by Dayton Ward
Elfiki said, “We’ve mapped nearly forty-five percent of the nebula, so that leaves a lot of area to explore.” The Enterprise’s sensor sweeps of the area had been suspended upon discovery of the planet. “As for this little guy, it ranks up there as one of the most boring places I’ve ever seen. It’s a rock. No atmosphere, no ores worth mining, no frozen or trapped water. Aside from the nuclear reactor powering the complex on the surface, asteroids are more interesting than this thing.”
“Maybe that was the point,” offered Chen, waving toward the projection. “You have to think that whoever set up shop down there chose this planet for a reason, so perhaps it was because it was a dead, boring hunk of rock. No one or nothing to put at risk, so if anything went wrong, the damage was limited just to the people working there.”
“Pretty much what I’ve been thinking this whole time. That, and it’s the sort of place someone like the Romulans or Starfleet Intelligence would love to stick a listening outpost, or maybe a prison. You know, a prime vacation destination.”
Chen eyed her friend with a raised eyebrow. “I think you need to take better vacations.”
Ignoring the comment, Elfiki entered more commands to her console. “The nebula’s still giving our sensors fits, but I’ve been working with engineering to reconfigure them.” She shook her head. “It’s slow going.”
Gesturing to the computer-generated image of the planet, Chen asked, “What about the facility itself? Anything interesting?”
“I’m sure there is,” replied Elfiki. “The energy levels coming from that location on the planet are staggering. From what I can tell, there are two structures, one much larger than the other, that are the source of the quantum fluctuations we’ve detected. Meanwhile, all of the life-forms look to be contained to the smaller structure, which is situated some distance from its larger cousin.”
“Whoever they are,” said Chen, “they’re not answering our hails. All we’ve gotten is that same automated message that repeats over and over for us to stay away, and that they caused whatever is happening with the planet. Even if they didn’t want our help or it really was too dangerous for us to come closer, where’s the harm in just talking to us?”
Smiling, Elfiki said, “Sounds like somebody’s itching to act like a first-contact specialist.”
“Well, sure. I mean, it is my job, after all.” Chen waved a hand to indicate the room around them and—by extension—the rest of the Enterprise. “There are only so many odd jobs I can do and so much cross-training I can take on before I start to question the wisdom of having a contact specialist as a member of the crew if I’m rarely if ever going to specialize in actually contacting anybody.”
It had become a routine, and something of a joke not just to Chen but many members of the crew, that her primary duties as a contact specialist were only ever needed on rare occasions. A significant portion of her time was spent on related yet mundane matters such as composing after-action reports, detailed analysis of whatever new species the Enterprise might encounter, and recommendations for next steps to be taken by Starfleet and the Federation with respect to a newly discovered civilization. If the species in question was at a technological level that was deemed below the threshold for authorized formal first contact, Chen’s reports had to include any ramifications with respect to the Prime Directive and the effects of the Enterprise’s interference in the affairs of a society not yet prepared for the reality of interstellar neighbors.
Those are always the fun ones to write.
“If we can figure out what’s up with these quantum fluctuations,” said Elfiki, having returned her attention to her console, “maybe we can get them to open up a bit. The first thing I’m going to ask them is what they’re doing out here in the middle of nowhere. Did they find a rogue planet and set up their operation here?”
Chen said, “When you told me you were coming down here, you mentioned something about looking for another planet.”
“I wanted to rule it out, more than anything else.” Elfiki waved toward the nebula’s holoprojection. “I doubt there’s really another planet hiding somewhere in that soup.” The science officer had conjured the idea before leaving the bridge, and well before Chen’s arrival in stellar cartography. She had explained it as little more than, “ruling out the obvious,” while at the same time using the idea as reason enough to continue the starship’s mapping of the region in order to see what else might be hidden here.
“It was a stupid idea,” Elfiki added. Grunting in irritation, she pushed away from her workstation and leaned back in her chair, using the heels of her hands to rub at her eyes. “Wow, but I’m tired. I’d only been asleep an hour or so before the call came from the bridge.” She sighed. “I thought these things were only supposed to happen on alpha shift.”
Chen smiled. “And deny the overnight crews some excitement? That wouldn’t be fair, now, would it?” A sudden yawn snuck up on her, and she was just able to cover her mouth. “Sorry.”
“Don’t start that,” said Elfiki as she released her own yawn. Then she turned in her chair. “Wait a minute. I went by your quarters last night, and you weren’t there. Or, you at least didn’t answer the door.” Her eyes narrowed. “Not the first time that’s happened, either. So, spill it.”
Feigning ignorance, Chen replied, “Spill what?”
“For someone who’s half Vulcan, you have a lousy poker face.” Pointing an accusatory finger, Elfiki leered at her. “Come on. Everybody on the ship except for the captain’s kid knows you and Rennan are back together for real. Actually, the more I think about it, I think the kid probably knows too.”
“First of all, yuck.” Softening the remark with a mock grimace, Chen crossed her arms. “And second of all, is my poker face really that bad? I’ve been working on it, you know. With a mirror and everything.”
Extending her right leg to play-kick her friend, Elfiki said, “Now I hate you. Quit stalling and start talking. I want details. Specific, explicit details. Nothing left to the imagination. At all.”
“You’re hopeless, do you know that?” Chen said. “Are you collecting gossip for the rest of the crew, or what?”
“I edit the ship’s scuttlebutt newsletter.” The science officer indicated for Chen to come closer. “We’ve been on our way back here for weeks, and you’re always off hiding somewhere after hours. Out with it, or else I’ll just have to make up something.”
Where’s the red alert when you need one?
Sighing, Chen resigned herself to the fact that her friend would continue to needle and pester her until she offered up something in the way of salacious information regarding her rekindled romance with Rennan Konya. Her relationship with the Enterprise’s deputy chief of security had soured in the months following the Borg Invasion. Konya had carried tremendous guilt due to his own survival of that short yet devastating conflict that had claimed many of his friends and shipmates. The feelings that clouded his mind and darkened his soul had caused him to withdraw from friends and nearly every sort of social situation; instead he had become all but consumed by his duties. His training regimens for the ship’s security division had become so intense and unforgiving that some of the junior officers began lodging protests with the chief of security, Lieutenant Aneta Šmrhová. Once she had stepped in and spoken to him as his superior officer and friend, Konya had come to realize what he was doing, and he began attending regular sessions with the ship’s counselor, Doctor Hegol Den. That, in Chen’s opinion, had been the best thing for Konya, as she knew the Bajoran’s counseling approach was very relaxed, providing an atmosphere that allowed his patients to arrive at their own conclusions and decide on a course of corrective or therapeutic action with little pressure and no judgment from him.
Chen also was aware that Konya still saw Hegol on occasion, though those sessions were far less frequent than they had been a year ago. Though the feelings that plagued him remained, a
t least now he had ways of keeping them at bay, and over time Chen had watched his happier personality begin to reassert itself.
“What’s to know?” she asked. “Like you said, everybody on the ship knows we got back together months ago.”
Elfiki grinned. “Sure, but it’s what’s been happening during those months that we all want to talk about.”
“You know it’s not like that.” Chen leaned back in her chair. “After that business with the Raqilan weapon ship, and after his apology for ending things between us the first time, he wasn’t looking to start things back up. Neither was I, but we were still friends, and it was good to enjoy each other’s company again.”
The Enterprise’s recent encounter with two newly discovered societies, the Raqilan and the Golvonek, had seen to it that Chen and Konya ended up working together in close proximity. Their mission had called for them to examine the Poklori gil dara, an immense spacecraft constructed by Raqilan engineers in decades to come and sent back through time to the late twenty-third century. Once there, the vessel’s mission was simple: prevent the war that had all but annihilated both civilizations and their respective homeworlds. This was to be accomplished by destroying the Golvonek’s ability to wage war in the first place, with the Poklori gil dara able to do that by obliterating the Golvonek’s home planet. Raqilan scientists and engineers had constructed the massive ship by reverse engineering much of the technology found in the wreckage of a “planet killer,” an enormous, self-sustaining machine created millennia ago by an unknown, advanced alien race. Starfleet’s encounters with such vessels had been few but memorable, but it was the Raqilan’s re-creation of the ancient automaton that had so thoroughly impressed Chen. She and Konya had been members of the first away team to board and explore the craft, and Chen had marveled at its construction and how its Raqilan builders had been able to adapt and even improve on some aspects of the wrecked vessel’s design.
It was during their excursions aboard the alien ship that Konya had apologized to Chen for his past behavior. Later, after she and their shipmate, security officer Lieutenant Kirsten Cruzen, had come within a hairbreadth of dying aboard the Poklori gil dara, Konya had reiterated his apology along with his desire to do whatever was needed to make things right between them. Other than the opportunity to do just that, he had neither requested nor expected anything from her.
“It was his sincerity that did it,” said Chen, recalling his obvious relief upon seeing her in the Enterprise sickbay after not dying aboard the Raqilan weapon ship. “He was so vulnerable, and so sorry, and so happy to see me.” She shrugged. “What can I say? It touched me.”
Elfiki replied, “And then you touched him.” When Chen gritted her teeth, feeling her cheeks flush, the science officer shifted in her seat, tucking one leg beneath her on the chair. “There it is. Now we’re talking.”
“Oh, stop it,” said Chen. “It was just nice to be able to talk with him again, you know? The old Rennan, the way he used to be, before . . . everything.”
Elfiki nodded. “Sure, I get it.”
“Then we got to the other stuff.”
“Of course you did.”
They both laughed at that, and Chen now realized her initial embarrassment at discussing this sensitive topic had faded. “To answer your question, yes. It’s very nice to be . . . you know.”
“No, I don’t know. Tell me more.”
Chen’s eyes narrowed. “Hang on a second. I’m not the only one with juicy gossip they’re not sharing. What’s this I hear about you and the gamma shift conn officer?”
“Lieutenant Weinrib?” Elfiki’s brow furrowed. “What about him?”
Making a show of rolling her eyes, Chen replied, “You want to talk about horrible poker faces? You’re not the only one occupying their off-duty hours with a few extracurricular activities.” She bobbed her eyebrows to emphasize her point, earning a blush from her friend. “Uh-huh.”
Even on a starship as large as the Enterprise, with its crew of well over one thousand people, it was still a tight-knit community. Spending weeks and even months traveling through interstellar space with only one another for company ensured that very little in the way of rumor or idle chitchat went unnoticed. One of the most interesting topics was any romantic liaisons—or the ending of such partnering—between members of the crew, and even though most people exercised discretion, it was almost impossible to keep such knowledge from filtering to shipmates. As for Elfiki and Gary Weinrib, Chen had overheard a couple of unsubstantiated reports of her friend spending time with the lieutenant.
“Don’t be that way,” said Elfiki after a moment. “It’s honestly not what you think. He went through a breakup before we left Earth the first time for the Odyssean Pass. His partner was upset that he’d accepted the mission knowing we’d be out here for months and maybe even years. He wanted Gary to take a ground assignment for a while, and Gary tried to convince him to transfer to the Enterprise.” She shrugged. “It didn’t end well, for either of them. Gary and I have been friends since the Academy, so I guess you could say we’re each other’s confidants.”
Though touched by Elfiki’s sensitivity to her friend’s emotional needs—which was very much in keeping with the science officer’s character when it came to helping others—Chen still could not help a mischievous leer. “You’re saying that nothing else was going on between you two?”
Elfiki shrugged, and the blush returned. “No, I never exactly said that.”
“I knew it!”
Before Chen could press her interrogation, the sound of the ship’s intraship cut her off, drawing the attention of both officers.
“Worf to stellar cartography.”
Trading curious glances with Elfiki, the young Vulcan responded, “Chen here. What can I do for you, Commander?”
The Enterprise’s first officer replied, “Captain Picard has ordered an away team to investigate the planet via shuttlecraft. We will attempt to make contact with the people on the surface and attempt to determine whether we can provide assistance.”
Finally!
Chen was only just able to quell her enthusiasm and maintain her bearing for propriety’s sake. From the moment she had heard about the life-form readings on the planet, she had been hoping for something like this. It was obvious that the captain felt no more could be learned about the mysterious world without direct action. Though she knew Picard to be a prudent, even protective commanding officer, he was not above some risk if he felt the situation warranted it, or if undertaking such risk was for the benefit of others in jeopardy. It was not yet proven that the people on the planet’s surface were in any actual danger, but determining that would be the away team’s responsibility.
About time, too.
Over the open channel, Worf said, “Lieutenant Elfiki?”
“Here, sir,” replied the science officer.
“You will monitor our activities from the bridge and provide us with updated sensor information about the planet itself. If you detect anything out of the ordinary, you’ll be the one who orders us to abort our mission.”
Elfiki frowned, and Chen could tell her friend was not thrilled about remaining behind, even though her role in the upcoming excursion would be of critical importance to the mission’s success and possibly the safety of the away team. Despite her evident disappointment, she said only, “Understood, Commander.”
“When do we leave, sir?” asked Chen.
“Departure is scheduled for eleven hundred hours.” There was a pause, and Chen thought she could hear the Klingon emit a soft groan of disdain before he added, “We’ll be wearing environmental suits. Report to the main shuttlebay for final departure preparations. Worf out.”
The communication was severed, and Elfiki shifted in her seat.
“EV suits? With Worf? Yeah, maybe staying back isn’t so bad after all.”
Chen could not
help smiling as she rose from her seat. “Speak for yourself. This is going to be fun.”
“No joke, T’Rys,” said Elfiki, her tone turning serious. “With all those quantum fluctuations, there’s no way to predict what might happen, or even when. Be careful down there.”
“I’m always careful.”
Maybe not always, but most of the time. A lot of the time. Usually.
Noting Elfiki’s accusatory glare, Chen sighed.
“Okay, I’ll be careful.”
4
ELSEWHERE
U.S.S. Enterprise-D
Holding the diagnostic scanner close to his right eye, Geordi La Forge saw the glow in the device’s viewfinder shift colors, the change interpreted by his VISOR as red dissolving into blue. Then he heard a telltale beep indicating the scan was completed, and he lifted the isolinear optical data chip up to examine it.
“This one’s good to go, too,” he said as he inserted the chip into an open slot on the primary processor of the class-1 sensor probe.
As with its five brethren, the probe sat on a worktable in one of the ship’s science labs. Like its counterparts, the probe’s main access panel had been removed, exposing its internal components. Having verified his modifications to the data chip, he and Data had completed reconfiguring four of the five devices, and it had taken them less time than what he had estimated for the task. So far, everything seemed to be proceeding according to his plan.
Don’t jinx it.
With the computer chip returned to its proper place on the processor’s data interface junction, La Forge reached back into the access panel and activated the unit’s power module. He was rewarded by the entire processor interface coming to life, with its rows of indicator lights blinking in what to the untrained eye were nothing more than random patterns.
“The updated control software appears to be operating well within standard parameters,” reported Data from where he stood on the worktable’s opposite side, holding a tricorder toward the probe. The compact scanning device was emitting a low-pitched warble as the android studied its readings.
