Star Trek: Typhon Pact 02: Seize the Fire

by Michael A. Martin

  But if I do not act, and act now, a billion or more innocents will die—even if this damned thing merely clears the way for a new biosphere that it ultimately fails to deliver.

  Grasping the necessity of his actions, at least for the moment, S’syrixx entered the final command, hopeful that he would not change his mind during the next few heartbeats. He entered ENABLE next, and felt a surprising calm descend upon him as he realized that he could no longer reverse what he had just done. All he could do now was hope that his act of compassion for the Hranrarii had not just written a premature end for both the Gorn warrior caste and the Hegemony that it defended.

  And, of course, pray to the Egg Bringer S’Yahazah that Krassrr and his war-casters would fail to sniff out the source of the sabotage he had just committed.

  U.S.S. TITAN

  Anticipating a little time away from both his mother and Titan’s other child-care providers as only an eleven-year-old can, Noah Powell strode into the mess hall to have some lunch. He considered the available replicator options—being the son of Titan’s health-conscious head nurse Alyssa Ogawa, Noah hadn’t been cleared to order absolutely anything he wanted—as he moved toward the four science specialists who were seated around what had come to be called the Blue Table.

  Instead of passing the scientists on his way to the replicator, Noah stopped dead in his tracks, fascinated—not so much by the scientists, whom he had gotten used to seeing frequently since he and his mother had come to live aboard Titan nearly three years ago, but by whatever it was that seemed to so fascinate them.

  What absorbed the attention of Ensign Zurin Dakal, Ensign Peya Fell, Lieutenant Savalek, and Dr. Se’al Cethente Qas—and now Noah Powell as well—was the strange, grainy holographic image that floated about half a meter above the table. For the most part it was a long cylinder, apparently made of an incredibly pockmarked, ancient-looking metal. The upper end terminated in a kind of spire, while the bottom was capped with a wide, blunt disk, itself a short, flattened cylinder.

  “What is that?” Noah asked, enthralled.

  Cethente, Titan’s senior astrophysicist, said, “That is a very good question.” The sensory clusters on his hard, fluted exterior apparently focused on the hovering image, Cethente lapsed into a silence that Noah regarded as one of thoughtful study, though it was impossible to tell what the Syrath scientist was really thinking. Cethente wasn’t remotely humanoid; in fact, he reminded Noah of a picture he’d seen of the Cardassian Galor emblem.

  “We have very little information about this construct as yet,” said Savalek, whom Noah knew was a botanist.

  “Well, we probably know it isn’t some new kind of flower,” Noah said with a shrug, though he knew he probably wasn’t being helpful.

  Dakal chuckled. “It might not be a flower, but under the right circumstances it might enable quite a few new gardens to bloom.”

  “Once it clears all the weeds out of its way,” said Peya Fell. As the relief science officer spoke she shook her head, which was hairless per Deltan tradition.

  “Weeds?” Noah asked, confused.

  “This object is in orbit around the second planet in this system,” Cethente said in his electronically synthesized voice. “The image here represents a mere first glimpse. But we are seriously considering the possibility that this . . . device may be an ancient, extremely powerful machine designed for the purpose of large-scale planetary engineering.”

  “Planetary engineering,” Noah said. “As in rebuilding planets?”

  Ensign Fell said, “It’s possible that at one time in the remote past, this artifact or something very much like it created whole biospheres. Many planets in this sector of space appear to have been altered in this manner—perhaps even some of the worlds in this very system.”

  A terrible understanding was beginning to dawn on Noah. He pointed at the floating hologram. “So the planets would get altered once this thing got done pulling the weeds.”

  “In a manner of speaking,” Cethente said. “It is at once an engine of creation and destruction.”

  It was all starting to make sense. “Brahma and Shiva,” Noah said. “Together.”

  “Excuse me?” Fell said, tipping her head in unconcealed curiosity.

  Noah flushed, realizing that he’d usurped the artifact’s status as the focus of attention. “I’ve been studying Earth religions in school. We just started exploring Hindu mythology. One of the Hindu gods—Brahma—was supposed to have created the universe. Another one, somebody called Shiva, is supposed to destroy it off in the far future.”

  “ ‘Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds,’” Dakal said, still staring at the image.

  “I’ve heard that somewhere before,” Noah said, aware that the Cardassian officer had quoted a famous saying.

  “It’s from a poem written long ago by one of your people,” Dakal said, resting his gaze on Noah. “One of the inventors of Earth’s earliest atomic weapons quoted the line before I did. I think he may have been talking about the same destructive deity you just mentioned.”

  “Creation and destruction at the same time,” Noah said, overwhelmed; he thought his eyes must have looked like pinwheels. “Shiva and Brahma head-butting each other.”

  “A crude but apt analogy,” Savalek said.

  Noah had an inspiration. “This thing needs a name.”

  “Like ‘Bob’ or ‘Kevin’?” Fell said with an impish grin.

  Noah frowned, wanting to be taken seriously. “Let’s name the thing after both of the Hindu gods. You could call it Brahma-Shiva.”

  “Or Shiva-Brahma, depending on what mood it’s in,” Fell said, still grinning.

  “I must point out,” Savalek said, “that Vulcan mythology has its own gods of creation and destruction, life and death. Those deities could also provide our nomenclature.”

  “Except that nobody but Vulcans can pronounce their names,” Fell said.

  Cethente said nothing, and remained even less easy to read than the unemotional Vulcan botanist. Fell seemed not to be taking the idea of naming the object seriously.

  Dakal, however, was stroking his gray chin thoughtfully. “Brahma-Shiva,” he said. “That just might catch on.”

  “Captain, the long-range sensors have detected a significant power spike in the inner system,” Tuvok said, his dark gaze riveted to the tactical console before him.

  Riker turned his chair toward the aft section of the bridge, and Tuvok’s station; the forward viewer, now behind the captain, was split between two sets of images: a false-color display of several of the nearer icy bodies that made up the local Kuiper belt within which Titan had been concealed since her ostensible “departure” from the Vela OB2–404 system, and a long-range-sensor-generated shot of the ancient alien artifact that hung balefully above a distinctively ringed world.

  “Can you pinpoint the source?” the captain said.

  Tuvok nodded. “The readings originate from inside the artifact the Gorn have placed in orbit around the second planet.”

  “Which is an inhabited planet,” said Vale, who was examining Tuvok’s readouts on the small display that was built into the arm of her chair.

  For the moment, Riker thought. The distinct possibility that this world’s inhabitants might soon be summarily wiped out left him feeling more glum and helpless than he had at any time since the superpowerful Caeliar had made prisoners of Deanna and the yet-unborn Natasha.

  Riker rose from his chair and straightened his uniform tunic. Facing Vale, he said, “Gather the senior staff in the main observation lounge. I want everyone to see what we might have to face.”

  Although Troi wasn’t crazy about the short notice she’d received for the meeting Will had called—since it was near the end of the alpha watch, the time when she usually picked up Natasha from T’Pel’s child-care facility, she’d had to impose upon T’Pel to watch her daughter for at least a little longer—she had to admit that receiving short notice about a meeting was a lot better than be
ing left to sleep through it.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she said as she stepped into the wide observation lounge. She made her way to the large meeting table and took the seat—the only one not occupied—to Will’s immediate left. Casting her gaze around the table, she exchanged smiles and murmured greetings and acknowledgments with everyone assembled; in addition to herself, Will, and Chris, Commanders Tuvok, Ranul Keru, Xin Ra-Havreii, Lieutenant Commander Melora Pazlar, Dr. Shenti Yisec Eres Ree, and Lieutenants Sariel Rager and Aili Lavena were present.

  The room was infused with a kind of nervous energy, as though everyone shared a collective sense of purpose but lacked anything tangible upon which to focus it. Although it felt to Troi a great deal like impatience, empathically speaking, she also could sense very clearly that none of that impatience was directed toward her for her tardiness. It was instead directed toward the panoramic transparent aluminum window, through which the faintly reflecting surfaces of several shadow-engulfed comet fragments could be seen framing the distant ember of the star known as Vela OB2–404.

  “I’ve called you all here because the situation with the second planet could come to a head at any moment,” Will said without preamble. He nodded toward Vale, who touched a control on the padd she held.

  The room’s holographic projectors replaced the window’s view with a high-resolution shot of Vela OB2–404 II, and the mysterious alien object that hung above its sky, like a knife poised to strike at the planet’s vitals. Columns of figures were superimposed over the image, changing too quickly to interpret.

  Troi didn’t need any real expertise in the actual math to conclude that those numbers augured an outcome that was probably both imminent and terrible.

  “Mister Tuvok,” Vale said, setting aside her padd as she gave the tactical officer what appeared to be her full attention. “Have you noted any changes in the energy patterns since you first detected them?”

  “Only that their rate of increase has continued to climb over the past several minutes,” the Vulcan said. “The internal power level being generated already exceeds that of a standard Intrepid-class warp core. In approximately ten minutes, I expect it to exceed that of the original Genesis device.”

  Troi felt her jaw fall open; she managed to close it only with a firm act of will. Gesturing toward the alien object, she said, “Tuvok, are you saying that the Gorn have actually succeeded in activating the device?”

  “Apparently so,” Tuvok said.

  “So it appears we’re about to find out whether this thing really works the way the Gorn seem to think it does,” said Melora Pazlar, whose appearance in a standard Starfleet duty uniform betrayed the fact that she was attending the meeting via Titan’s shipwide telepresence system.

  “And if that thing really does work as advertised,” said Keru, “then an entire civilization gets flash-fried—and there’s not a damned thing we can do about it.” Like all the other senior officers present, the huge unjoined Trill had already been brought up to speed on the latest intelligence concerning the recent destruction of a Gorn hatchery planet, a world critical to the survival of the Hegemony’s warrior caste—as well as the great pains to which all the Gorn castes were presently going in their efforts to find (or create) a replacement for that ruined planet.

  Dr. Ree nodded his great reptilian head in Keru’s direction, his inhuman Pahkwa-thanh features looking somehow wistful despite the ostentatious visibility of a good half-dozen of his steak-knife-sized teeth. “We would appear to have very few available options, Commander.”

  But Keru clearly didn’t want to hear that. Though usually possessed of a gentle demeanor, the security chief was now as angry and frustrated as Troi had ever seen him. “We could put a stop to this,” Keru said, staring urgently at Will. “We could take Titan into the inner system at high warp, drop to sublight just long enough to treat that flying weapon to a brace of quantum torpedoes, and then throttle back up to warp nine or better before they even know what hit them.”

  “There’s nothing about that maneuver that my helm can’t handle,” said Lieutenant Lavena. The words of the Pacifican conn officer were distorted slightly by her hydration suit’s faceplate.

  “Sounds good to me,” Vale said, interlacing her fingers on the tabletop.

  “I’m for imposing our will on the situation as well,” said Ra-Havreii, Titan’s chief engineer. “Why should we sit idly by when lives—perhaps many millions of lives—are at stake?” Troi could feel the pain that lay beneath the Efrosian’s words. During Ra-Havreii’s earlier career as one of the chief designers of Starfleet’s Luna-class starships, a horrendous accident had befallen his prototype engine room, an incident that had cost several U.S.S. Luna personnel their lives. The guilt Ra-Havreii still felt over the Luna affair followed him like a second shadow even now.

  Vale nodded at the engineer and then cast a questioning look at Will. “Captain, just give the word, and—”

  “By whose authority?” he said, cutting her off. He looked haggard and inadequately rested, conditions that all too often seemed to go with his job.

  “Captain?” said Vale, sounding confused.

  “This system is a long way from Federation space, Commander,” Will said, his tone growing more stern and formal to cover the momentary lapse in his command persona. “The Gorn have never been gentle in handling incursions into territories they’ve claimed. Moving unilaterally against them will have consequences—especially since they decided to cast their lot with the Breen and the Tzenkethi and the rest of the Typhon Pact.”

  “If Starfleet Command would sign off on a plan of action, we wouldn’t exactly be acting unilaterally,” Keru said.

  “That doesn’t seem to be in the cards, unfortunately, at least for the moment,” Will said. Turning his head toward Rager, he said, “Lieutenant?”

  “About half an hour ago, a hitch developed in our comm system,” said the senior operations officer. “Something is jamming every attempt I make to raise Starfleet on any of the subspace bands.” Though Rager was outwardly calm, to Troi’s Betazoid senses she was almost refulgent with frustration. “I have to assume it’s something the Gorn are doing, though there’s still no evidence that they’ve located us here in the local Kuiper belt. And I also have to assume that Gorn subspace communications are still open.”

  “Which means that we must further assume that Gorn reinforcements are already en route to this system,” Tuvok said. “Just as Captain Krassrr claimed.”

  “All right, so the odds against us stink, and we’re on our own,” said Keru.

  “And don’t forget that we’re racing against a ticking clock,” Ree said. “Even though we might not know exactly how much time is left on that clock until it’s too late.”

  Keru’s massive shoulders moved up and down in an elaborate shrug before he focused his gaze on the captain. “Ticking clock or no, our response to this . . . Gorn genocide is entirely up to you, Captain. Please don’t tell us you expect us to just sit on our hands out here, sir.”

  Troi watched her husband as he sat in silence for an uncomfortable span of time. That he was in agony would have been obvious to the least empathic being in the galaxy.

  At length, he said, “I’m afraid my hands may be tied. As far as we can tell, Vela OB2–404 II is subject to full Prime Directive protection.”

  “Which means, ironically, that we’re forbidden to protect the natives from a bunch of genocidal lizard-men,” Vale said. Turning to face Dr. Ree, she added, “No offense intended, Doctor.”

  The reptiloid chief medical officer seemed grimly amused by the exec’s gaffe. “None taken, Commander. Besides, I’m more often likened to a Terran dinosaur than a lizard.”

  Will looked toward Vale, his frustration beginning to defeat his best efforts to contain it. “Damn it, Chris, I don’t like this situation any better than you do! And I don’t think I understand the constraints of the Prime Directive any better than you do, either. Or do you need a refresher course?”


  Though clearly angered by the dressing-down she’d just received right in front of the rest of the senior staff, Vale presented an all but emotionless wall to Titan’s CO. “Of course not, Captain,” she said after a brief, thought-gathering pause. “I suppose I’m just hoping for one of those proverbial rabbits you always seem to pull out of your hat—and always in the proverbial nick of time, no less.”

  Will’s irritation softened at that, and he released a chuckle that seemed to soothe the rising anxieties of everyone else in the room, at least a little. “I think that hat may be fresh out of rabbits this time.”

  “Perhaps what really needs to come out of the hat this time,” Troi said, “is a Starfleet JAG attorney with a specialty in Prime Directive law.”

  “Somehow, I doubt even that would do us any good,” Will said. The small smile that had accompanied his mood-defusing laugh faded and vanished. “Unfortunately, the circumstances here are about as cut and dried as they come. None of our scans of Vela OB2–404 II have shown any evidence whatsoever that they’ve developed any space-faring infrastructure of any kind. No ships. No orbiting ship-repair facilities. No outposts on any of the planet’s five moons. Not even communications satellites or buoys. Nothing that gives them peer standing with the Federation. Therefore we can’t simply intervene on their behalf, any more than we could with any pre-warp society.”

  “The Prime Directive requires us to avoid contaminating them through contact,” Keru said. “But suppose we were to intervene without making contact? If we can destroy that terraforming platform without contributing anything more to the native culture than a mysterious fireworks display, then I think we ought to do it.”

  Will nodded as he quietly absorbed the Trill’s suggestion and processed it. “Get in, get out, nobody gets hurt. Do I understand you correctly, Commander?”