by Dayton Ward
Eyeing the pen, Heffron scowled, but said nothing. It was obvious that Kincaid knew at least something about the device that she thought she had kept a well-guarded secret. Instead, she focused on what else her aide had said.
“Who’s we?” Her eyes narrowing, she pointed the pen at him. “You’re with Majestic? What did they do, send you to spy on me?”
Kincaid smiled. “I’ve been spying on you since the day I was assigned to you, Director. Majestic’s had their eye on you for a while. They’ve suspected you’ve been colluding with aliens for some time, but they had no proof.” Once more, he indicated the pen in her hand. “Well, almost no proof. We’ve been waiting for whoever gave it to you to make contact, and now they have, which means it’s time for us to put the next phase of our plan into motion.”
Sure she would not like the answer, Heffron asked, “And what plan is that?”
“The same as it’s always been, Director.” The smile faded, and Kincaid’s expression turned cold. “Protecting our planet, by any means necessary.”
7
U.S.S. Enterprise 2386
Deep and ugly, the scars of war ran rampant across the planet.
Though Picard had witnessed this sort of damage defacing more worlds than he cared to admit, the devastation marring Sralanya’s surface was as disturbing as it was extensive. Vast expanses of browns and greens signifying terrain that had not yet been displaced by industrialization were interrupted by huge dark blemishes that pockmarked dozens of areas on the planet’s four continents. Standing before the bridge’s main viewscreen, he knew that the seemingly random patterns indicated whatever remained of cities and other built-up population centers. How many people had lived in those areas? How many lives had been snuffed out in an instant, wiped from existence by the hellish fury unleashed by weapons of great destruction?
In some ways, the scene before him reminded him of the photographs taken by astronauts trapped aboard space stations orbiting Earth, who had watched helplessly as the first waves of intercontinental ballistic missiles swept across the globe. Those spacefarers, marooned once contact with ground support facilities was lost during the opening days of the Third World War, had borne witness to the apocalypse, documenting the destruction caused by nuclear weapons and the aftermath. Their photos, video logs, and written journals, retrieved decades later, ended up providing a uniquely detached chronicle to the conflict. Did the citizens of Sralanya have similar records of this dark chapter from their own history?
“We’ve achieved standard orbit, sir,” reported Lieutenant Joanna Faur from the conn position. “There seems to be a lot of interest in our arrival.”
Picard turned from the screen and began moving back toward his command chair. He had tried and failed to keep his seat during the uneventful transit to the planet, waiting for something more troublesome to happen. Nothing had occurred, which only served to make him more anxious. Was this truly a peace overture, or simply a ruse designed to place the Enterprise into some compromising position? At this point, it was hard to say. Aside from a brief, terse exchange upon the arrival of these three vessels before they had moved into a triangular formation with the Enterprise at its center, there had been no communications with Alonijal during the journey, which had occurred at low warp and while holding to a strict, uncompromising course in to the planet. This suggested to Picard that the Eizand vessels might have difficulty with offensive or defensive actions while traveling at warp. If true, that was a helpful bit of information that might come in handy later on, should the current situation take an unpleasant turn.
“Lieutenant Šmrhová?” he asked, standing before his seat. “What are your sensors showing?”
The security chief replied, “Several of the closer satellites in the global network have definitely taken a liking to us, sir. Scans show that they tracked our movements all the way in. I’m not picking up any signs of targeting scanners or weapons being activated.”
Having occupied himself with the secondary tactical console during the brief journey to the planet, Worf added, “Like their vessels, the satellites do not have any sort of deflector shields, though they are fitted with a form of armored plating that will not be effective against our weapons.”
“What about the energy weapons they carry?” asked Picard.
Šmrhová replied, “From the scans, they’re a form of targeted electromagnetic pulse generator, sir. Basically, whatever they hit loses power, at least temporarily. If they hit us with our shields up, we’d likely experience a power drain, and concentrated fire might well be able to overload our shield generators, but as Commander Worf said, they’re no match for our weapons.”
“Let’s hope we don’t have to test one another’s capabilities. We’re not looking for a fight after all.” Turning back to the viewscreen, he gestured toward the image of the planet. “Lieutenant Elfiki, what can you tell us about the devastation? How long ago do you believe this happened?”
Straightening her posture from where she stood behind her console on the bridge’s starboard side and facing Picard, Elfiki said, “Based on the residual radiation levels and other atmospheric and environmental conditions, I’d say somewhere around three hundred years ago, sir, give or take a decade or two. Major cities seemed to be the primary targets and thus were hardest hit. Judging from impact areas, some of the larger cities were struck by multiple weapons that likely left few if any survivors. Then there’s the fallout that would’ve been carried by the wind or water to adjacent regions. Low-lying regions fared a lot worse, but very few areas of the planet escaped completely unscathed.”
“Is there any way to determine the number of casualties?” asked Chen.
“I can only guess, based on the apparent size of the various population centers and their accompanying sprawl, and then add a percentage based on what we know about the aftereffects of such weapons.” Elfiki’s expression fell. “We could be talking more than a billion people lost, and that’s probably a conservative estimate.”
“It’s unbelievable,” said Chen. “And only a fraction of that number left to fight for simple survival in the aftermath of global calamity.” She shook her head. “I’ve read about the nuclear wars on Earth, Vulcan, and other planets, and I’ve always wondered whether those who died in the initial attacks were the lucky ones. I mean, at least they were spared from whatever came later.”
Picard had already entertained similar thoughts. Despite the magnitude of loss here, it saddened him to think that it still paled in comparison to the wanton, pervasive destruction he had witnessed with his own eyes. Sixty-three billion lives had been snuffed out by the Borg during their last—and final—invasion. Billions more had been left with no world to call home, forced to relocate to planets that had escaped obliteration. Nearly half of Starfleet had been destroyed or suffered damage repelling the invasion. The Borg had been stopped, and the threat they represented to the entire galaxy was forever quashed, but the costs of that victory were tremendous, and ongoing. Even now, more than five years later, the Federation and its allies continued to address the aftermath of that conflict. It would take many more years before those wounds faded, but Picard knew they would never truly heal.
Such was also true for the people of Sralanya. Three centuries after whatever war had marred their world, the descendants of those original survivors lived. The obvious visual evidence was that they had found the strength to push past the darkness of those early years in the wake of utter devastation and begin what surely would have been a long, difficult rebuilding process. Perhaps pieces of this fragmented society had even found ways to thrive in the new world they were forced to create, but Picard knew they would never escape the tragic legacy they had inherited.
“Current conditions?” he asked.
Elfiki replied, “Sensors show twenty-six areas with large population concentrations, sir. Definitely cities of a sort, but not nearly as expansive in size or density, mostly along what are now the coastlines and well away from any of the lar
ger areas of destruction or contamination. Based on the readings, none of these buildings are more than a couple of centuries old, and most are much newer. There are also other areas of the planet that might be massive excavation efforts, consistent with extensive mining and drilling for various natural resources. Scans of those areas show trace elements of a number of metals and minerals and large subterranean pockets from which they likely extracted fossil fuels. Coal, petroleum, natural gas, that sort of thing, but the planet’s reserves of such materials are pretty depleted, sir. The modern cities are dependent on solar and geothermal energy production, and a couple employ nuclear reactors.”
“Commander Taurik,” said Picard, without turning from the screen, “I don’t suppose Admiral Akaar has offered any further information on this topic?” He knew the engineer had not been in contact with the admiral since the arrival of Alonijal’s ships, but Picard had decided this was a good test to see if the commander might be withholding information and parsing it out only when prompted. It still galled him to think one of his officers might behave in such a manner, and he forced himself to remember the difficult position into which Akaar had placed Taurik. Pondering that notion only served to stoke Picard’s irritation, but he pushed aside such feelings.
Taurik replied, “No, Captain. The admiral offered no specific information regarding the planet’s population prior to . . . whatever transpired here.”
Despite his attempt to maintain his bearing, the halt in the engineer’s response was still noticeable. Picard could not believe for a moment that Taurik might be lying. Was it uncertainty? Discomfort at the role he was required to play? For the moment, there was no way to know.
“Captain,” said Šmrhová, “we’re receiving an incoming message from the planet’s surface. It’s being transmitted from within one of the larger cities.”
Chen added, “Here we go.”
“Indeed.” Picard straightened his uniform jacket, squaring himself before the main viewer. “On-screen, Lieutenant.”
Uncertain what to expect, he was pleasantly surprised to see what he believed was an Eizand female, standing before a large window that afforded a view of a cityscape. The image was clear enough that he was able to make out the hodgepodge collection of buildings and other structures, none of which seemed to harbor any distinct architectural features but instead looked rather plain and utilitarian. Beyond the city lay mountains and clear, inviting blue sky. As for the Eizand, she stood tall and regal, wearing a striking teal-green dress or robe highlighted with an intricate gold pattern. The garment’s darker color and ornamentation accented the female’s pale, hairless skin. She raised her hands in apparent greeting, and Picard saw that the long, thin phalanges extending from her palms were each adorned with several gold rings.
“I am Hilonu, presider of the Tevent Coalition, the largest city-state on the plant of Sralanya. It therefore falls to me to welcome you to our world. You are Captain Picard, I presume?”
Trying not to dwell too much on what to his ears sounded like an odd introduction despite the Eizand’s gentle voice, Picard replied, “Yes, Presider Hilonu. I bring you greetings on behalf of the United Federation of Planets. We are new to this region of space, on a mission of exploration. It’s my great honor to meet you, and I hope we can establish a peaceful dialogue.”
Her gaze fixed on Picard, Hilonu said, “Peaceful exploration, and yet your massive vessel bristles with weapons capable of raining destruction down upon our planet.” Before Picard could respond to that, she added, “Of course, I cannot imagine anyone with such intentions wasting time with pleasantries.”
For the first time, her expression softened, and she allowed her eyes to shift from him to the rest of the bridge that was visible over the connection. “Commander Alonijal was correct, in that you seem to represent a multitude of species and worlds. I hope you will understand, Captain, that this is a great deal to absorb all at once.”
“I understand completely, Presider.” Buoyed by the opening Hilonu seemed to have provided, Picard said, “Commander Alonijal did share with me that we are not the first visitors from other worlds that you have encountered. That’s actually rather a relief for me, as it does make this process somewhat easier. Whenever we make first contact with another species, it is customary for the highest-ranking individual to request an audience with the leader or leaders of that society. In this case, I am that individual, and it would be my privilege to speak with you in person, should you be willing to do so.”
Once more, the Eizand’s expression hardened. “And if I decline such a request?”
“Then we shall leave your space as peacefully as we came, and never return, at least until such time as you reach out to us, and I will regret the opportunity lost this day.”
In all his years as a Starfleet captain, Picard had represented the Federation during first contact with dozens of new worlds and civilizations. Only a handful of those had refused the offer to open a dialogue, and most of those eventually had sought out the Federation following that initial meeting. On each of those occasions where the leader of a people had rejected an offer to meet, Picard felt disappointment, as though he had failed to carry out this most important responsibility entrusted to him. On the other hand, there also was value in demonstrating to the newly contacted people and their leader that Starfleet and the Federation could be trusted, even if it meant holding to his word that he would leave if asked. It was far less satisfying, though in his mind no less important.
“Very well, Captain,” said Hilonu after a moment. “I will grant your request. Talking with you should prove most illuminating.” She gestured toward Picard. “And please, if you would be so kind as to bring along members of your crew who represent other worlds and cultures, that would be most satisfactory.”
Something about her responses still felt off to Picard. There was no curiosity or wonder in Hilonu’s voice or mannerisms, but neither was she treating this dialogue as a common occurrence. There was a trace of something else in the way she spoke. Not just wariness or even distrust, which he could understand and appreciate, but also a hint of . . . resentment? That seemed illogical, but very little about this entire affair made sense. As Picard saw it, the only way to get a better handle on the situation was to take charge as best he could, and extract answers from anything and any place he could find, using any means at his disposal.
“Excellent. I look forward to meeting you, Presider.”
After the conversation ended, while both Elfiki and Šmrhová verified the location provided by Hilonu as the designated meeting place, Picard turned to Chen.
“What do you make of that, Lieutenant?”
The young contact specialist replied, “There’s definitely more below the surface with her than she’s letting on, sir. I can’t put my finger on it, but something’s up.”
Pleased to have his gut instinct validated even in some small way, Picard nodded. “My thoughts exactly. You’ll accompany me to the surface, along with Lieutenant Elfiki and Glinn Dygan. I think that should provide a bit of diversity for Presider Hilonu.”
“Captain,” said Worf, stepping around the secondary tactical console, “I would prefer to beam down first with a security detail and ensure the meeting place is secure.”
Picard replied, “That might be misinterpreted as a lack of trust, Number One. I’m afraid I’m going to exercise captain’s prerogative this time.” Before his first officer could retort, he held up his hand and offered a small smile. “However, a two-person security detail won’t go unnoticed or unappreciated.”
His posture stiffening, and despite his obvious reticence at his captain pulling rank, Worf said, “Aye, sir. I will see to the away team preparations.”
Stepping away from the engineering stations and approaching the command area, Taurik said, “Captain, I request permission to accompany you to the surface.”
“I appreciate the offer, Commander, but I don’t see the need for an engineer on this occasion.” Picard knew why t
he Vulcan was asking, and he was hoping Taurik might understand and respect his subtle hint.
His hopes were misplaced.
“Sir, in light of my . . . additional duties, I think it would be prudent for me to join you.”
Feeling his irritation with Taurik and his entire situation beginning to return, Picard asked, “Are you questioning my orders, Commander?”
The Vulcan replied, “No, sir. With respect, I was attempting to point out that my presence on the away team might provide me with an opportunity to gather more information, which I could then forward to Admiral Akaar. I believe it is what he would want, sir.”
Before he could give them conscious thought, before he could do anything to mitigate or even preempt his response, the words were out of Picard’s mouth. “I’m not interested in what Admiral Akaar wants in this instance, Commander.” He made no attempt to soften his tone as he glared at the engineer. “Further, I will not have my decisions questioned by a subordinate on the bridge of my ship. You are relieved of duty, Mister Taurik, and confined to quarters until further notice.” Then, even though it was unnecessary, and knowing he would regret it, he added, “Once there, you are free to apprise Admiral Akaar of your change in status.”
He could hear and see the reactions to his abrupt directive from everyone on the bridge. Even Worf, often as stoic and unreadable as any Vulcan, reacted with widened eyes. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but stopped himself. Instead, he directed his own attention to Taurik, who for his part had weathered Picard’s dressing-down in his usual composed manner. Not even an eyebrow raised in reaction to the orders he had just received.
