by Dayton Ward
It’s what leaders are supposed to do, Klisiewicz reminded himself. You should probably take notes. Captain Khatami was able to foster that same sort of control even during the most trying circumstances, as had her predecessor, Zhao Sheng. That man had been an emotional rock right up until the moment he was killed in what felt like a lifetime ago. Had it really been three years since Zhao had perished on Erilon at the hands of the Shedai? Where had all the time gone? It still amazed Klisiewicz to think of everything that had transpired since the Endeavour’s initial posting to the Taurus Reach and Starbase 47, to undertake what at the time was believed to be an extended exploration and research effort into the remnants of a lost race, the Shedai.
The mission had ended up being nothing of the kind, and the cost for that misjudgment was still being measured not only in lives lost but also the dangers—known and perhaps as yet undiscovered—that might still lurk within the Taurus Reach. This, of course, was just one reason for Starfleet’s continued exploration of the region; even with the Shedai supposedly gone forever, the possibility of finding some vestige of their once powerful and quite malevolent civilization remained a pressing concern. Many within Starfleet’s command hierarchy believed the destruction of the Shedai at the Battle of Vanguard and the apparent annihilation of any leftover artifacts and other embodiments of their advanced technology meant the threat was gone for good. Even Admiral Heihachiro Nogura, a skeptic if Klisiewicz had ever met one, seemed to be doing his best to bury all knowledge and evidence of Starfleet’s activities in the Taurus Reach and the consequences they provoked. Though some aspects of the affair were public knowledge, a great deal of information remained classified. A friend of Klisiewicz’s at Starfleet Command had told him that all the data and surviving artifacts of Shedai technology and culture discovered on worlds throughout the Taurus Reach during Operation Vanguard were being held under the tightest security conditions at one of Starfleet’s high-security storage facilities.
Buried. Maybe forever, Klisiewicz mused. What a waste.
And now this planet, Arethusa, seemed to be a potential treasure trove of its own. If what the Sagittarius survey party had said about their discovery was true, then this world might well provide answers to one of the most fascinating unsolved mysteries Starfleet had yet encountered: who were the Preservers, and why had they seen fit to seed planets throughout this part of the galaxy with specimens of humanoids from other worlds? It was a question Klisiewicz had asked from the moment he first had read about the U.S.S. Enterprise’s encounter with a Preserver artifact on a planet many light-years from here. What, if anything, had been the ancient civilization’s ultimate objective? All signs pointed to the Preservers having been a benevolent race, and it was unlikely any of them or their descendants still lived. Whatever answers were to be found, it would be up to people like Klisiewicz and others with the drive to follow any clues wherever they might lead.
Ming would’ve loved this.
Klisiewicz could not help but think of his friend, Lieutenant Ming Xiong, an archaeology and anthropology officer assigned to Starbase 47 and a driving force in Operation Vanguard’s mission to uncover the mysteries of the Shedai. From the beginning of the project, Xiong had been its moral compass, never ceasing in his efforts to champion peaceful applications for the Shedai information and technology Starfleet had found in the Taurus Reach. He and Klisiewicz had enjoyed more than one philosophical discussion on the topic, both agreeing that any application of knowledge learned from the Shedai should be used for the betterment of the galaxy, rather than as another instrument of war. Despite the ever-increasing threat of conflict among the Federation, the Klingons, and the Tholians over control over the secrets and prizes to be found in the Taurus Reach, Xiong had held fast to his convictions up until the moment of his death during the Battle of Vanguard. Though the man was gone, his influence had not faded, and it was this mind-set that now motivated Klisiewicz as he, the Endeavour, and the Sagittarius embarked on a new mission of exploration.
I’ll make you proud, my friend. Of course, such things would, for the time at least, take a backseat to more pressing matters, such as the repairs to the wounded Sagittarius.
Footsteps from inside the ship caught his attention and he, along with Terrell and Ilucci, turned to see Lieutenant Commander Yataro, the Endeavour’s chief engineer, emerging from the Sagittarius’s airlock. His Starfleet black trousers and red tunic seemed almost too large for his thin, gangly frame, though his physique was typical of his species. A Lirin, Yataro was a humanoid in the broad sense, with a long, thin neck atop which sat a bulbous head that was almost triangular in shape. As he stepped down from the hatch’s threshold, the late-afternoon sunlight gave his lavender skin a bright, almost oily sheen. He possessed a small, thin mouth near the base of his narrow chin, and a pair of slits angling out and downward from the center of his face acted as his olfactory organs. Widening as it rose from his chin, his skull culminated in a wide, pronounced brow. His eyes were large, dark orbs, which in the bright light appeared dark blue.
“Captain Terrell,” Yataro began, holding up his right hand so that his long, thin fingers seemed to part in an almost Vulcan gesture of greeting, “it is a pleasure to meet you, sir.”
“The pleasure’s mine, Commander,” Terrell replied. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to greet you when you first beamed down, but by the time I got free from helping in the cargo bay, you were already hard at work.”
Yataro nodded. “Time would seem to be of the essence.” Shifting his stance so that he faced Ilucci, he said, “Master Chief Petty Officer, I require your assistance in the engineering compartment. There are a few . . . unusual modifications to the master systems control station with which I am having some difficulty.”
Smiling, Ilucci said, “Yeah, we had to do some jury-rigging to keep that thing together, sir. Chalk it up to not wanting things to blow up and kill us.” He shrugged. “It happens.”
“Yes,” the Lirin replied, unfazed by the master chief’s attempt at levity. “Nevertheless, several of the alterations pose their own risks if they are allowed to remain in place. It is my judgment that they should be rectified and the console returned to proper Starfleet specifications before this vessel can be deemed safe for flight.”
“It worked well enough to keep us from crashing,” Ilucci retorted.
“Master Chief . . .” Terrell said, his tone quiet, though Klisiewicz caught the hint of warning.
“I’m sure it’s no big deal,” the science officer said, earning him a harsh look from Ilucci and an unreadable expression from Yataro. “Commander, the master chief and his people are usually required by circumstances to improvise solutions to problems using whatever’s available. Remember, the Sagittarius doesn’t benefit from having ship’s stores like the Endeavour. Sometimes they just have to make do.”
Ilucci grunted. “Yeah. What he said.”
“No offense was intended,” Yataro said, unperturbed by the exchange. “I merely was pointing out the deficiency, and that we have an opportunity to correct it.”
“Deficiency?” Ilucci’s eyes looked as though they might pop from his head, at which point Terrell held up a hand.
“That’s enough, I think.” Eyeing his chief engineer, the captain said, “Go show him whatever it is you’ve done in there. Let’s get this mess sorted out. I don’t like sitting here any longer than I have to, not with Klingons up there somewhere and who knows what else wandering around down here.”
Having resumed his somewhat spirited yet useless cleaning of his hands with the rag, Ilucci nodded, his expression communicating that the message—and its unspoken addendum—had been received and understood. “I’m on it, Skipper.” Turning to Yataro, he gestured toward the airlock. “If you’ll accompany me, Commander, we’ll kick this party up a notch.” When the Lirin paused, looking first to Klisiewicz and then Terrell with an expression of apparent confusion, the master chief adde
d, “I meant we’ll get serious about finishing these repairs.” As Yataro moved toward the hatch, Ilucci made a show of rolling his eyes and mouthing the silent plea, “Shoot me now,” before following the commander into the belly of the ship.
“God help anyone who’s stuck in there with them,” Klisiewicz said.
Terrell asked, “Is he always like that?”
“Pretty much, yeah.” Yataro was a recent addition to the Endeavour crew, replacing the starship’s previous chief engineer, Lieutenant Commander Bersh glov Mog, who along with most of the ship’s engineering staff had died during the Battle of Vanguard. Klisieiwicz missed the burly Tellarite, who had been one of his closest friends aboard ship. As for Yataro, there was no denying his competency as an engineer, but where Mog’s personality had been warm and jovial, the Lirin tended to be composed and businesslike in nearly all of his personal interactions.
You’ll get used to him.
His communicator chose that moment to beep, and Klisiewicz retrieved it from his waistband at the small of his back, the unit chirping when he flipped open its antenna grid. “Klisiewicz here.”
“This is Khatami,” replied the voice of the Endeavour’s captain. “What’s your status, Lieutenant?”
“Repairs are proceeding, Captain,” said the science officer. “Yataro and his team are already working with the Sagittarius’s people. The ship really took a beating, but the commander and Master Chief Ilucci think they can get her flying again in short order.”
“That’s good. We’re continuing to track the Tomol, including the one tagged with the Klingon transponder. They were moving away from the bird-of-prey crash site, but they doubled back and now are holding steady in that vicinity. We’re also picking up other Tomol life signs moving toward them. These are the . . . regular Tomol, I suppose, if that’s what we’re calling them, as opposed to the ones from the crash site. We’re not sure what’s up with that.”
Klisiewicz frowned. According to the information collected by the Sagittarius’s reconnaissance party, the Tomol carried with them the potential to undergo the same metamorphosis that had affected the one calling herself Nimur, though it appeared that some other, possibly artificial factors had come into play, allowing for an acceleration in this transformation in at least a few of the others. Was it something Nimur herself was controlling, or was it the consequence of another outside force?
That’s what you’re here to find out, Science Officer.
Terrell said, “From what we’ve learned, the Tomol have rituals and procedures for dealing with any of their people who go through the Change. They may be trying to capture Nimur themselves, in accordance with their society’s laws.”
“I don’t care about any of that right now,” Khatami replied. “If what you told me is true, Clark, then this Nimur and her followers are going to be looking for another way off the planet.”
“Right,” Terrell said, “and even as banged up as we are, we’re the only game in town.”
“Even if the ship’s not able to fly, I’m more concerned about what they can do to you and your people. I’m not wild about leaving you down there, Clark.”
“We’ve got time,” Terrell countered. “They’re still on the other side of the big island, right?” Then he frowned. “Of course, they were able to change their forms to chase after our rover even when it went underwater, so I guess they could swim here, or what if they’re able to change into something that lets them fly?”
Klisiewicz said, “I think we’ll want to be somewhere else when that happens.”
“Exactly,” Khatami said. “The more I think about this, the more I’m leaning toward beaming you all out of there and scuttling the Sagittarius.” It had been a plan she had discussed with Commander Stano and the landing party prior to his leaving the ship, and though Klisiewicz had been instructed to discuss the matter with Terrell, the opportunity to do so had not yet presented itself.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” said the Sagittarius’s captain. “We’ve still got time to get her up and running. I damned sure don’t want to leave her for . . . well, whatever the hell those things are, but I’m not ready to cut and run.”
There was a pause, and Klisiewicz was sure he could hear his captain’s teeth grinding as she considered Terrell’s position. Finally, Khatami said, “All right, for now, but I’m sending down some reinforcements, just in case things go bad before we can get you out of there.”
“Agreed,” Terrell replied. “Thanks for everything, Atish.”
“Don’t thank me until your ship is back up here. Khatami out.”
“Time to get back to work,” Terrell said, reaching for a handhold set into the bulkhead next to the airlock and pulling himself up into the Sagittarius.
“How much time do you think we have, Captain?” Klisiewicz asked as he fell in behind the older officer.
Terrell snorted. “However much it is, something tells me it won’t be enough.”
8
“Hey, really, are we sure they put us down in the right spot?”
Anthony Leone’s eyes, usually moving and looking at anything and everything around him as a matter of course, felt as though they might pop from his head as he freed the strap of his medical tricorder from the protruding branch of a nearby tree. The branch was only the latest obstacle he had confronted while tromping through a stretch of Arethusa’s native forest.
“I have to believe the transporter chief knows what he’s doing, Doctor,” replied Nurse Holly Amos, the youngest member of the Endeavour’s medical staff, as she followed Leone through the forest.
“You’ve got a lot to learn about transporter chiefs.” Leone ducked under another, thicker branch as he followed one of the two security officers who had accompanied him and Amos to the surface, the man’s bright red tunic contrasting with the softer greens and browns of the indigenous flora. The guards were a condition set by Captain Khatami as part of her agreement to let Leone beam down to the surface, as was the landing party’s arrival in a secluded area half a kilometer from the Tomol village. Given the captain’s decision that none of the Tomol were to be brought aboard the ship, here was the only place he would be able to conduct the firsthand examination of a native Tomol and obtain useful information about the enigmatic race that could not be achieved via long-range scans.
In truth, the security escort did not bother Leone as much as the fact that Khatami knew him well enough to stipulate it. She harbored no doubts that he would not have hesitated to transport down to the Tomol village at the first opportunity, without regard for the risk such an action engendered. Of course he was aware of the danger from the transformed Tomol and would rather be lying in a beach hammock on some distant resort planet, or even taking fire from the Klingon battle cruiser still lurking in nearby space. But there was work to be done, and he would have preferred to complete it in short order and without the need to expose any other members of the Endeavour crew to undue hazards. He was motivated as much by not wanting to see anyone hurt as by a purely selfish desire to avoid additional surgery or other treatment in sickbay for anyone injured during such an excursion.
But Leone knew the captain was right, hence the security detail. As for Amos? He had an angle for that, too. Her youthful appearance and slim, almost petite stature might come in handy when dealing with the Tomol villagers, who might feel somewhat more at ease in the presence of someone who looked to be of similar age to them and appeared nonthreatening. Leone thought it a rather inspired idea on his part, and Amos had enthusiastically agreed to accompany him.
Looking over his shoulder, Leone saw the nurse doing an excellent job of keeping up with the pace set by the lead security officer, Ensign Derek Zapien, with the other security officer, Ensign Carlton McMurray, bringing up the rear. The doctor was certain there was even a spring in her step, and when she saw him looking back at her, she smiled. In response, Leone rolled his
eyes.
“What are you so happy about?”
“This is my first real landing party, Doctor,” Amos replied, reaching up to brush off a leaf that had landed atop her dark-haired head as she stepped over an exposed tree root. “The last time I got out of sickbay, it was because someone fell off the climbing wall in the ship’s gymnasium.”
“That’s what he deserved for not using the safety harness.” Leone shook his head. “A ship full of state-of-the-art exercise equipment, everything with its own set of safety features and protocols, but no! Let’s not bother with any of that when you can wake up your doctor in the middle of the night to knit your broken leg.” He recalled the incident, along with the decision he had almost made to confine the wayward young engineer in a full body cast for a month.
Ahead of him, Ensign Zapien stopped, and Leone saw that they were approaching a clearing. A short distance from the tree line, huts and other small, simple structures were visible. “Just a reminder, people,” he said to the rest of the landing party, “not everyone in the village has seen offworlders, so don’t be surprised when we get some funny looks and standoffish behaviors. Let’s hope this doesn’t take long.”
He gestured for Zapien to lead on, and the four officers emerged from the cover of the forest. As they approached the village, Leone wondered whether the site might be deserted, as there appeared to be no one visible. Then he caught a glimpse of a Tomol child peeking his head from around the side of a hut. Their gazes met for a moment, but then the boy ducked back behind the hut, out of sight.
As Leone started moving in that direction, Zapien called after him. “Doctor, you should stay with the group.”
Leone turned and frowned at the ensign. “It’s a kid. He’s probably just nervous.” The physician returned to his pace and called out ahead of him. “Hello? Where’d you go? We’re not going to hurt you. We’re here to . . .”
