“I don’t know about comfort, but our work gave him an outlet, a place to focus his efforts. With both of us so dedicated to our work, developing a more interpersonal connection was a natural evolution of our work relationship.”
She studied her friend, the softness in her eyes, her almost-smile. “You seem happy. Though I wouldn’t have ever put you two together. I have to admit that as soon as I realized that you had feelings for him, I was a little surprised.”
“I knew you had it figured out as soon as I observed your body language when I was talking to Tarak over the comm,” Zoë said, blushing.
“Body language? I’m a Nasat. We don’t really have body language.”
“I’m a Betazoid,” Zoë teased. “I sense body language.”
“Of course,” Pattie said dryly.
She dropped her eyes to the ground. “As you might expect—he was very logical about proposing our…um…uh…partnership.” She adopted a matter-of-fact tone, mimicking Tarak’s speech patterns. “‘Establishing a mutually beneficial domestic arrangement with me is more practical if I decide to live here permanently,’ and so on. Very carefully thought through. Not quite the emotional exuberance that most Betazoids expect from their partners—” she blushed “—but he compensates in other ways.”
“Oh.” Pattie felt comfortable about not asking Zoë to elaborate further. Softs placed an importance on their romantic—and by corollary—their sexual relationships that was completely foreign to Nasat. The idea of emotions and sociological connections forming around copulation wasn’t anything Pattie could figure out. Reproduction was like eating or resting—a bodily function that was carried out at the appropriate time.
Yawning again, Zoë stretched and rubbed at her eyes with her fists. “You mind if I sleep?”
Pattie smiled. “Of course not. I spend all my time working around you weakling softs so I’m used to all the pampering you require. Sleep, food, water—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Zoë said, laughing.
Once she’d vanished into the private quarters, Pattie turned the viewscreen back on, hoping that new information had come to light. During the fifth time through a particularly heavily damaged branch sector, Pattie’s sharp eyes noted something she hadn’t picked up previously. “Computer, save newsfeed TS2, channel 4, 0212 to 0220 to lab database.” The computer squawked an acknowledgment. She replayed the footage, sharpening the resolution on specific shots, pulling the view closer and closer until she could see the rivets in the floor, but the anomalous characteristic was fully discernible. What have we here? Certainly not evidence of seismic activity. Maybe defective building material? Or…something more dangerous. Satisfaction suffused her; she had her first lead. We have ourselves a mystery.
Chapter 4
In my youngest seasons, never would I have dreamed that I would be received into the governor’s office, Pattie thought, taking in the banks of computers, the holo-projected map of the homeworld, the ornately carved planters overflowing with white orchid blossoms and opalescent vines. Mid-sun cycle mists carpeted the lower branches and tree decks. She watched a brilliantly colored keel-billed avian sitting on a knobby branch outside the governor’s window, grasping hard yellow hermoorsia fruits in its beak. Considering how difficult it had been to secure this appointment, Pattie decided she’d better enjoy the experience while it lasted.
Pattie had spent the remainder of the night cycle downloading whatever tremor data she could procure into her tricorder, running various analyses using the Starfleet databases, and studying the conclusions. She hadn’t uncovered much new information by the time the sun rose, but she had determined that whatever had struck her township didn’t match any conventional parameters. The irregular tremor patterns and resultant damage weren’t typical of weakening buttress roots, nor did they appear consistent with past problems with erosion or other ground-based problems. After reviewing the frames she’d found unusual, she did wonder if a new systemic infection might be attacking the mother-tree. If a new virus or parasite had invaded the forest, the mother-tree might be vulnerable to assault. Some organisms could decimate a mother-tree in a matter of weeks. Regardless of what had caused the tremors, Pattie had renewed interest in both identifying the source of the problem and finding a solution.
Beginning with Zoë’s acquaintances, Pattie had contacted every shell she could obtain a comcode for, dispatching messages every few minutes for hours, until she’d determined that none of the local officials would assign her to an investigation team. Their replies sounded remarkably similar to the security services officer she and Zoë had encountered the night before. So she had started in on messaging her contacts in the capital. This had consumed the remainder of the day after the tremor and into her second night at home.
By the following morning, she’d located several Nasat Starfleet personnel, based on the homeworld as part of a Federation detail, who knew of someone who knew someone who might be able to bend the governor’s ear. Apparently, while visiting a nearby starbase several months ago, the governor had become quite friendly with the base’s commanding officer. Commander Emon had been in his first year at the Academy when Captain Gold was graduating and wanted to know how the captain was faring since the da Vinci’s horrific mission to Galvan VI. After an exchange of stories, Emon contacted the governor on Pattie’s behalf, arranging for an appointment the following day. She hadn’t expected to spend most of her first week on leave working Nasat bureaucracy, but if it gave her the chance to help the township, it seemed like a small sacrifice.
The Green shell monitoring the governor’s schedule alerted Pattie that the governor was ready to receive her in his office. She approached the door chime with some trepidation, knowing that she wasn’t exactly a welcome visitor. Here goes nothing, she thought, and pressed the door chime.
The door hissed open.
“P8 Blue,” the governor said, clicking his pincer politely. “I am pleased to associate with you.” Behind his half-moon shaped console, he stepped out of his seat-hammock to greet Pattie formally.
Pattie reciprocated the polite gesture by clicking her own pincers, and assumed a spot in the visitor’s seat-hammock.
“You didn’t have to go to such lengths, P8. Contacting Commander Emon. I would have seen you,” the governor said as he took a seat behind his console.
“I apologize, sir, but until I talked to Commander Emon and asked him to contact you, I couldn’t even procure D5 Green’s comcode to ask for an appointment. Those officials beneath you do an excellent job of making sure you aren’t bothered.”
“Every Nasat believes the problems of his deck sector or paddock group are the most pressing item on my agenda. I would never have a chance to govern if I took every appointment that was requested.” The governor scrutinized Pattie from head to foot and limb to limb.
“Point well taken,” Pattie said.
Leaning over the console, he looked directly into Pattie’s eyes. “I know who you are, P8. You’re unusual by Nasat standards, but you’re even more unusual in this forest quadrant. A quiet that can speak thanks to some alien scientific tinkering, who then enlists in Starfleet and becomes an engineer.”
“That pretty much covers it, sir,” Pattie said, unable to read the governor’s perception of her life history. Some Nasat—especially those in the capital—found her choices novel, even fascinating. Here, in the rural part of the homeworld, she was seen as one of those crazy shells that wasn’t hatched quite right. “But I believe I have something to contribute in this situation. Whatever I’ve been able to pull off the feeds and out of the databases, I’ve analyzed. I have an interest in this situation.”
“When I heard your chosen profession, I thought you might,” Governor Z4 said, fanning his limbs out to indicate the whole of their surroundings. “All this shifting and shaking. You’re an engineer, after all. The damaged buildings and broken equipment. Just your type of tree bark, if you know what I mean.”
Pattie’s antennae curle
d her assent, hoping the governor would grant her a position on one of the teams.
“Circumstances have become more complicated in the last few days, though,” he said. “Consider this latest development.” He directed Pattie’s eyes toward a bank of monitors. Pattie recognized the comnet footage from the previous days as well as a few pictures taken more recently. He tapped a command into his desk panels, making the commentary audible. Pattie followed the governor’s lead, turning her attention to the reports, watching the latest development—a security services investigation—with keen interest.
Dozens of Nasat had gone missing during the quakes. Whether they’d fallen from the township or had been killed by falling debris wasn’t readily discernible from the evidence. Most puzzling to investigators was where the now-missing Nasat had been when they’d vanished. A graphical map indicated that all of the missing had resided on the township perimeter where virtually all structures were enclosed. That the two- and three-hundred-year-old open-air corridors and paddocks near the township center reported no accidental falls from the decks or missing individuals seemed illogical to investigators, and to Pattie, though she conceded that the greater structural damage on the perimeter might figure into the analysis. Security teams hadn’t ruled out abduction, though that was the least likely of all their scenarios.
The governor folded his center limbs over his abdomen, flexing his pincers thoughtfully. “Tremors that don’t have seismic causes. Nasat, who reportedly had been at home in enclosed paddocks, vanishing. We’re seeing strange times, P8.”
“These missing shells, assuming they’ve fallen, how will they be found unless security goes to the bottom?” Pattie posed the question tentatively, assuming she’d be barraged with the usual list of reasons why Nasat didn’t travel to the rain forest floor.
What might have passed as a smile in a soft filled the governor’s face. “Since you left for Starfleet, we’ve installed hundreds of kilometers of security netting. Mostly to keep out the strangler vines and parasitic plants that threaten life in the canopy, but also to catch anything or anyone that might fall from the township decks.”
“Netting?” Pattie asked, puzzled.
“Something the Federation developed. A translucent, lightweight, loosely woven fabric. Spun metal threads are virtually indestructible. A force field would be unsafe for avians, monkeys, and many other species that live in the canopy. The netting provides us a measure of protection while allowing air, mist, and rain to circulate, and about seventy-five to eighty percent of the light to filter down to the understory levels. Our scientists assure us it’s quite safe. Virtually no impact on the lower level biosphere. We’re testing the concept in our township. If it works, it will be implemented planetwide.”
Pattie pondered this last revelation. A security net. I suppose it makes sense, but we haven’t utilized anything of the kind in hundreds of years. Why now? Something about the scenario nagged at her, but she couldn’t identify what. For the time being, she decided to keep her concerns to herself.
“It’s possible our missing kindred are somewhere on the netting,” the governor continued, “but scouring the nets will take hours—maybe days—depending on how far out they have to go. In the meantime, we have the question of the tremors and their effects.”
“Yes, and that’s what I want to discuss with you.” Pattie slipped a padd off her belt, activated a file and passed it across the desk to the governor. “If you’ll examine that newsfeed picture, you’ll notice a dark residue on the floors of the paddock. I’ve improved the resolution so you could better see it.”
“Hmmmmm,” the governor said, rubbing his chin with a pincer. “No one has mentioned it yet, but the teams in the field have their hands full trying to prevent decks from collapsing. You think this residue is related to the tremor?”
“I’m not sure. But I took the liberty of comparing that visual with several databases—botanical, engineering, historical—and couldn’t find anything similar. From what I can tell, this residue isn’t related to any construction materials or pest infestation—” Pattie paused. “And if you’d give me access—”
“Let’s get to the point, P8,” the governor interjected.
“Sir?”
“I expected you’d ask for a position. Why else the appointment? If I didn’t want to give you the opportunity, I wouldn’t have seen you today.”
“So?”
“So. I’ll grant you a provisional position on the team.”
Her expression must have been quizzical, because the governor continued with an explanation. “Provisional because you’re coming from the outside. Starfleet ways aren’t necessarily our ways. If your presence proves disruptive, I’ll revoke your credentials.”
“Of course, sir,” Pattie said. She searched her fellow Blue’s face, watched his limbs, wondering if he was truly open to giving her a chance, or whether he was merely doing Commander Emon a favor. She sensed no malice or suspicion from him. This might turn out fine.
Reaching behind him, the governor shifted a lever, closing the office shutters. He then tapped in a sequence of commands on his console. A metallic sizzle announced the activation of a privacy shield.
“I don’t need to tell you, P8, how serious this situation is. Whatever you learn out in the forest has to remain confidential.”
She nodded.
“A lot is riding on this investigation. If we can’t assure the safety of the population, the Planetary Council will order an evacuation,” he said soberly. “We have to find the enemy. Whether it’s a mutated virus, an enemy’s weapon, an evolved strain of the c’kh fly—any of these could drain the life from the mother-tree. We can’t take that risk.”
“Excuse me, Governor, but I’m not a biologist,” Pattie said, shaking her head doubtfully. “I know how to reinforce an off-balance deck, but I’m not sure what to do with c’kh fly infestations.”
“I have biologists and botanists and chemists, P8. What I need is a fresh pair of eyes. I’m going to take a chance on yours.” He folded his limbs over his abdomen and leaned back in his hammock-chair. “You’re one of the kindred who have lived on the outside and seen more of life than many in this township. I had Commander Emon check out your Starfleet file. You’ve witnessed stranger things than I can conceive of. Perhaps you can find answers where all my experts cannot.”
Pattie bowed her head. “I will do my best to honor the trust you’ve placed in me.”
“I’ll upload your security clearance and passwords to the networks as soon as you leave. I’ve already informed the team leader you’d be joining him—” he looked down at the screen “—in township sector 9A, deck 6.”
“Would you have offered me this chance without Commander Emon’s intervention?”
“Truthfully? I doubt I would have known you were here had you not been so persistent. That being said, I know how to recognize an opportunity when I see one. Don’t make me regret my decision.”
The governor’s response didn’t surprise Pattie. She was accustomed to being treated like an outsider, an oddity. “So why take the risk, when so much is at stake?” she said at last, seeking to assuage her own curiosity.
Leaning back in his hammock, he placed his hands together and flexed his fingers thoughtfully. “We came out of the same nursery, P8, though I doubt you knew me. I watched you from afar—like when you joined that alien research project—and have been curious what you would become. Let’s hope for the sake of both of our reputations that satiating my curiosity doesn’t prove to be poor judgment.”
Chapter 5
On her way to rendezvous with the research team, Pattie discovered she had a bit of extra time, so she decided to check into a handful of nurseries. The governor had offered her the use of his personal transporter, but she decided she’d enjoy the opportunity to become reacquainted with her hometown. After all, the research team was only a turbolift and a few conveyors away from the governor’s office. She scrolled through the maps on her padd as she trav
eled, occasionally glancing up to check the signage at each intersection of conveyor with side street, plaza, or branch sector. After passing the markets and the township’s research quarter, she hopped off a conveyor in an older branch sector where the map indicated she’d find a nursery that interested her.
Pattie passed through the security checkpoint without even a curious glance. Maybe the governor’s endorsement on my ID record will simplify my life, she thought. She took a leisurely pace, surveying the neighborhood as she walked, imagining what it would be like to spend the first season after hatching in a sector that predated her own hatching by probably a hundred seasons. But Pattie preferred the red-brown clay plastered walls, wood slabs, and rock floors more than structures that used syncrete and plasteel. Maybe her experience being raised in a modern neighborhood comprised of replicated materials biased her expectations for her own offspring. Will they be successful here? she wondered.
As she walked, she saw a cluster of paddocks abutting an attender health center. Off a side street, she noticed a learning pavilion for shells in their third or fourth seasons. Even the youngest nymph Nasat had been considered. A plaza built around a ten-meter-wide branch was filled with fruit-bearing vines, edible flowers, climbing shrubs—all providing an excellent playground. Crowded food centers bustled with activity as the local workers took their mid-cycle meals. Pattie wondered if these food centers used replicators or whether they cooked their root-aphid puddings and seed-pod pilafs the old way. Climbing up a ramp, she looked down into the kitchen and saw flashes of red, yellow, brown, and blue as the feeder shells rushed between steaming pots and thick casseroles. She knew that neighborhoods that continued to operate without the latest technology did it more out of pragmatic necessity than a reverence for tradition. Retrofitting branch sectors with the proper wiring, power conduits, and equipment was a slow, cumbersome process. Still, Pattie liked the thought of her larvae hatching here, taking early meals in that kitchen where the old ways hadn’t been completely abandoned. The softs are rubbing off on me, Pattie thought, annoyed with herself. I’m starting to sentimentalize the past. She moved past the hungry crowds down the corridor to the nursery.
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