Grand Designs

by Dayton Ward

  “If we wait, that little Starfleet rodent might be able to call for help. Then where will we be?”

  Nodding, the subordinate turned and ran off, presumably to carry out his orders and leaving Tamaryst to turn and glare at Tev.

  “Do you realize what you have done?” the Rhaaxan asked. “Thanks to you, we now have no choice but to proceed.”

  You’re welcome, Tev thought, sighing in resignation.

  CHAPTER

  7

  Ignoring the pain in his elbows and knees, to say nothing of the bare skin of his hands being rubbed raw by his frantic scrambling through the access conduit, Soloman kept moving. The Rhaaxans did not have any type of internal sensor technology, so their only means of pursuit was trying to keep up with him. His smaller size provided his only advantage in these narrow crawl spaces, allowing him to move with greater speed and agility than anyone who might be chasing after him.

  Without his tricorder, he was forced to rely on his memory of the access conduits, which he and Pattie had traversed several times during their inspection of the orbital platform’s computer systems. For a moment Soloman considered heading for the station’s central computer core, but he quickly abandoned that idea. If his pursuers somehow managed to figure out where he was going, they could coordinate their search and surround him.

  What he needed to do was find some way to contact the da Vinci. Lieutenant Commander Tev would want him to warn Captain Gold of what the away team had discovered here, and the Rhaaxan government needed to be apprised of the threat to them as well. With their plans revealed, the colonists might be compelled to act earlier than originally intended, which meant that for Soloman, time was of the essence.

  Since he had been unable to retrieve one of the away team’s confiscated combadges from their captors when he launched his escape attempt, the Bynar reasoned that his best option was to find one of the computer terminals situated throughout the station’s maze of service conduits. Used by workers when performing maintenance on the platform’s various onboard systems, the terminals allowed direct interface to the main computer and its vast library of diagnostic software. It was an efficient setup, Soloman conceded, considering the limits of Rhaaxan technology. Though it possessed none of the sophistication of the global computer network on his home planet, it was enough for his purposes here.

  If he could get to one of the terminals, of course.

  Ahead of him in the conduit, something rubbed against metal. Soloman froze, even holding his breath as he looked and listened. It was hard to discern any sounds over the steady background hum generated by the station’s power systems, and after several moments the Bynar neither saw nor heard anything. He was ready to move again when the sound repeated itself. A four-way intersection lay perhaps ten meters ahead of him, and Soloman’s ears told him that the source of the noise was around the corner to his right.

  He was sure it was one of the workers sent to comb the conduits for him, no doubt having heard his own hurried movements as he fled through the crawl space, but was that person alone? Soloman heard no indications of additional pursuers, though without his tricorder there was no way to be sure.

  Not that it mattered, anyway. He could not afford to sit here, idle, and wait for this situation to play out. The longer he stayed in one place, the greater the chances of someone else finding him. That left only one option.

  As quietly as he could, Soloman removed his right boot and held it in his left hand. Aiming his phaser down the conduit, he tossed the boot so that it landed on the deck plating just before the intersection.

  He received just the reaction he wanted as a tall lanky figure lunged forward, loosing a fierce howl of anger as he fired his own weapon. A green ball of energy spat forth and slammed into the wall, scorching the bulkhead plating. His movement was too quick and disjointed, however, the action pulling the man off balance. He fell forward, reaching out with his free hand to keep from tumbling face-first into the deck.

  It was a wasted effort, as he ended up doing just that as Soloman fired his phaser and the orange beam struck the man, stunning him into unconsciousness. Once the worker’s body settled to the floor of the passageway, the Bynar remained in place for an additional several seconds, listening for any signs that the momentary skirmish had been heard.

  Once satisfied that he was alone in the conduit once more, Soloman took a moment to search the prone colonist but found nothing that might prove useful. Next, he checked the sign on the bulkhead at the intersection to get his bearings, smiling to himself as he read the markings. If his memory was accurate, he was not all that far from a junction point that would lead him to one of the maintenance computer terminals.

  Then he felt it.

  First it was a minor vibration in the deck plating beneath his feet. It grew in intensity with each passing second, moving into the bulkheads and pipes surrounding him. Now it was accompanied by a deep rumbling sound from the depths of the space station, overpowering even the power plants’ omnipresent hum. What could be causing all of this? So far as Soloman knew, only one system aboard the orbital platform could cause this type of commotion.

  The engines.

  We are moving.

  CHAPTER

  8

  Alarm klaxons wailed across the bridge of the da Vinci, echoing off the bulkheads and driving directly into Gold’s skull.

  “Captain!” Shabalala shouted from the tactical station. “Orbital Station 4 is moving out of position and beginning a descent toward the planet!”

  “Kill the alarm and go to yellow alert.” Gold rose from his command chair. “Shabalala, put the station on screen.”

  The image on the main viewer shifted and he recognized the stout, utilitarian lines of one of Rhaax III’s four orbital cargo transfer platforms. It was his

  first time viewing one of the stations this closely.

  More than half the size of Spacedock, the Rhaaxan platform possessed none of the more artistic blending of form and function that characterized Earth’s primary starship maintenance facility. Even from this distance, Gold could make out the numerous docking ports and cargo storage bay hatches adorning the station’s outer hull.

  “Hail them,” he said, silently counting as contact with Orbital Station 4 was attempted and his anxiety level increasing with each second the link was not established. It only got worse when Shabalala shook his head.

  “No response, sir.”

  “Tev and the away team are on that station,” Gomez said. “Have you tried contacting them?”

  Nodding, Shabalala replied, “None of the team is answering, Commander.”

  Sitting at one of the bridge’s rear science stations, Stevens turned in his chair. “Captain, the station isn’t just falling from its orbit. It’s a controlled maneuver, descending toward the planet at a constant speed and moving under its own power.”

  “Where the hell is it going?” Gold asked. “It’ll burn up if it enters the atmosphere.” What was happening over there? Already on board as part of his assigned inspection duties, Tev would have called in the moment anything unexpected occurred. Was he hurt?

  What about the rest of the away team?

  Oh no.

  It was so simple, he realized. Even though the station likely would break up as it passed through the atmosphere, killing everyone aboard, the facility’s size and mass would still be enough to cause widespread damage when it impacted on Rhaax III’s surface. And if some lunatic was currently maneuvering the station so that it would fall on or near a populated area…

  “How much time until they enter the atmosphere?” he asked.

  Shabalala checked his console before replying. “At their present course and speed, about twelve minutes, sir.”

  “Something else, Captain,” Stevens called out. “Sensors are detecting a massive chemical reaction underway inside some of the modules storing oxygen and other compounds for their life support systems.”

  “Is it a threat to the people on board?” Gold ask
ed.

  Stevens shook his head. “I can’t say just yet, sir.”

  “Well, find out,” the captain snapped.

  Though Marshall had been standing silently at the back of the bridge to this point, Gold knew that he would not be able to hold his tongue much longer. The captain’s suspicions were confirmed when the ambassador stepped forward.

  “How many people are aboard the station?” he asked.

  “Sensors show two hundred and five life signs,” Shabalala reported.

  “You have to do something, Captain,” Marshall said, his face a mask of anguish.

  “I am doing something, Ambassador,” the captain replied. Despite being irritated at the diplomat’s observation of the obvious, Gold chose to ignore it and channel that energy elsewhere. Turning back to the viewscreen, he ordered, “Wong, move us into transporter range.”

  “Captain,” Shabalala called out, “I am receiving an incoming hail from the station.”

  “On-screen,” Gold said.

  The viewer changed images again, this time to show a Rhaaxan male, muscled and wearing dark gray worker’s coveralls. His orange features were clouded in apparent anger.

  “Federation ship,” the Rhaaxan said, “our quarrel is not with you, but rather the government of our home planet. Do not attempt to interfere with us in any way. You are directed to keep your vessel out of range of your weapons and matter transfer systems. We have your officers in custody here and though I do not wish to harm them, I will kill them if necessary.”

  “What do you want?” the captain asked.

  “Our freedom, once and for all. Either that is granted today, or everyone on Rhaax will die.”

  The transmission ended, leaving the da Vinci bridge crew with the viewer’s image of Orbital Station 4.

  “Someone sure has issues with authority,” Stevens said.

  “Stow that,” Gold snapped as he turned from the viewer. This was no time for the tactical specialist’s unique flavor of jocularity. “Gomez, please tell me they’re bluffing over there.”

  Gomez already was moving to Stevens’s station on the upper bridge deck. “Working on it, sir.” To Stevens she said, “Let me see the sensor data on that chemical reaction.”

  Letting his people tend to that, Gold used the delay to make his way across the bridge to where Marshall stood and tried not to take too much satisfaction in the diplomat’s ashen expression.

  “We’ve been looking for weapons the Rhaaxans might be developing,” he said, “and all this time the colonists have been planning their own attack? How the hell did they manage that?”

  Blinking rapidly as realization sank in, Marshall shook his head. “The colonists never even hinted at any such action, Captain, not once. This is completely out of the blue.”

  “Or just very well guarded,” Gold countered. The idea that they might have been so completely deceived despite the work Gomez and her team had done, and after suffering through all of Ambassador Marshall’s supercilious nonsense, galled him, but it was nothing compared to the sense of dread he felt at what the colonists might be capable of doing.

  “Captain,” he heard Gomez say. “I think we might have something.” He moved to the science station, where Gomez was leaning over Stevens’s shoulder and studying the information scrolling across the display monitors above the workstation.

  “What is it?” Gold asked.

  Stevens tapped a command string and the image on his station’s center monitor shifted to show an array of chemical formulas and mathematical computations derived by the ship’s scanners. “This is the new compound being created,” he said as he froze one image and pointed to it. “I’ve got the computer chewing on it, but without a sample to analyze it’s going to take time.” Suddenly the tactical specialist snapped his fingers. “Computer, show me the design specs for the orbital stations. I want to see the environmental subsystems.”

  A moment later the request was answered and Stevens nodded. “Look,” he said, indicating what Gold took to be design diagrams for a massive storage tank. “This is one of the areas where the chemical is being mixed. Now, see these valves positioned on the exterior of the tanks and connected to hatches on the station’s outer hull? This is part of the system used to purge the storage tanks for maintenance. Ordinarily the contents of the tanks would be vented to space.”

  “That’s it,” Gold said. “The chemical must be something they can release into the atmosphere, and the station itself is the delivery vehicle.” He nodded as he started to fit the pieces of the puzzle together. “With all the ship traffic coming in and out of those stations, it would be a simple matter to move that material into position over a long period of time. For all we know, they’ve been planning this for months, or longer.”

  From behind him, Shabalala said, “Captain, I’m picking up an incoming transmission from Rhaax V. It appears to be a recorded message intended for Prefect Randa and the rest of the assembly.”

  “This should be joyous news,” Gold said, more to himself than anyone else. He found it interesting that the colony leaders would choose to send a recording rather than use the subspace communications equipment furnished to each planet’s governing body by the Federation Diplomatic Corps. The intent had been for the leaders to interact with one another and with the Federation mediators in real time, despite the vast distances separating their two worlds and the delays experienced when using their conventional communications equipment. To Gold, the colonists’ intentions were clear: they had something to say, and they did not want any interruptions.

  “Put it on the viewer,” he said.

  A moment later the image of the orbital platform was replaced by that of a regal-looking Rhaaxan. He was dressed in robes similar to ones Gold had seen Prefect Randa and members of her assembly wearing, though his garment looked to be simpler in design and made from rougher-hewn material than the lavish clothing worn by his counterparts on Rhaax III. To the captain, the robes appeared to be an attempt at marrying Rhaaxan heritage with the unique identity the colony had tried to establish.

  “People of Rhaax, this is Prefect Erokan, representing the Colonial Assembly and the people of Numai. For many months we have faced an impasse with the government of our homeworld, who have forgotten the basic tenets of the original agreement that established the Numai colony. Rather than allow us to continue on as an independent entity until such time as the agreement calls for us to become a province of Rhaax, your government seeks to abandon that contract in favor of allying themselves with the United Federation of Planets. The Federation has made it known that it values our planet, perhaps more so than Rhaax and, by extension, all of you. Worried that they might somehow be left out of any deals made with the Federation, Prefect Randa and the Assembly have seen fit to threaten us with extinction.”

  “I see he’s pulling his punches and taking the nice approach,” Stevens muttered.

  Though he glared at the tactical specialist, Gold said nothing. Instead, he wondered what Prefect Randa and her people might be doing at this moment. Without the ability to counter anything the colony leader might say, were they trying to prevent the message from reaching the Rhaaxan people?

  “Despite repeated debates and discussions,” Erokan continued, “all our efforts to reach a compromise have failed. Therefore, we have decided that the time for discussion is over, and that we will no longer settle for simple compromise. The fate of both our worlds will be decided here, today, and in the presence of our Federation mediators. Either the colony of Numai will be granted its permanent freedom from Rhaaxan rule, or every living thing on your planet will perish.”

  He paused, as if knowing that his words would be more effective if allowed to sink in for several seconds before saying anything else.

  “Oh my God,” Marshall said. “He’ll incite a global panic down there.”

  “While Prefect Randa and her advisers may have been bluffing when they threatened us, rest assured that the threat I bring today is quite real. As you re
ceive this message, Orbital Station 4 is being maneuvered into position so that it can release a chemical compound we call jurolon, which will result in the total breakdown of all the life-giving elements of your planet’s atmosphere. Simply put, all of you will suffocate.”

  Pausing again, Erokan stepped forward and opened his arms, and Gold was nearly infuriated as the colony leader actually smiled warmly.

  “Of course, such tragedy can be avoided. It simply requires the Rhaaxan Assembly to guarantee us our freedom, now and forever. We await your response, Prefect Randa, but only until the sun sets on the capital city.” Then the message abruptly ended, and the viewer returned to its image of the orbital platform.

  Gold turned to Gomez and Stevens. “Find me a way to disable that damn thing, now.”

  “Aye, sir,” Gomez said.

  Moving around the bridge toward the tactical station, the captain asked, “Shabalala, how long until sunset hits Longon?”

  The lieutenant checked his sensor displays before replying, “Approximately two hours, Captain.”

  “Fine,” Gold replied. “Hail the Rhaaxan Assembly. Get me Prefect Randa.”

  A moment later the image of the Rhaaxan leader filled the main viewscreen. There was no mistaking the harried expression clouding her pale orange features.

  “Captain,” she said, “I trust you observed the message from Erokan on Rhaax V?”

  Gold nodded. “We did, Prefect. My people are examining the situation right now and looking for ways to deal with it.”

  “Ways to deal with it?” Randa replied, her expression one of shock. “They threatened to destroy all life on my planet, Captain. What do you suggest we do in the face of that?”

  Holding his hand up, Gold said, “Please, Prefect. This is not the time to react emotionally. We haven’t had time to examine all the options yet.”

  Stepping forward until her face nearly filled the viewscreen, Randa glowered at him. “There can be only one response to such menace. That station must be destroyed, but we no longer possess the means to do so ourselves. I therefore implore you to take on that responsibility.”