Balance of Nature

by Heather Jarman

  Prostrate on a biobed, Pattie had spent the last hour submitting to examination by Zoeannah and Tarak. Tarak, who had undergone Nasat attender training, had worked her up medically. Not surprisingly, he had found nothing. Tarak had taken possession of Pattie’s tricorder, hoping that her discoveries in the forest might give him a clue as to what caused Pattie’s muteness.

  From where she sat at the computer, Zoeannah twisted back and said, “Go ahead and initiate the scan, Tarak.” To Pattie, she said, “No talking. You know the rules.”

  P8 pivoted her eyes in annoyance. From where she lay, she watched Zoë’s panel lighting up as a map of her brainwaves appeared on the monitor.

  “This is unexpected.” Tarak removed a stylus from a desk drawer and was marking points on the computer screen. “The central cortex has been hyperstimulated.”

  “What?” Pattie clicked.

  “You.” Zoë placed a hand over Pattie’s mouth. “Quiet. Now.”

  Anxiously, Pattie contemplated Tarak’s revelation. Before she learned to speak, her upper brain functions were primarily based in the central cortex. Nasat scientists believed the central cortex was the most primitive part of the Nasat brain. Whatever functions it had served had become obsolete as the species had evolved. In an average Nasat, the central cortex might show low-level brainwave activity a handful of times during a day. As a result of her work with Zoë and Tarak, activity in her central cortex had slowed to normal levels. To have it activated again couldn’t be a good sign.

  “My readings are complete, Zoeannah,” Tarak said. “Both of you should examine this data.”

  Zoeannah rolled her stool over to Tarak’s terminal, with Pattie following close behind. He projected a holographic representation of Pattie’s brain with color being used to map concentrations of brainwave activity. The hologram showed color variation from blues and greens (mildly active) to reds and oranges (extremely active). Just as Tarak had said, the central cortex glowed red-orange, indicating that it had been heavily stimulated.

  “Out there in the forest, you were exposed to stimuli you’d never encountered before, Pattie,” Zoë noted. “It’s possible that your sensory intake was overloaded and it activated this cortex.”

  Brow creased, Tarak studied the readout on Pattie’s tricorder. “The toxin, perhaps, when inhaled or touched, could provoke a violent nervous system reaction. I will generate models that will allow us to study the toxin’s effects without having to reexpose you or other Nasat.”

  “But it’s the humming thing I keep coming back to, Tarak,” Zoë said, chewing on her fingernails. She shook her head. “Sounds at certain frequency can potentially impact neurotransmitters.” She shook her head. “Too bad your tricorder didn’t pick up any readings.”

  “I couldn’t activate it,” Pattie said, throwing out her limbs helplessly. “It was like whatever was there had numbed me up. Lulled me into a trance.”

  “You should consider giving up the investigation,” Zoë said. She touched Pattie’s shell.

  Pattie knew Zoë was looking out for her interests, but abandoning the investigation when the threat appeared more serious than before went against her nature. “We don’t have any proof that what happened to me resulted from anything in the forest. It could have been a random confluence of factors.”

  “Random?” Zoë threw up her hands and drew in a sharp breath. Abandoning her stool to futz over the computer terminals, she moved with a restless energy that betrayed her concerns.

  Tarak stepped to her side, calmly placing a hand on her arm. “Pattie is correct, Zoeannah. We can hypothesize the source of her muteness, but we cannot say for a certainty that we know the causation.”

  “I don’t want to lose my language abilities either,” Pattie said. “But I think proceeding as normal would be best. At least if it happens again, we’ll know there’s an underlying reason. That it wasn’t random.”

  Sighing, Zoë slapped her thighs with her hands. “Fine. But I want all the data from the investigation team. If this toxin has anything to do with your neural readings, more than just you could be in trouble.”

  “What do you mean?” Pattie asked.

  “If something lurking out in the forest can hyper-stimulate neurotransmitters to the degree we’ve seen in you, every Nasat in this township could be vulnerable. All of our studies have shown, without question, that an overactive central cortex is related to communication deficits. This holds true for any Nasat—not just quiets. With concentrated exposure to this stimulus, the township could regress a thousand years in language ability in weeks, maybe days. Still, I’m not willing to sacrifice you to find out, Pattie. Got that?”

  To show affection, Pattie touched her thumb to her forehead, and touched the thin skin behind Zoë’s ear. “What I learn, you will learn.”

  * * *

  Pattie arrived at the briefing just before it began. Security services had posted guards at every entrance to seal the doors as soon as the meeting started. The discussions had been classified and would not be carried on the comnet.

  Her team leader, Y29, waved to her from his seat in the front row. Pattie also noticed the governor reclining alongside the head of the Planetary Council. Other officials from the capital wearing brightly colored honor sashes chatted with investigation team heads, a few of whom Pattie remembered from this afternoon. The governor’s rotunda was filled to capacity, but Pattie located a seat in a back corner. Based on her earlier conversation with the governor, she felt that keeping a low profile would be a good idea. She managed to slide into her row as the chief investigator, T4 Yellow, rose from his seat-hammock to speak.

  “We’ve assembled here this night cycle to review the results from today’s investigation. I think I speak for all who have studied this problem when I say that we are facing a threat more serious than any we’ve seen in a hundred seasons.”

  Reactionary clicks and crowd noise erupted. Based on Pattie’s personal experience in the forest, she wasn’t surprised by the announcement. She was curious, however, to see what the team had identified as the threat. The chief investigator hushed the group and began his presentation.

  The lights dimmed and a holographic projection of the Nasat township appeared in the center of the rotunda. Each of the twenty decks was outlined in a different color, allowing P8 to distinguish the various township sectors.

  “As most of you know,” T4 began, “the damage from the tremors occurred in the township perimeter.”

  The computer filled in an irregular red border around the perimeter, indicating the damaged areas. Pattie could see that the destruction was more far-reaching than she’d previously known. One sector—the most recently built—had collapsed entirely several hours before the meeting.

  “Data from our investigation teams indicates the presence of an organic toxin, origin unknown, in and around the damaged areas. Our chief botanist-attender, having received and analyzed the data, has a diagnosis.”

  T4 moved aside for a Brown shell that Pattie assumed was the botanist. She tapped commands into the rostrum terminal and the picture changed. Pattie recognized the projected pictures as the views from her harness sensor; she felt some measure of pleasure knowing that she’d made a contribution to the discovery.

  “Because this substance doesn’t have any known match in our databases, coming up with an ID has been challenging,” the botanist said. “Several hypotheses have been put forth. Perhaps the toxin is a result of introducing new, off-world construction materials into our buildings. As we’ve been more actively involved in trading with other Federation worlds, it’s possible we’ve also imported a mutagenic virus or bacteria that our trees don’t have a defense for. I assure you all that we’re working to find an antidote to the toxin as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, the toxin has already invaded several mother-trees.”

  The projection shifted, becoming a rendering of the mother-tree overlaid with a graph. More than a dozen sections of the tree glowed yellow, sections in close proximity to
damaged decks.

  “The yellow indicates necrotic tissue. Under normal circumstances, we can surgically remove the damaged areas and graft healthy tissue in its place. In this case, however, we fear the toxin has already penetrated the tree’s circulatory system, thus compromising the tree’s immunity. The tree might not be strong enough to withstand the surgery.”

  The governor raised a limb, requesting to be recognized. “So the mother-tree has an infection. But it can been contained?”

  The botanist exchanged looks with T4. “No. I expect we’ll have branch death within the week.”

  A collective gasp sounded from the gathering. Pattie glanced at the tree structure and mentally superimposed the township decks. If those branches go, the deck loses critical supports. I suppose we could construct artificial limbs to replace them—the way they do in the capital city—but what if the construction materials are the problem?

  “We are surveying the primary trunk and limbs for similar cellular damage. Botanists have been dispatched in hovercraft to study the understory region. However, we are not optimistic. All indicators point toward weakening buttress roots. There are few other explanations for the severity and irregularity of the tremors. We are in danger of losing the mother-tree.”

  Pattie, along with everyone in attendance, sat in numb shock. To a Nasat, the mother-tree represented all aspects of living: food, shelter, and protection. When the brutality of life on the forest floor nearly wiped out the Nasat, it was to the trees that they escaped to survive. In the trees, they built settlements where they could finally move past the sustenance life of their ancestors, developing tools and ultimately technology that opened up the stars for exploration. The loss of a mother-tree was unthinkable.

  Once the botanist-attender had made her sober pronouncement, few in the audience found the remainder of the presentation nearly as vital. Pattie believed she heard something about security services being unable to locate any of the missing Nasat. A Federation official announced that a research team from the closest starbase had been dispatched and would be arriving in a few days. Finally, a Green shell stood, interrupting the Planetary Council member, and said, “What do we do about the mother-tree?” His inquiry was echoed by hundreds of other voices.

  The Brown shell botanist stood. “We don’t have any plan of action until we know the severity of the poisoning.”

  “But what about the dying branches? What about the decks built in those sectors? Will all those Nasat have to evacuate?” someone else called out.

  “Why aren’t we all evacuating?” another shouted. “The moon base could easily host the township population until this problem’s solved. Why wait until every deck collapses into the forest?”

  The last comment provoked controversy. On every side, discussions erupted. Pattie eavesdropped on bits of conversation, but found no one asked the question she felt needed to be asked. In their fear, they’re all being swept away by reaction. We need to take charge—make preemptive decisions.

  She waved her hand, seeking recognition from the rostrum. The confusion in the room made it nearly impossible to be noticed. She stood and waited for the chief investigator to recognize her.

  Grateful for a chance to distract the crowd, T4 nodded to Pattie, indicating she had the floor. Attempts to shout above the noise proved futile, so T4 waved Pattie up to the rostrum. When the audience noticed a new shell had joined the group, the talk gradually stuttered to a halt, and the attention shifted to Pattie.

  The governor gave Pattie a meaningful look, his antennae taut. Pattie understood his meaning: Behave yourself.

  “I am P8 Blue. I work as a structural engineer for Starfleet. And while I have a multitude of ideas for how we might construct supports for the weakened decks—even for the buttress root systems, I’m concerned that our focus is too narrow.”

  “When we’re literally working every conceivable angle, I don’t know how you can say that,” the botanist said, thrusting her padd at Pattie. “Take a look for yourself.”

  “I’ve seen it. Up close,” Pattie said, politely refusing the padd. “I was in the forest today and I saw how widespread the toxin is. Whatever it is seems to have invaded the mother-tree without being noticed until the damage is too extensive to correct. We can’t afford to solely depend on the tried-and-true approaches. Every option needs to be open.”

  “Clearly you think we’re missing something, P8,” the governor said coolly.

  Here it is. Swallowing hard, Pattie said, “We need to go to the bottom and set up a research outpost.”

  Those on the rostrum exchanged glances. Pattie noticed more than a few sets of pincers tightening. A wave of clicks and chirps rose up from the audience.

  “We don’t need to risk going to the bottom, P8,” the chief investigator said dismissively, “unless the buttress roots require structural assistance. Our botanist-attenders and security services use hovercraft. Our sensor nets are extensive. What do you believe we can learn from going to the bottom that we can’t learn far more easily? Why risk more lives?”

  An unnerving stillness settled over the audience. Every Nasat in the rotunda awaited her answer. She couldn’t read the governor’s mood, though she guessed he didn’t appreciate the controversy.

  Pattie considered her reply carefully. She had more arguments against T4’s statement than he would give her time to share. She needed to say the words that would be most helpful. Of all the reasons she had joined the S.C.E., the one that stood out the most was her thirst for diversity, a willingness to explore new methods of solving problems. Now here she was, standing before the elite of her world, confronting the ridiculous taboos and prejudices she’d witnessed her whole life. She could say what they wanted to hear or she could say what she thought. I, alone, can’t fix this. I can only do the best I can. Taking a deep breath, she said, “One of the lessons I’ve learned in my seasons in Starfleet is that you can’t solve a problem from a distance. You have to be willing to get right in the thick of it. This problem is serious enough to warrant exploring every path open to us. Why not go to the bottom?”

  “Because we don’t have any evidence that this ailment comes from below the canopy,” one of the investigators said. “And what if we go to the bottom and it spreads the infection?”

  “We still need to eliminate the forest floor as the source of the problem.”

  The botanist leaped from her seat, limbs gesticulating angrily. “You’re asserting that we are failing to do everything in our power to assure the safety of Nasat and our mother-tree!”

  Before Pattie could reply, many in the crowd scrambled out of their seats, evincing outrage, confusion, fear. Pattie reciprocated their feelings. “This isn’t about assigning blame! This is my home too!” she shouted, but the commotion smothered her words. As Nasat crammed into the aisles and up to the rostrum to make their voices heard, Pattie allowed herself to be pushed to the rear. I’ve done it now, she thought, fully expecting to have her clearances revoked. Quietly, she slipped away as anonymously as she had come.

  * * *

  From the shadow darkening the floor, Pattie knew that Zoë stood in the doorway. The Betazoid would want to talk. It was difficult to hide a bad mood from a telepath, but Pattie didn’t feel like talking. She’d had quite enough discussion, thank you. Upon arriving at the lab, she’d gone straight to a nest. Though she wasn’t feeling tired, she wanted a chance to think without being disturbed. Using a padd, she’d conjured up a facsimile of the tree projection the botanist had put up. Repeatedly running her eyes over each branch and leaf tuft, she imagined what type of engineering wizardry would be required to save the township. She wasn’t as optimistic as she’d hoped she could be. The circumstance wasn’t unlike what happened to a starship when a deck became severely damaged. Once structural integrity was compromised, the safest course was to lock off the deck and shore up protective shielding in the still intact areas. In the township, the seriously damaged areas would have to be dismantled before they weakened
more stable structures. What troubled Pattie was how to save the moderately damaged areas. Shifting weight from one branch or installing artificial supports for one sector might require modifications in other sectors. No matter how she played through the scenarios in her mind, they always ended in a chain reaction.

  “You can ignore me all night. I’ll sleep in the doorway,” Zoë said finally. “The bad vibes you’re putting out will keep me up anyway.”

  “Close the door then,” Pattie said.

  “Very cute. But that doesn’t cut it.”

  “The summary version is this: nothing looks good, for the mother-tree or for me. Whatever I ran into in the forest is more potent than even I imagined.”

  Dropping down on the floor beside Pattie, Zoë looked over Pattie’s limbs at the padd she worked on. “I take it this is a graphical representation of the damaged areas.”

  Pattie nodded. “And while I seriously doubt that I’ll be invited to continue participating in the investigation—”

  Zoë’s eyebrows shot up.

  “—if I can help work a solution on how we can save the township, I’ll feel useful.”

  Peering intently at the graphic, Zoë tipped her head to the side, frowned, and tipped her head to the other side. She reached for the padd. “May I?”

  Shrugging, Pattie passed it over.

  “I swear I’ve seen this before.” She gnawed on her lip. “I know I’ve seen this before.” Sitting back on her haunches, she thought for a long moment before slapping her thighs. “Got it!”

  Zoë disappeared into the adjoining room. The clatter of padds being tossed aside and Zoë’s mutters amused Pattie. She returned shortly, grinning triumphantly, with a padd tucked beneath her arm. Thrusting it at Pattie, she said, “I knew I’d seen it before!”

  Assuming that Zoë wanted her to activate the tablet, she did so. When a nearly identical township map appeared on the screen, Pattie wasn’t surprised, but she wasn’t sure what this had to do with their present dilemma. She turned a questioning look on Zoeannah.