of fear thickening with each passing second of scrutiny on him. “M-Me? It- It’s not that simple, Lieutenant-”
C’Rash crossed her
arms and bared her teeth. “Consider it a challenge.”
Rexxil glanced at
either side of him, as if seeking support, or an escape, before facing her
again, swallowing and finally calming himself. “It’s called Project Alkemy.
It’s a form of liquid we discovered that has incredible properties to transmute
matter into organic and inorganic material, even fully grown life-”
“I believe you’ve
more than fulfilled the Lieutenant’s request for a brief description of our work
here,” Vada declared, approaching-
-Until C’Rash raised
a paw to stop him in his tracks. “What’s wrong, Shyster? I thought we were all
one big happy family now you had us sign our souls away. Why not open up?”
The lawyer drew
himself up. “Full disclosure of the nature of our work here was never
explicitly promised, Lieutenant; I cannot be held responsible for how you
interpret my words.”
“Where’s Reiser?”
C’Rash growled.
“This whole incident
has been most upsetting, and Mr Reiser has gone to rest; our Medical Officer
will confirm that he is not to be disturbed.”
The Caitian glanced
up at the camera. “I think he’s already well past being disturbed. Ensign:
Report.”
Tori Emoto, former Surefoot
cadet and now the new Assistant Chief Engineer of the ship, rose from her
station and approached. “Ma’am: we’ve run the checks on the Zorin activity
logs. The records verify the account made, that two weeks ago they had their
accident, had called off the visit from Kolchak and have since been repairing
and recovering as best they can. There's no evidence of Genesis technology or
materials anywhere here.”
“There,” Vada
sneered. “Satisfied?”
C’Rash ignored him to
focus on Emoto. “You sure about all that?”
The human nodded. “That’s what’s in their records. Their records are bullshit, though.” She pointed to the display, and her tricorder sitting beside it. “They’ve altered operational, security, engineering and communications records, and their official archived copies.
But they never
thought to change the data counts. Databases have a subsystem, always running
in the background, that records the amount of data on hand every millisecond,
and when necessary defragmenting and optimising data retrieval. It’s so deep in
the infrastructure most people forget about it. There are definite
discrepancies in the amount of gigaquads recorded since their accident.”
Vada stepped forward,
glaring angrily at Emoto. “Young lady, if you say another slanderous word
against this company, you’ll be buried so deep in litigation you’ll wish you were
never born!”
C’Rash hissed at him,
while still staring at the Ensign. “Can we find the original records, know
what’s been altered? And what about the details of Project Alkemy?”
“I don’t know about
finding the original records yet, Ma’am. And there were files regarding
Project Alkemy, but they’ve been removed entirely.”
C’Rash looked to Vada
again, who responded, more cautiously now, “We lost nearly everything about
Alkemy in the explosion; we have been trying to recover what we can. Of course
there will be discrepancies! desperate to recover what we can.”
“You’ve been
desperate, all right-”
Before she could
respond, C’Rash’s combadge chirped, as T’Varik announced, “Lieutenant, Mr
Kitirik and his Away Team were attacked outside by Zorin security drones, but
remain unharmed… and they have located an individual. He has been identified as
Darren Kolchak.”
Nearby, Dr Rexxil
reacted to the name – and C’Rash heard him react. She looked to him as she
asked her spouse, “He’s alive?”
“Unconscious,
suffering from malnutrition, dehydration and numerous phaser burns… but he will
recover. What is your status?”
Now C’Rash regarded
Vada as she replied, “We’re wasting our time here. Prepare to beam up in thirty
seconds… Condition Green.”
“Acknowledged. Stand
by for transport. Surefoot out.”
Vada smirked
slightly. “It sounds like you’ve finally seen sense.”
C’Rash glowered at
him. “Does it, now?”
Suddenly Vada,
Rexxil, and everyone who wasn’t Starfleet personnel was swaddled in transporter
energy columns and vanished.
Seconds later,
T’Varik’s voice returned. “All Zorin personnel are now in our Brig,
Lieutenant.”
“Good. Get Mx
Bellator down here, they have some files to find.”
*
In the Surefoot’s
Sickbay, the CMO Dr Shyrik rechecked the readings over the biobed where her
current patient, a thin, pale, sandy-haired human male of late middle age, lay
still, looking gaunt and enervated. “Malnutrition, dehydration, phaser burns,
oxygen deprivation, exposure, some infectious from variant strains of bacteria
normally employed in terraforming.”
“Can he be awakened
now for questioning?” T’Varik, standing beside her, asked.
“Give him a little
while longer, if possible,” the Andorian replied. “Poor bastard’s been through
a lot the last couple of weeks.”
T’Varik nodded at
that and turned to another part of the Sickbay, where Kit and his new assistant
Srithik flanked a transparent container where the small creature brought back
from the planet was busy, devouring food passed to it through a small portal on
the side by Srithik. “Lieutenant, report, please.”
Kit looked up from
his PADD, after keying it into the overhead display. “Respected Captain, this
entity appears to be a male Rigelian jackalope, even at the genetic
level. But it is not.”
The Vulcan raised an
eyebrow. “Is it a replicant? Or a shapeshifter?”
“Neither; it is a
type of… mimetic lifeform, transmuted from some hitherto unknown material. It
is only at the subcellular and atomic level that the distinction can be
made.”
Srithik looked up
curiously. “You mean it is not even real?”
Kit shrugged. “That
will depend upon one’s definition. This entity looks, sounds and behaves
exactly like a real jackalope: respiration, digestion, reproduction, excretion.
It could even be safely consumed by other lifeforms.” He rested a webbed hand
on the clear surface of the animal’s container. “I collected a number of plant
remains and examined them; they, too, appear based at the atomic level on this
unknown material. One will only notice the distinction upon decay.”
“‘Decay’?”
He nodded. “Yes,
Respected Captain. Upon death and decay, these transmuted lifeforms break down
back into their base components. Unlike untransmuted lifeforms, however, these
lifeforms’ base components include inorganic polymers that would prove
extremely toxic to carbon-based lifeforms.”
T’Varik nodded at
that, regarding the chittering animal. “Is there any danger to the ship or
crew?”
“No, Respected
Captain… apart from taking care not to try and feed it by hand.” He looked at
Srithik in punctuation.
When T’Varik’s gaze followed, the Vulcan boy folded his hands behind him and appeared innocent. “It is most fervent in its feeding habits, Aunt.”
The Captain raised an
eyebrow. “I will forgo offering it any temptation, then. ‘Life from
lifelessness’; that was the original promise of Genesis technology. Are we
certain that this lifeform, the lifeforms alive and dead on the surface of the
planet, were not created using Genesis?”
“Yes, Respected
Captain, that much can be confirmed. But as to what did create them, I
cannot determine. I offer my apologies.”
“You have nothing to
apologise for, Lieutenant,” T’Varik countered gently. “I suspect, however, that
Zorin Interstellar-”
“Has a lot,” Kolchak finished hoarsely, half-sitting up despite Shyrik’s attempts to prevent him. He looked around him, before focusing on the jackalope. “Darren Kolchak, Federation News Service. Thank you… thank you for rescuing my little furry companion over there and myself. Did you find any of the Whisper crew? Captain Patterson, the others?”
“Not as yet.”
Kolchak swallowed, looking haunted. "You probably won’t. Reiser’s hired goons were quite thorough, and I was lucky to survive. May I have some water please?”
Shyrik made a sound
of assent and moved to the nearby replicator, as T’Varik approached. “Mr
Kolchak, I am Captain T’Varik, USS Surefoot. We are currently in orbit
around Ucarro Major II, and have the Zorin personnel in custody onboard.
According to them, you never arrived here. Can you enlighten us as to what
really happened?”
He nodded, stopping
to partake from the plastic container of water Malala brought him before
proceeding. “I came to do a feature on Zorin Interstellar and some
revolutionary new terraforming process in the works… and I also came to speak
to an insider, one who secretly contacted our offices about this new process,
and how something bad was going down about it.
We arrived at the
edge of the system, and got word from Paul Reiser that the visit had been
called off, no explanation why. Captain Patterson, for a bonus, offered to
sneak me in past their sensors… and since the FNS was paying for this
investigation, why not?
Well, we got here,
spotted the destroyed refinery… and the patches of life on what was supposed to
be a lifeless world. What we didn’t spot was the Orion vessel.”
“Orion?”
Kolchak nodded. “They
hit us hard, knocked out our main systems, we sent out a distress signal but
Patterson didn’t think it was getting anywhere, and we ended up spiralling down
over the polar cap, near the destroyed refinery. I got bundled into an escape
pod, and found myself landing in one of the remaining green zones nearby. I
buried the pod in sand and waited for help to arrive. And waited. And hid from
the Zorin drones while I waited. The rest, you know.”
As he paused to drink
some more, T’Varik tapped her combadge. “Captain to Bridge: focus scans on the
area around the destroyed refinery for evidence of wreckage of the Whisper:
the flight recorder, duranium and tritanium plating… casualties… any evidence
at all.”
“Aye, Ma’am,” Giles responded.
“Have we received a
response yet from Salem One?”
“No, Ma’am. Subspace
channels are thick with interference from the black star, but the current
position of the star shouldn't be causing this amount of trouble now.”
“Keep trying. T’Varik
out.” She focused on Kolchak again. “Who is your insider? And were you given
any more information about the reason for their whistleblowing?”
“Only that it was
one- one of their scientists… and that they’re going a-ahead with-”
He dropped his glass
and fell backwards onto the biobed, as Shyrik drew closer and examined him,
looking to T’Varik. “Exhaustion. You won’t get much more from him for a while.”
“It was more than
sufficient; I will leave you to continue to minister to him. Lt Kitirik, you
will remain with your own charge.” She nodded to Srithik. “Our new Assistant
Science Officer will continue to support you in this endeavour.
In the meantime, I
must speak with Lt Cmdr Bellator, and then we shall have words with our guests
in the Brig.”
“Four letter words, I
hope,” Shyrik muttered.
