by Dayton Ward
“All good questions,” Terrell said. “I’m betting the answers are buried somewhere down in that pyramid, or with some other artifacts or whatever else the Preservers left here.”
Hesh said, “Perhaps the answer is quite simple. We know this race as ‘the Preservers,’ so perhaps it stands to reason that they are described in this manner because their desire was to preserve life at all costs, rather than destroy even those life-forms that present a threat. Considering what we know of them and the extraordinary lengths to which they are believed to have gone in order to relocate segments of endangered species or representatives of other, larger civilizations, it seems uncharacteristic of them to then destroy that which they have safeguarded.”
“Has anyone told you you’re sounding more like Sorak every day?” Terrell asked.
The Arkenite offered a small, thin smile. “Master Chief Ilucci has made a similar observation. I shall tell him that it is not—as he put it—just him.”
There was a familiar beep, and Terrell reached into a pocket of his drab green jumpsuit to retrieve his communicator. Flipping open the unit’s antenna cover, the captain said, “Terrell here.”
“Commander Theriault, sir,” replied the voice of the Sagittarius’s first officer. “Sorak’s been fiddling with the sensors, and he’s got some faint readings on the Tomol. That is, Nimur and her group. They look like they might be on the move again. They’re still on Suba, but he can’t verify if they’re heading our way. You should probably get back here, Skipper, just to be safe.”
“Copy that,” Terrell said. “We’re on our way.” Closing the communicator, he turned to the group. “Well, you heard the lady. Let’s get back to the shuttle.”
Stano nodded. “Aye, sir.” As the trio made their way back to the Masao, she could not help a long, lingering final look at the trapped Tomol. Why had the Preservers expended such effort to contain their charges? Further, what if Nimur and her fellow Changed evolved to the point where such measures proved ineffective?
Then we’re all probably screwed.
17
“Gentlemen, I’ve made a decision,” Khatami said by way of greeting as she entered the briefing room to find Klisiewicz and Doctor Leone waiting for her. “I’ve appointed myself morale officer, and as morale officer I have one rule: our meeting will begin with good news. So who’s first?”
“If that’s the rule,” said Leone without missing a step, “then why am I even here?”
Beaten at her own small game, Khatami smiled, conceding the point to her friend. “Nicely played, Doctor.” She paused, eyeing both men. “Well? I’m waiting.”
Klisiewicz cleared his throat. “Lieutenant Dang reports that repairs are under way. The astrogator and other bridge systems are already back online.”
“See?” Leone said. “Phu fixed the astrogator. You didn’t need me, after all.”
“Actually, it was Lieutenant Estrada who made the repair,” Klisiewicz replied. “Lieutenant Dang has people all over the ship diagnosing and repairing minor tasks. Estrada took charge of the bridge and has that pretty well under control.”
“That’s to be expected,” Khatami said. Hector Estrada had more time in Starfleet than her and Klisiewicz combined, and a length and breadth of experience to go with it.
The science officer continued, “Shield generators are back online, and sensors should be up and running within the hour. Communications and weapons, too. Transporters are a different story. The energy beam damaged the energizing coil, and the pattern buffer is off-line. Dang has people on it, but it’ll be several hours, at least.” He paused, grimacing. “That’s really the sort of work for a starbase, but he’s making do.”
“He’s the best we’ve got, for right now, anyway.” Khatami reminded herself to make a note of commendation in the assistant chief engineer’s service record at her next opportunity. The younger officer had distinguished himself with poise and resolve while standing in for Commander Yataro, who remained on the planet surface with the rest of the Endeavour landing party. Looking to Leone, she asked, “What have you learned from our guest?”
“She doesn’t like it when the ship shakes,” replied the doctor, earning him a glare from Khatami. Leaning back in his seat, he added, “Okay, how’s this? I think I may be able to reconstruct the Tomol genome and repair their DNA so that they can do . . . whatever it is they’re supposed to do.”
That caught Khatami by surprise. “Really? Well, keep going. You’ve got my complete attention.”
Leone gestured to Klisiewicz. “A lot of the credit goes to our science officer here. He’s the one who pointed me down the path of sorting out just what kind of genetic damage was dealt to these people.” He looked to the other man. “I think you missed your calling, kid. You’re a natural geneticist.”
As though uncomfortable with the praise, Klisiewicz shifted in his seat. “It was just a theory, Captain. Shooting in the dark, if you will. Doctor Leone is the closest thing we have to a xenobiological expert.”
“Are you kidding?” Khatami asked, happy to lighten the mood if only for a moment. “Do you know how hard it is to get any sort of compliment from this man? Consider yourself appropriately honored, Lieutenant.”
“Just don’t let it get around,” Leone said. “I’ve got a reputation to protect.” His tone growing more serious, he continued, “It was Klisiewicz who got us thinking that maybe the whole process of the Change, or at least its aspects of psychosis and rage, is a problem of omission rather than addition to their natural genetic state. If we consider the Tomol as a victimized race, perhaps one subjugated to genetic experimentation and deliberate mutation, it casts information from our scans in a whole new light.”
Khatami nodded. “I’ll pretend I understood some of that.”
“It’s not really that complicated,” Klisiewicz countered. “In fact, it’s almost deceptive in its simplicity. At least, if what we’re getting from our analysis of the glyphs on that obelisk is accurate, this theory might be closer to the money than we first thought. In comparing the symbols on this obelisk to the one the Enterprise found, and assuming the folklore passed along to us by Seta wasn’t being misrepresented and thus makes a reliable benchmark for translation, I think I may have pieced together an origin story for the Tomol.”
Leone said, “Do I have time to make popcorn?”
Smiling at the comment, Klisiewicz shook his head. “I’ll stick to the highlights. From what I can determine, the Tomol at some point in their early evolution endured a radical physiological change, which now manifests itself as what we’ve seen from Nimur and her followers. I’d be guessing as to the cause, but the more important part is that well after this change was introduced, they were found by the Shedai.”
“Wait,” Khatami said, “found by the Shedai? Not created by the Shedai?”
“No, Captain,” replied the science officer. “The first translations from the Sagittarius crew got that wrong. I wouldn’t hold it against them, though. The Preserver glyphs are very hard to interpret correctly, even after you have a key to work from and some context to go with it.”
Khatami considered this. “So, what? The Shedai attempted to subjugate the Tomol?”
“It appears so,” Klisiewicz said. “According to the glyphs, the Tomol referred to the Shedai as ‘the Dark Gods,’ and their plan was to exploit the Tomol’s natural powers and abilities as a result of their Change, and use them against their enemies like the Tkon and whoever else they were pissing off hundreds of thousands of years ago. This wasn’t a case of uplifting a civilization, as we know they did with the Tholians and perhaps other races as well. The Tomol already had the natural means to fight back, and that’s what they did despite the Shedai’s efforts to control them through selective genetic manipulation.”
“I’ll bet that went well,” Leone said, tapping his fingers on the table.
Klisiewicz nodded
. “Exactly. Needless to say, the Tomol didn’t take too kindly to being forced into servitude. They began to rebel, and things became even more complicated when the Shedai realized their efforts to control the Tomol through genetic engineering were beginning to have disastrous side effects. Something had gone wrong, so that when the Tomol experienced a Change, their intellect began to devolve, to the point that they were little more than wild animals, uncontrollable beasts harnessing great strength and telekinetic abilities.”
“The Shedai made a mistake?” Khatami asked.
“In a nutshell, yes,” replied the science officer. “By this point, the Tomol had been spread out to worlds across the Taurus Reach to serve the Shedai, and once the Change took hold they were destroying anything and everything in their path. The glyphs describe groups of Shedai sent to hunt the Tomol, as much for sport as to contain and control them.”
Leone held up a hand, and Khatami saw the doubt in her friend’s eyes. “Wait. We’re talking about the Shedai here. Master genetic builders of the first order and all that, right? The same ones who built entire worlds out of their own special brand of genetic goop? You told me earlier that you thought they tried to fix whatever it was they’d done. Did they screw that up, too?”
“The glyphs describe the Shedai’s efforts to undo the damage they caused, but by then the situation was unraveling faster than they could control it.” Klisiewicz sighed. “At some point, they just decided to cut their losses. Their solution was to isolate all of the Tomol to their home planet and let them obliterate each other.”
“Dear god,” Khatami said. “Self-inflicted genocide.”
“That’s essentially it,” replied Klisiewicz. “The Tomol came within a hairsbreadth of wiping themselves completely from existence, except that someone else took an interest: the Preservers. They found the Tomol on the brink of extinction, collected several hundred specimens, and relocated them to Arethusa.” He shrugged. “I’m still looking for something to support my theory, but I’m guessing this planet has a biosphere similar to that of the Tomol homeworld. In fact, there’s no mention of the original planet anywhere that I can find.”
Leone said, “So it could still be out there, somewhere, with legions of frothing Tomol rampaging all over it?”
“More likely they would find the uninhabited husk of whatever’s left of that world,” Khatami said. Though remote, the possibility of the Endeavour or another vessel happening across the Tomol homeworld was still there.
Won’t that be fun.
Shifting in his seat, Leone leaned so far from his chair that Khatami thought he might lay his upper body across the conference table. “Okay, so the Preservers set up the Tomol on this planet, lay down a bunch of laws and rituals for them to follow in order keep them from being taken over by the Change, and then install one of their gizmos to babysit the whole brood and make sure they all jump into the fire pit when the time’s right. Is that where you’re going with all of this?”
Klisiewicz replied, “I am.”
“You have to wonder why they didn’t try to fix whatever genetic anomalies the Shedai introduced before leaving the Tomol to be fruitful and multiply or whatever,” Klisiewicz said. “Was it because the Preservers didn’t have technology on the Shedai’s level? That doesn’t really make sense when you consider everything else they’ve apparently done on at least two planets we know of.”
Klisiewicz replied, “Making such alterations to a species doesn’t really fit with what little we know of the Preservers.” His expression turned sheepish. “They preserve what they find. If they fixed things, then we’d call them . . .”
Holding up a hand, Leone said, “Stop. I think maybe you and I are spending too much time together, because that sounds like the kind of smart-assed answer I’d have given. If you’re going to do that, you need to work on your delivery.”
“Gentlemen.” Khatami tapped her finger several times on the table, her signal that it was time for her companions to rein themselves in. “All right, so the Preservers set up the Tomol society we found on Arethusa, but they also left them with the tools and knowledge to take matters into their own hands in the event any of their people succumbed to the Change. And we’ve seen a couple of different backup protocols in case things get out of hand, and for all we know, there are a dozen more such measures waiting to be triggered. Also, don’t forget what Commander Theriault reported about her conversation with Seta in the caverns: the obelisk itself may be some kind of fail-safe device meant as a last resort. She called it a possible ‘doomsday weapon,’ and even though she indicated it was only a theory, I’m not ruling it out for now. Making sure these people didn’t fall victim to their own biology was obviously of prime importance to the Preservers.”
Klisiewicz replied, “Exactly. The Preservers were uncertain of what might happen if a Tomol who had undergone the Change was allowed to continue evolving unimpeded. There are notations about speculations that they might eventually transform beyond the need for a physical form.”
“Because there’s not enough of those running around the galaxy,” Leone offered.
“As I said, it’s speculation, but there was a very real fear of the Changed somehow finding their way off Arethusa and to other worlds. So they put in these various safety measures to keep them here.”
Sighing, Khatami rubbed her eyes. How long had it been since she had last slept, or eaten a decent meal? Even as she asked herself those questions, she could feel Leone studying her with his practiced eyes. “I know what you’re going to say, Doctor.”
“Then save me the trouble of saying it,” Leone countered.
“Later.” Drawing a deep breath, Khatami shifted to a more comfortable position in her seat. “This fossilization process Commander Stano described. Is there anything pertaining to that among the Preserver glyphs? Can it be reversed?”
Klisiewicz’s expression turned glum. “I haven’t found anything yet, Captain, but there’s still more to translate, both along the obelisk’s shell and almost certainly inside it.”
“And you think there might be instructions on how to deal with the Changed, perhaps even to save them and the rest of the Tomol?”
“There has to be,” the science officer said. “Otherwise, what’s the point behind everything the Preservers did?”
Khatami could not argue with that line of thinking. “I agree, and as much as I’d like to wait until the circumstances were better on the surface, I don’t think that’s going to happen until we do something. I want you to give that obelisk a thorough going-over. Once we get most of the repairs addressed, I’ll be sending you down. If the transporters aren’t ready, then we’ll use a shuttlecraft.”
“Are we sure that obelisk won’t shoot at anything coming toward the planet?” Leone asked.
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Klisiewicz said, “and I wonder if the defensive measures it took were because it perceived a threat. After all, it didn’t shoot at us when we made orbit, or when we sent landing parties or the first shuttle down to the surface. Only when we started our intensive scans did it seem to take notice. It’s possible we can move back into orbit and the obelisk won’t care.”
It was a valid point, Khatami thought, and worth considering. “One thing at a time. Prepare a shuttlecraft in the event we don’t have the transporters, and assemble a landing party of whomever you need, including a full security detachment. Take Seta with you. If anyone’s going to help us get inside that thing, it’s her. Do what you can, but at the first sign of trouble, I want you out of there.”
“Understood.” Klisiewicz rose from his chair and looked to Leone. “Doctor, when the time comes, I’d really like to have you along. If you’ve made any progress with your treatment experiments, maybe we can test whatever you’ve managed to come up with.”
Leone drew a deep breath and released a heavy, melodramatic sigh. “I should’ve seen that coming. I’m
still conducting tests, Lieutenant, but I’m at your disposal.”
After the science officer had departed, Khatami relaxed into her chair and ignored the signals her brain was sending her that it was past due for some rest.
“I hate to be the one to say this,” Leone offered after a moment, “but it’s entirely possible we won’t be able to stop any of this.”
“So either these Changed run around, lording over the planet until others change, and then they go to war like they did on their own world and destroy each other. Or something from the Preservers’ ancient bag of tricks comes along and somehow puts a stop to the whole thing. I don’t know that I want to see what that might be, Tony.”
“Hard to say,” Leone said. “Even Klisiewicz doesn’t know. At least, not yet. Still, you’ve got to give the kid credit. He did his homework. I know he’s been busting his ass since this started, but I have to say I’m damned impressed with how much progress he was able to make.”
“We’ll need more of that from him before this is over.” Khatami pushed herself from her chair and headed for the door. Then she stopped, turning to face her friend. “And you, too, Tony. I don’t want to just sit back and let whatever happens happen down there. It’s our fault—ours and the Klingons’—that the Tomol are dealing with this now, and it’s up to us to put things right. I’m going to need every resourceful officer I’ve got if we’re going to figure this out.”
Leone smirked. “Great. I’ll let you know if one comes along.”
18
Bare chested and bathed in sweat, Kang dodged and weaved, ducking beneath the swinging arm of the combat drill mannequin. The figure’s other arm was spinning around, timed with the arms of a second trainer. Like its companion, the model had been made to resemble the arms, torso, and head of a muscled Klingon, and one of his crew had taken the liberty of dressing the simulations in an officer’s heavy dress tunics complete with baldrics and other decorations. Raising his hands to block the attack, Kang pushed away the arm and forced the training model to begin turning in the opposite direction, which afforded him the opportunity to strike at its torso. His fist slammed into the unyielding material and he heard the satisfying tone signaling that he had landed another hit. There was no time for rest, as the first mannequin’s arms came around again. Though he parried the first swing, the second arm caught him in the left shoulder, sending forth a measured yet still severe jolt of electricity as its pressure-sensitive hand made contact with his body.
