Pazlar shook her head. “Something that seems to have left no trace anywhere on the planet of the billions of years of biological and chemical evolution that must have preceded it? That doesn’t seem likely. Not without destroying the planet itself—or at least creating geologic stresses that would still be detectable today.”
“What about comet collisions?” Deanna asked. “Couldn’t the constituents of this planet’s present-day atmosphere have rained down from the system’s Kuiper belt?”
Pazlar folded her arms before her, her body language radiating skepticism. “It’s a possibility. But this system doesn’t appear to have much of a Kuiper belt. And those sorts of impacts would have left behind some geologic evidence somewhere. This planet looks to be almost in mint condition, so to speak. Not even a geologically active world like Earth can cover up every last one of its old scars.”
“Add that to the implication of a global terraforming operation being conducted here millions of years ago,” Deanna said, “and you’ve got a fairly tantalizing mystery.”
“You might have even more than that, especially if you consider two additional factors,” Pazlar said, her gray eyes beginning to flash with a rare enthusiasm.
“What are those?” Riker said.
“The telemetry from our probes and the results of our long-range scans. They show that several adjacent systems have bodies that fit the general profile of this planet—”
“Doornail,” Riker said, glancing in Deanna’s direction momentarily to underscore his determination to keep the name in place as long as possible.
“Doornail?” The look of perplexity Pazlar had displayed earlier abruptly returned to her face.
“It’ll have to do until something better comes along, Commander,” Deanna said around an incompletely suppressed smirk.
Pazlar blinked at the counselor. “All right.” Focusing her telepresent gaze back upon Riker, she added, “Doornail it is, Captain. And it looks as though there could be a bunch more Doornails out there—nominally Class-M worlds that apparently got that way via unconventional means.”
“A series of artificially terraformed planets spanning an entire sector or more?” Vale said. She didn’t sound quite convinced.
Deanna, however, quickly took up the more optimistic side of the discussion. “Why not? We already have evidence that ancient starfaring species have transplanted entire humanoid societies from star system to star system. Some of those interventions may have even involved making deliberate, intensive genetic alterations to the relocated sapients.”
“Exactly,” Pazlar said. “It’s not much of a stretch to imagine that some long-vanished alien civilization may have manipulated whole planetary environments in much the same way. We may be on track to settling the matter definitively. There are several other Doornails within easy reach of our current position. And if any or all of those worlds appear to be as artificially created as this one does, then we could gain some insight into precisely how it was done. If we’re fortunate, we might even stumble across some technological relics.”
Echoing Pazlar’s mounting enthusiasm, Deanna said, “And if we’re really lucky, we’ll find some intact machinery, or maybe some still-readable computer data, that could give us a way to reverse engineer whatever technology these paleo-terraformers were using.”
Riker stood in silence in front of Lavena’s conn station and studied the viewscreen’s image of a dead-yet-life-friendly world whose stately, eternal rotation was rapidly carrying its nearer hemisphere into night. The allure of seizing long-forgotten knowledge that had once made a dead world—or perhaps even countless dead worlds—capable of supporting life was undeniable. The Federation was still in the process of recovering from the devastation the Borg had wrought during the previous year. Deneva had been laid waste, as had parts of Vulcan. Beyond the Federation, Qo’noS had suffered cruelly from the invasion. If a means of accelerating the recovery of those wounded worlds really existed out here, it deserved serious attention from Titan’s captain and crew.
But such a discovery also demanded a fair amount of caution. Riker was well acquainted with the dangers posed by Project Genesis, the code name of a Federation terra-forming initiative. Not only had Genesis’s initial deployment nearly a century ago proved it far more effective as a biosphere-destroying weapon than as a means of planet-scale creation, the powerful, molecular-level matter-reorganizing force known as the Genesis Wave had also threatened the Federation’s very existence much more recently.
Once released from their bottles, genies were often notoriously difficult to coax back inside.
But maybe I can afford to let the ethical agonies wait a while longer, Riker decided, chiding himself gently for getting so far ahead of himself so quickly. We don’t even know whether or not this thing still exists—if it ever really did.
Turning to face Lavena, he said, “Lieutenant, get the coordinates for the nearest candidate star system from Commander Pazlar and lay in a course, best speed.
“Let’s find out how lucky we can be.”
2
Despite his most disciplined efforts to clear his mind for meditation, Tuvok’s thoughts took wing. He was sitting before an old-style Starfleet copilot’s console, alternating between sending repeatedly unheeded hails and watching through a curved transparent aluminum window as a battered, airless moon drew inexorably closer. A half-shadowed jovian planet loomed in the space beyond, its ocher-and-ivory cloud tops striated by fierce cyclonic winds. Just visible near the partially obscured satellite’s eastern limb, a motley, asymmetrical spacecraft orbited.
Tuvok turned to his immediate left and saw that his old friend and superior officer, the Halkan pilot Lojur, was handling the controls.
“It’s too bad it wasn’t the shuttlecraft Fujitsubo and L. J. Akaar’s team that managed to track these people down, Ensign,” Lojur said, his bantering tone belying the sincere emotion he seemed to be struggling so hard to master. “Have I mentioned yet how much I hate this mission?”
It came to Tuvok with no small degree of either surprise or fascination that he was back aboard the shuttlecraft Amagiri, one of the auxiliary vessels the U.S.S. Excelsior had carried during the years he had served as one of that starship’s science officers. The moon that the Amagiri was approaching circled the gas-giant world Eurymede VI, about a parsec from Klingon space. Captain Sulu had pursued this mission using Excelsior’s entire complement of shuttlecraft because of the extensive battle damage that the starship had recently sustained at the hands of rogue Klingons; at the present moment, Excelsior needed every available hand to effect repairs and to tend to her scores of injuries and casualties.
“I am certain that no one regards any assignment such as this one as a pleasant undertaking, Commander,” Tuvok heard himself saying in response. “However, our duty is clear. We cannot permit these individuals to deploy the device. And we are empowered to use whatever means may be necessary to ensure that outcome.”
Tuvok remembered that he had been but a lowly ensign at the time of the Eurymede mission. Matters of friendships aside, had he really spoken so pedantically to his superiors in those days?
“We’re here to confiscate the device,” Lojur said grimly. “As the Terrans say, ‘We get in, we get out, and no one gets hurt.’”
Tuvok nodded. “That would be the ideal outcome. However, whether or not we will achieve that result is largely dependent upon the actions of the privateers who are holding the device—privateers who, I might add, are continuing to ignore my hails.” Tuvok’s gaze moved back and forth between his controls and the motley vessel, which was still growing considerably in apparent size moment by moment.
“Privateers? I thought they were refugees.”
“So they have told us, Commander. The fact remains, they have come into possession of illegal technology that endangers not only this entire star system, but perhaps others as well.”
“Give me a damage assessment on the other ship, Ensign,” Lojur said.
> Tuvok studied the slowly approaching ship through the forward windows as he ran another sensor scan. Thanks to Lojur’s delicate handling of the Amagiri’s phasers, the other vessel’s single torpedo bay was visibly scorched and melted.
“Warp capability has failed, but there appears to be no immediate danger of a core breach. Minimal impulse power and life-support are available, so they cannot outrun us.”
“Can they deploy the device?” Lojur wanted to know.
“The vessel has only one torpedo launcher, but it has sustained heavy damage,” Tuvok said.
The comm console near Tuvok’s right hand flashed, heralding an incoming signal. He tapped the console and a small viewscreen lit up, displaying the sad, careworn face of an elderly humanoid male.
“Please, Starfleet vessel. Withdraw. Leave us.”
“This is Lieutenant Commander Lojur of the Federation Starship Excelsior,” Lojur said. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. You are in possession of a Genesis-wave generation device, in violation of the laws of the United Federation of Planets. It is an illegal weapon of mass destruction.”
“In the wrong hands, perhaps. But it is also an engine of creation. And I assure you, Commander, that we soon won’t be in possession of any such device—not after we activate it, that is. Once the Genesis Effect runs its course, we’ll have a new, living planet on which to settle.”
“Negative,” Tuvok said. “Your torpedo bay is nonoperational. You lack the means to deploy the device in a manner that will produce the result you seek. Besides, the Genesis Effect has never produced lasting, stable results.”
“I don’t believe you. This technology has performed miracles. Your own Starfleet has acknowledged that it has raised the dead.”
Having met Ambassador Spock, Tuvok knew that he could not dispute that last point. But he decided that no good could come from acknowledging the fact aloud.
Lojur scowled at the image of the old man on the flight-control console’s small viewer. “My science officer is correct. If you attempt to use the device, you will create an uncontrolled detonation that will kill everyone aboard both our vessels. Turn it over to us now, and the Federation magistrate may grant you some leniency. But if you detonate it, you’ll—”
“The Federation seems to be nowhere near so assiduous in protecting border worlds from the Klingons as it is in guarding its military secrets. Starfleet did nothing to stop the Klingons from annexing our homeworld and making us refugees. It seems to me that your Federation owes us assistance, not harassment.”
“Even if you were to succeed in using Genesis to create a new home on this moon,” Lojur said, “how long do you think it will be before the Klingons discover what you’ve done and chase you away yet again?”
Stepping into the thoughtful silence that followed, Tuvok added, “The Klingons are certain to uproot you again once they discover that you have terraformed a world using Genesis—which I strongly suspect that you acquired from them in the first place.” Of course, Tuvok could provide no hard proof for this assertion. But it was already common knowledge among Starfleet’s officer corps that Klingon spies had somehow obtained a great deal of classified information about Project Genesis—information that easily could have passed from corrupt Klingon intelligence officers to private technology merchants willing to invest enough darseks in bribes to the appropriate officials.
“Please,” the old man said at length. “We are only refugees. We pose no threat to you.”
“Then prove it,” Lojur said. “Let us take the device and dispose of it safely. You can petition the Federation for help. If you’re willing to cooperate, I will personally vouch f—”
The old man interrupted. “If you attempt to board this vessel, I will activate the device, right here aboard my ship.”
“That would be a foolish decision,” Tuvok said. “Once you begin to generate a Genesis wave, the process will be unstoppable. An uncontrolled blast will annihilate the moon, the gas giant it orbits, and perhaps the rest of this system as well.”
“Then back off.”
“We can’t do that,” Lojur repeated.
Tuvok nodded. “Indeed. The planet this moon orbits harbors a complex ecosystem, and perhaps even intelligence.” While it was true that higher-order sentience had never been conclusively found among the drifting herds of gigantic jellyfishlike creatures that filter-fed on the less complex life that teemed in the planet’s cloud bands, it was nevertheless true that the creatures were alive, part and parcel of a flourishing alien ecosphere. It was also true that any number of natural phenomena, ranging from radioactive upwellings from the planetary core to local stellar mass ejections to the action of distant supernovae could easily summarily sterilize this world. Tuvok knew there was nothing that he or anyone else could do about such things.
He simply wasn’t prepared to give the illegal actions of renegades as much leeway as nature demanded.
The slight distortion created by the subspace communications bands took none of the steel from the tone of the old man’s reply. “I’ll do it if you don’t withdraw, I promise you that. Now. Don’t test me. Please.”
“Heave to and surrender the device,” Lojur said, matching the old man’s tone and timbre. He paused to take a deep breath. “You have one minute to comply, or we will open fire.”
“You can’t do that. There are twenty-two others aboard this ship, Commander. Women. Children.”
“Get them to the escape pods, and we will rescue them,” Tuvok said, tapping his console several times to fully activate the shuttlecraft’s targeting systems. Next, he took the precaution of arming one of the Amagiri’s small complement of photon torpedoes. Then he looked toward Lojur, who was making a slashing gesture across his throat. Tuvok responded by muting and blinding the cockpit’s comm pickups.
“He has us, Ensign,” said the Halkan. “We’re caught in a standoff.”
Tuvok had served alongside Lojur for several years, and he thought he knew the commander quite well by now. He believed he had acquired a fairly thorough understanding of the man’s culture, which was rooted in a deep pacifism. Lieutenant Akaar had once described Halka’s peace-at-all-costs philosophy as so profound that, to use Akaar’s words, “it made Vulcan look like Romulus.”
“We need not be caught in a standoff, Commander. Not if we act before the privateers activate the device. Once the Genesis device begins powering up toward detonation, not even a volley of photon torpedoes will be able to stop it.”
Lojur’s dark eyes grew huge and desperate. “You scanned that ship, Ensign. You confirmed that there are twenty-three humanoid life signs aboard, just as he says.”
“I did, Commander.”
“I can’t authorize firing on that ship.”
“You did make the threat already, Commander. The Genesis device has not yet been activated. And that minute you gave the privateers is almost up.”
Despite the fact that Lojur had been cast out of Halkan society long ago for the crime of taking up arms against the Orion raiders who had attacked his village, his people’s ingrained pacifism was clearly paralyzing him. Firing upon armed belligerents, apparently, was one thing; employing the same tactic against unarmed civilians was evidently quite another, even though the latter were arguably far more dangerous than the former.
“I remind you, Commander, that Starfleet Command and Captain Sulu have authorized the use of whatever force may be necessary to either reacquire or neutralize the Genesis device.”
“I can’t,” Lojur repeated, his face a study in ashen agony.
Tuvok nodded his acknowledgment of Lojur’s decision. He placed the shuttlecraft’s sensors on active scan and noted with relief that the distinctive wave-pattern of an impending Genesis detonation had not appeared on the console’s small screen. At least not yet. But it almost certainly would sometime during the next several seconds.
Once that occurred, there would be no way to prevent the molecular-level immolation of the biosphere of Eurymede VI.
/>
Tuvok glanced down at the console chronometer and noted that the minute Lojur had granted had just run out.
“I understand, Commander,” Tuvok said. “I shall relieve you of the burden.”
Steeling himself to do what they both knew had to be done, he tapped a control and consulted a readout, confirming his target lock. Then he touched another nearby switch and entered the “fire” command.
T’Pel opened the door to the officer quarters that she and her husband shared and entered to find the lights dimmed in the austerely-furnished main living area. The only light came from the stars beyond the wide window and the small meditation candle that burned atop the low table in the room’s center. Her eyes adjusted quickly to the crepuscular illumination, which revealed that her husband, dressed in a brown-and-black robe, was sitting cross-legged on the floor of the common area. She turned back toward the door that led to the exterior corridor, not wishing to disturb his meditations.
She paused on the threshold when she heard his voice. “Please remain, my wife.”
“You may continue your meditations undisturbed, my husband,” she said. “There are child-care duties I can perform while you complete them.”
“Your presence is no disturbance, T’Pel.”
She stepped back into the room and allowed the door to hiss closed behind her. “You appear troubled. Perhaps some additional time in meditation—”
“No,” he said as he rose to his feet in a single graceful, fluid motion. “I believe I have exhausted the utility of meditation for the time being.” He extinguished the candle by squeezing its wick between his thumb and forefinger, then raised the lights to normal levels. The unblinking stars beyond the window remained as brilliant as ever.
She approached him and extended her parallel index and middle fingers toward him. “Speak to me, my husband.”
Tuvok mirrored her gesture, and their fingers touched. Then he withdrew and began speaking. She listened in attentive silence as Tuvok explained the nature of Titan’s recent discovery while slowly pacing the living area.
Star Trek: Typhon Pact 02: Seize the Fire Page 4
