Star Trek: Typhon Pact 02: Seize the Fire

by Michael A. Martin

  Within moments, a growling, hostile-sounding voice rumbled from the bridge’s audio speakers. “What do you want, mammal?”

  “This is Commander Christine Vale,” she said. “I’d like to speak to my captain for a moment.”

  “Your captain is in a meeting with our captain,” came the roaring, hissing response. “Captain Krassrr has ordered no interruptions.”

  “I understand, bu—”

  “Ssevarrh out.” The channel went dead.

  “I don’t believe this,” Vale said with a hard scowl. “Bastard hung up on me. Mister Dakal, scan for the captain’s life signs. Get a transporter lock.”

  “Aye, Commander,” the youthful Cardassian said as he set about his task. “In the midst of all those reptiles, one human bio-sign shouldn’t be all that difficult to find. I just have to make sure I don’t confuse his signal with any of the live food animals they’re carrying.”

  “Chris,” Troi said quietly, an unmistakable note of warning in her voice. “Will specifically ordered—”

  “As long as Will’s off the ship, Counselor, I’m in command,” Vale snapped. She instantly regretted the harsh tone she’d taken, and deliberately softened it. “He can put me in the brig later.”

  “Found him, Commander,” Dakal reported. “Lock established. Should I engage the transporter?”

  Vale was sorely tempted, but she decided to abide a bit longer; she had her orders, after all.

  “Maintain the lock for now, Ensign. And stand by.”

  “Aye, Capt—” Dakal said, halting himself mid-word. “Commander.”

  Either ignoring or failing to notice Dakal’s awkward slipup, Troi leaned close to Vale. “Waiting makes sense, Chris. I’m not sensing any secret agendas on the part of the Gorn—at least not yet.”

  Of course being secret—and staying secret, even in the presence of people whose business was to ferret out secrets—was part of the fundamental nature of any secret agenda.

  “And for what it’s worth,” Troi continued, “in your place, I’d do exactly what you’re doing.”

  That made Vale feel better about what the present circumstances were about to force her to do—but only a little.

  Ensign Dakal’s voice sounded enviably calm in Vale’s ears.

  “Long-range scanners indicate the Typhon Pact fleet’s lead ships will enter the system’s Kuiper belt in approximately thirty minutes.”

  If they don’t wrap this damned meeting up in the next couple of minutes, Vale thought, then I’m gonna have to wrap it up for ’em, orders or no.

  “Status of transporter lock?” she said.

  Dakal paused to check a readout on his console. “Transporter lock positive.”

  Time to call it a career, she thought, taking a single deep breath; whatever diplomatic brownie points her captain might have earned with the Gorn Hegemony today could be scattered to the winds. But at least he’ll be alive to testify at my court-martial.

  Aloud, she said, “Energi—”

  “Belay that, Ensign!” Troi cried from the adjacent seat.

  “What the hell?” Vale said. “That’s not something you get to say, Counselor. That’s something I get to say.”

  The diplomatic officer was flashing a high-wattage smile, as though she’d just received some extraordinarily good news. “Just hold on for another couple of—”

  Lieutenant Rager executed a half-turn in her chair. “I’m receiving a hail from the Ssevarrh.” She paused momentarily, giving Vale the urge to fidget. “It’s the captain!”

  Relief flooded Vale like a desert rainstorm. “Put the captain on audio.”

  A moment later, the comm speakers filled the bridge with a familiar voice. “Riker to Titan. Sorry to cut things so fine.”

  “It’s all right, Captain,” Vale said. “It’s good to hear your voice again.”

  “You sound surprised, Commander.”

  “Not at all, Captain. It’s just that there’s this new carpeting I have to pull up in the ready room. But that can wait, I suppose.” Rising from her chair, she added, “See you in transporter room two.”

  Vale narrowly beat Troi in a quick race to the starboard turbolift.

  31

  Vale operated the transporter console herself while Troi and Radowski looked on.

  Which was why she didn’t notice until just after the materialization process was complete that Titan had not only recovered its captain, S’syrixx, and Z’shezhira, it had also acquired a third Gorn.

  Vale couldn’t have been more surprised if Will’s first words had been, “He followed me home, Mom. Can I keep him?”

  Troi wasted no time crossing to the transporter stage. It was obvious even without the benefit of Betazoid empathy that it was all the counselor could do not to leap into her husband’s arms. For the captain’s part, the feeling was obviously mutual.

  “Welcome aboard, Captain,” Vale said with a grin as her colleagues recovered their composure. “Are you going to introduce us to your new, um, little friend?”

  The unfamiliar third Gorn had backed up from his transporter pad so that his back was up against the glowing plasteel of the rear wall. Though his yellow, vertically-pupilled eyes and dexterous-looking, three-fingered hands marked him as another member of the technological caste, this creature looked somewhat older and less robust than either S’syrixx or Z’shezhira.

  But like S’syrixx, this new Gorn visitor seemed extremely uncomfortable in the presence of humans and humanoids—almost cowering, in fact, whenever he made eye contact.

  “There is nothing to fear, Doctor,” S’syrixx said as he followed Riker and Z’shezhira down the transporter stage’s steps to the room’s main deck.

  “I could never make a home for myself aboard this . . . mammalship,” the newcomer said, his growling tones dripping with disgust, or perhaps fear.

  “Nor could either S’syrixx or myself,” Z’shezhira said.

  Vale tried to stifle a scowl, an effort that met with only indifferent success. That’s just fine by me, she thought. Between Doctor Ree, Lieutenant Qontallium, Ensign Rynaph, and Chief Urkral, our officers’ mess is already serving all the vivicarnivores it can handle, thank you very much.

  “Fortunately for us all, that is not the plan the law-caster tribunal imposed upon the three of us,” S’syrixx said.

  “Okay, color me confused,” Vale said.

  Troi nodded. “Me, too. Didn’t you ask us for sanctuary, Mister S’syrixx?”

  “I withdrew the request,” S’syrixx said, “in exchange for a judgment of banishment from the tribunal.”

  Vale shook her head. “I don’t get it. You got a formal judgment that forbids you from returning to your home-world—and you’re throwing away an opportunity to live in the Federation, or even to stay aboard Titan?”

  “The only alternative was to submit to a second summary execution,” Z’shezhira said. “Which almost certainly would have succeeded this time.”

  S’syrixx dipped his long skull forward, momentarily displaying the vibrantly iridescent blue-gold highlights of the tops of his cranial ridges. “Of that I have no doubt, because Krassrr would have prevented one of my oldest friends from again coming to my aid.” He waved a three-fingered hand toward the third Gorn.

  Riker made the formal introductions. “Commander Vale, Commander Troi, meet Doctor R’rerrgran. The doctor secretly gave S’syrixx the drug that enabled him to survive vacuum-exposure long enough for us to rescue him.”

  “Unfortunately,” R’rerrgran said in a slightly higher-pitched growl than that of S’syrixx, “Captain Krassrr is very skilled at discovering secrets.”

  He just can’t quite match Will Riker’s poker skills, Vale thought.

  “So Krassrr gave you the options of exile,” she said, “or walking the plank.”

  “Coming here seemed a better option than learning to breathe the airless void,” R’rerrgran said in apparent bemusement. Although it was hard to read reptilian emotions solely on the basis of facial e
xpression and body language, Vale couldn’t help but wonder if the doctor hadn’t already come to regret his decision.

  Riker nodded. “Once Krassrr was convinced that we weren’t trying to destroy Brahma-Shiva, he was willing to listen to my testimony on behalf of S’syrixx—who was of considerable help to us. The tribunal apparently took all of that into account when they handed down their decision.”

  “Still,” Vale said. “Banishment. That’s pretty harsh.”

  “Another tribunal might see fit to lift the sentence someday,” said S’syrixx. “Under the appropriate circumstances.”

  “Such as?” said Troi.

  Z’shezhira intertwined her claws with those of S’syrixx. “Such as developing a viable replacement for the Sazssgrerrn crècheworld—without the benefit of the ecosculptor. Captain Krassrr has already agreed to supply the three of us with the basic research equipment necessary to begin such a project.”

  “Where would you go to do this?” Troi asked, saving Vale the trouble.

  “The planet Hranrar already possesses the gross characteristics necessary to be a crècheworld,” R’rerrgran said. “Because the Hranrarii’s technological imprint on their world is relatively small, much of the planet’s land surface is unoccupied.”

  “Wait a minute,” Vale said. “I thought the warrior caste hatcheries were extremely rare birds—hence the need for terraforming technology.”

  “Such worlds are indeed rare,” Z’shezhira said. “But perhaps they need not be—not if we alter the warrior caste itself slightly, even as we attempt to restore it.”

  R’rerrgran’s head bobbed in a nodlike gesture. “Small genomic modifications. Just enough to enable eggs and hatchlings to fit the available environments. It is more sensible than continuing to try in vain to re-create that which no longer is, and perhaps never can be again.”

  Why carpet the world, Vale thought, when you can just put on some slippers?

  “In a way, it resembles what Gog’resssh wanted,” said Z’shezhira. “He wanted to mate with me, to bring new genes into the new ruling warrior caste he dreamed of creating.” She paused, seeming almost to shudder at memories that could have been nothing other than highly unpleasant. “He would have tried to use the very planet below us, Hranrar, for that purpose—assuming, of course, he had survived his own campaign to destroy an ecosculptor that he believed was a weapon intended to defeat his plans.”

  S’syrixx’s claws entwined more tightly with those of Z’shezhira. “It did not escape our notice that we might implement a portion of Gog’resssh’s plan for Hranrar ourselves. Allow some good to come of his misguided evil.”

  Vale saw a worried frown appear on Troi’s forehead. “There’s at least one fairly major problem with your idea. The Hranrarii government would have to give its permission before you could try anything like this.”

  “Beam us down,” S’syrixx said. “We will make all the necessary queries ourselves.”

  “I’m afraid it isn’t quite that simple,” Troi said. “We’ve already agreed not to send anyone down without advance authorization.”

  S’syrixx suddenly let go of Z’shezhira’s hand and sat heavily on the edge of the transporter stage. His eyes widened as he spread his claws out before him, making him look utterly bereft.

  “It is hopeless then,” he said. “We have taken a road that leads nowhere.”

  “Stay with us,” said the captain. “You can work with the Federation’s best scientists on a solution to the hatchery problem. I owe you at least that much.”

  But Vale could see from the Gorn trio’s collective reaction that this simply wasn’t in the cards. Despite Starfleet’s oft-stated dedication to diversity and respect for the Other, there was only so far such an ethos could reach; its success ultimately depended on the Other’s willingness and ability to reach back.

  Damn, she thought. This was starting to sound like one of those offbeat Will Riker–style solutions that always ends up saving the day.

  It was too good an idea not to at least try to find a way to make it work.

  “Hold on a minute, S’syrixx,” she said. “Don’t give up just yet. I might have a little bit of pull with somebody in the Hranrarii government.”

  Riker’s eyebrows climbed as though accelerating into opposite escape trajectories. “I’m really looking forward to reading your after-action report, Commander.”

  His back and upper body still aching after his brief physical ordeal aboard the S’alath—not to mention the considerably longer legal one he’d just experienced aboard the Ssevarrh—Riker hoisted little Natasha up onto his shoulders.

  “Pretty!” she said, reaching past his head to touch the observation lounge’s panoramic transparent aluminum window.

  “Yes it is,” said Deanna, who stood at his side, smiling at them both. “Very pretty.”

  Riker looked out over Hranrar’s spectacular ring plane, perhaps for the last time. Lying just outside the faintest of the planet’s age-old rings was a brand-new annulus composed of the pulverized remains of Brahma-Shiva.

  Pretty, yes, he thought. But it’s also a damned shame.

  “Brahma-Shiva is spilled milk now, Imzadi,” Deanna said gently.

  Tell that to Tuvok, he thought. Or T’Pel. It pained him to think that the woman who had been forced to endure a seven-year separation from her husband now might have to bear a far more open-ended parting.

  “That’s not fair, Will. You know I wasn’t trying to trivialize Commander Tuvok and White-Blue’s condition.”

  “I know you weren’t, Deanna,” he said, bouncing slightly in response to the spurring of Natasha’s sock-clad feet. “But I can’t help thinking about it. Not just what happened to Tuvok and White-Blue, but the artifact itself—the missed opportunity it represents. Now we’ll never know how much good the technology Brahma-Shiva carried might have done back in the Federation. If only we’d managed to take even a little of it home with us. Beyond S’syrixx’s notes, I mean.”

  “That technology could have been misused as a weapon just as easily,” she said. “I don’t need to remind you about Project Genesis.”

  “You’re right, Deanna. But still . . .”

  He trailed off, lost in contemplation. Looking beyond the majestic rings and the limb of the planet, he could see a handful of moving lights—Krassrr’s ships, still maintaining their vigil over Hranrar. His plan was to keep Titan in orbit until the Hranrarii government answered the formal request of the three Gorn exiles—unless the imminent arrival of Typhon Pact reinforcements forced an early departure.

  His combadge suddenly began to speak in a slightly tinny rendition of Lieutenant Lavena’s aqueous voice. “Conn to Captain Riker.”

  “Riker here. Go ahead, Lieutenant.”

  “Ensign Dakal reports that the lead ships of the Typhon Pact fleet are expected to reach Hranrar orbit in approximately twelve minutes, sir.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant. Stand by.”

  “Our course is laid in, Captain. Ready to warp out. More than ready, in fact. Sir.”

  Getting nervous, are we? he thought as the door behind him hissed open, then closed again. Handing Natasha off to Deanna, he turned toward the sound.

  Christine Vale was approaching him, a weary but thoughtful expression on her face.

  “Don’t worry, Aili,” he said into his combadge. “I think we’ll be able to weigh anchor in a couple of minutes, tops. Riker out.”

  “Well?” Troi asked, stepping toward Vale. “What’s the word from Hranrar?”

  Judging from the small smiles he saw on both women’s faces, he suspected that Vale’s diplomatic gambit had succeeded, at least partially.

  “First of all, Deanna, I wish you’d been the one making this request instead of me.”

  “I’m sure you did fine, Chris,” Deanna said as she moved Natasha from one arm to the other. “Besides, you are the one who pledged that we’d leave this world alone should the Speaker request that. That made you the best choice to make the
request.”

  Vale pushed a strand of brown hair away from her eyes. “You just enjoy dragging me out of my comfort zone.”

  “I’ll make a diplomat of you yet,” Deanna said, grinning.

  Riker frowned at them both. “So what the hell did the Hranrarii government say?”

  “Right,” said the exec before pausing to clear her throat. “Sethne Naq, Speaker for the Great Syndic of the Global Moeity of Hranrar, has given a provisional ‘yes’ to our three Gorn exiles. She’s agreed to let them live on Hranrar as long as they will agree to abide by Hranrarii law.”

  Deanna’s eyes widened. “That’s quite a change. They’ve gone from believing they’re alone in the universe to inviting parts of it to stay over as houseguests.”

  “And it seems to have happened literally overnight,” Vale said with a nod, her face mirroring Deanna’s surprise.

  “But what about their plan to establish a Gorn hatchery?” Deanna asked.

  Vale shrugged. “The Speaker says she’ll at least hear their proposal. I just hope that the Gorn and the rest of the Typhon Pact will leave the Hranrarii in peace if the Speaker turns them down.”

  “From what we’ve seen so far,” Riker said, “I think the Hranrarii have enough power and know-how to discourage outsiders from making trouble for them.” The specialists in Titan’s science labs were still analyzing the exotic metal fragments that appeared to support that idea.

  “As long as their leaders can muster up the will,” said Vale.

  Riker nodded. “Or their people can.” Their destiny was their own. Although the Hranrarii were arguably first-contact-worthy peers of the Federation in terms of their sociotechnological development, Riker knew that didn’t give him a license to interfere willy-nilly on their behalf.

  “And if they find themselves besieged on all sides by Typhon Pact aggressors?” Deanna said. “Breen, Tzenkethi, Romulans, Kinshaya, Tholians . . . and Gorn?”

  “Then the Gorn might find themselves as badly in need of help as the Hranrarii,” Riker said. “The Hegemony is very territorial, especially when it comes to their breeding colonies. If the Typhon Pact values the Gorn as members, they won’t step on a raw nerve like that. And we can’t dismiss the possibility that our three Gorn friends will talk the Speaker into letting the new warrior caste incubate a few eggs here.”