“Give me a minute,” Kim replied, aiming his tricorder at the closest distortion, hanging as if suspended by invisible wires fifty meters in front of him.
“Lieutenant Kim!” a sharp command reverberated through the helmet of his environmental suit, halting him instantly in his steps. Looking down, he realized he had crept forward in his zeal to analyze the phenomenon before him, and he had come perilously close to the brink of the ledge on which he, Paris, and Lieutenant Commander Fife were standing.
“Sorry,” Kim said, stepping back and adjusting his aim. “Thank you, Commander.”
“You’re welcome, Lieutenant,” Fife replied, his tone clear. Please don’t get yourself killed.
“Why don’t we all move back toward the doorway?” Paris suggested.
Until now, the doorway, or what remained of it, had been the only indication on the planet that any sentient humanoids had lived here. More than a week of painstaking analysis had yielded no other artifacts, fossils, or hints of past technology that could account for the creation of the wave forms. Portable scanners had been deployed and had penetrated ten kilometers below the surface. While thousands of cavern formations were present, nothing unusual was discovered.
As soon as Kim had begun to believe that there might be nothing to see, that feeling had provided the insight he needed. Whatever they were seeking, if it was present anywhere on or below that planet, was cloaked. Seven had retuned the sensors and finally detected a series of underground caverns at the planet’s southern polar region. Once a number of away teams had been dispatched to the area, the much smaller cloaking field, like its counterpart around the system, had been lifted. The wave forms were clearly not willing or able to communicate directly with them, but they were obviously following their efforts. Kim had taken this development as permission to explore further.
The caverns had been thoroughly mapped, several leading to dead ends as deep as twenty kilometers down. Some might have been naturally occurring, but many showed telltale signs of construction. All of them had been sealed by innocuous-looking piles of indigenous rock. Digging began at the most stable, ultimately granting them access to the vast open cavern. The remains of a heavy metal door embedded several meters into the rock face was the cavern’s only discernible access point. The tunnel leading to it had been sealed almost two kilometers above this area; whoever had left it had not been concerned that it would be discovered. It led to a vertical shaft more than two thousand meters wide that extended to a depth of sixty-five kilometers to the planet’s mantle. Often such a geological feature would have had a natural crater at its peak, but several kilometers overhead, the solid rock had sealed it from exposure. Numerous carefully placed vents, also not naturally formed, allowed for the continuous pressure release to ensure the stability of the formation.
What lay beyond the ledge looked like small stars suspended in the darkness above, and below and emitted the only ambient light in the shaft. After a few minutes of analysis, Kim found he could answer Paris’s question.
“They’re aborted wave forms,” Kim finally said.
“How can we see them?” Paris asked.
“They cannot completely emerge from subspace,” Fife replied. “They’re trapped. But where they intersect with the shaft’s atmosphere, the electromagnetic reactions are producing light along the visible spectrum.”
“Something went wrong in their creation,” Kim theorized. “They should have emerged fully formed from subspace. These are the ones that didn’t make it.”
“Is this a graveyard?” Paris asked.
“No, it’s the birth canal,” Fife suggested.
Fife looked up and Kim followed his gaze. Several kilometers above, fifty meters of solid rock separated this cavern from the planet’s surface. Tuning his tricorder, Kim analyzed the walls of the cavern.
As his companions followed suit, Kim saw the initial results, and his breath caught in his chest. The raw geothermal energy focused by the shape of this cavern and its location at one of the magnetic poles made it an ideal place, perhaps the only place on the planet capable of harnessing the energy required to rupture subspace and create the wave forms.
“The radiation levels in this chamber are off the charts,” Paris noted.
“Now, aren’t you glad we’re in environmental suits?” Kim teased. In truth, the ambient temperature had demanded it, but that didn’t mean Paris had agreed to the suits without complaint.
“I think you’re right,” Kim finally said. “This is where they were born.”
“How did they get out?” Paris asked.
“They can move through shields and our ships at will,” Kim chided him. “I’m sure they can handle solid rock.”
“But where is the technology that created them?” Fife demanded. “Apart from that door, there is absolutely no trace of anything that could account for it.”
Kim shrugged. “Maybe whoever did this took it with them when they left. Or maybe they just shoved it off the edge of this cliff and let the mantle melt it.”
“Is there any chance this was the problem the wave forms wanted us to solve?” Paris asked hopefully. “Was this the reason for their distress call?”
Kim considered the question. “There’s nothing we or anyone else could possibly do here. It’s not like they can feel pain. They are aberrations but of no harm or use to anyone, including the fully formed proctors and sentries.”
“That’s not what I wanted to hear,” Paris said.
“I know,” Kim agreed.
DEMETER
Against his better judgment and over the stern objections of Commander Fife, O’Donnell had chosen to move to the second phase of his research: bringing a few of the native species on board for closer study. At the very least, Atlee had asked that O’Donnell use holographic re-creations of plants and small animals he wished to analyze, but the idea was repugnant to the captain. How much of his ability to find unique and often unprecedented solutions to a problem was a result of tactile interaction and how much was drawn from the fires of his neurons, he might never know. But O’Donnell trusted real dirt. It couldn’t lie.
The specimen now pacing the containment field in airponics bay four was a four-legged carnivore with thick, matted, yellowish gray fur, wide green eyes, and a long snout. Its teeth were sharp, but several critical ones were missing, suggesting that it had attempted to consume some of the hard-shelled reptiles that shared its habitat on the surface. Hunger did terrible things to the living, sentient or not, and the creature’s desperation was palpable—as was its disdain for captivity. From time to time it lunged at the containment field. O’Donnell had made certain the field did not release a charge that would injure the creature, but it could not be pleasant to run into it head on, again and again.
O’Donnell was certain Alana, his wife who had died after a disastrous miscarriage, would have loved this poor guy. He was a fierce predator but had the ill luck of standing less than half a meter high. A fully grown adult, he wasn’t much larger than a domesticated lap dog. Cursed though he was, by the same forces that had doomed the planet, he would fight to his last breath for his continued existence. O’Donnell couldn’t help hoping he would live to see many years more of that battle.
“What shall we call him, dearest?” O’Donnell asked of the empty lab.
Silence. For a split second O’Donnell wondered if he had done something to earn her displeasure. In the past, he had been unable to hear Alana, in his mind, when he strayed too far from his best self. While some might consider conversing with a dead person a sign of mental instability, for O’Donnell nothing could be farther from the truth. Alana had always been his best counselor, and he’d seen no reason to abandon her wisdom when she died. As long as he could hear her, all was right with his universe.
There are obvious similarities to lupus monstrabilis, Alana finally replied.
O’Donnell smiled to himself. “I was actually thinking of a name.”
You could go with “monster”
for short.
“You don’t think he’d find that offensive?”
It makes him sound tougher than he is. He’d like that.
“Monster it is,” O’Donnell agreed. He transported a small dish filled with a protein compound into the containment field. Until now, he had provided Monster only with fresh water. It had taken some time to study his blood and digestive tract to determine the precise nutrient compound that would best accommodate his dietary needs. The good news was there were large, unchecked rodent populations a few hundred miles from Monster’s territory that could serve as an acceptable substitute, should these two species ever have the chance to get to know each other.
“Come on, Monster,” O’Donnell coaxed as the animal retreated from the strange new dish in its cage. Its hunger won out, and after a few sniffs and licks, he ate greedily what O’Donnell had provided. The meal was followed by a few long, resounding bellows from his throat, undoubtedly meant to call to his pack, alerting them to sustenance.
“Good Monster,” O’Donnell congratulated him. Sated, Monster temporarily halted his pacing and settled himself on his side to relax while he digested.
“I beg your pardon, sir?” a voice asked.
Looking up, O’Donnell saw Ensign Brill, one of his botanical specialists who had entered carrying several samples he was studying concurrently with his work on Monster.
“Any luck, Brill?” O’Donnell asked briskly, ignoring the ensign’s question.
“Atmospheric nitrogen will have to fall below seventy-nine percent for these samples to have any chance, sir,” Brill replied.
Nodding, O’Donnell replied, “I think we can do that.”
“How, sir?”
“Stulhatan has been working on some new bacterial strains,” O’Donnell answered.
“Six new herbivores were just transported aboard,” Brill added. “Shall we bring them here?”
“Put them in bay three, and leave the new samples of graminoids for them. Let’s make them feel welcome, shall we?”
Brill paused, then ventured, “Sir, why are we allocating so many resources to finding appropriate nourishment for these species?”
“Because it’s what we do best,” O’Donnell replied.
“Unless the Prime Directive is suspended in the case of this planet, we will never have the opportunity to make the necessary changes,” Brill said.
“Even if it isn’t, you’re telling me you’re not learning anything by studying these life-forms?”
“I am. We are,” Brill conceded. “I just don’t want to see you disappointed, sir,” he added, reddening a bit.
“I never am,” O’Donnell assured him. “Now go get those herbivores some lunch, and let me know how they tolerate their new diet.”
“Aye, sir,” Brill said and turned to go. He had almost reached the door when he added, “He doesn’t look much like a ‘monster’ to me, sir.”
At this, O’Donnell chuckled. Monster seemed quite content now, rolled onto his side, licking his forepaws and running them over his snout. “You should have seen him a few minutes ago. He’d have killed you as soon as look at you.”
“Good for him.” Brill smiled.
Once Brill had left, O’Donnell considered lowering the containment field to test Monster’s newfound complacency, but he opted against it. There were still too many of his brothers and sisters that needed help.
O’Donnell was going to be damned if he didn’t make sure they got it.
“Did I read this right?” B’Elanna Torres demanded of Chakotay as she stormed into his ready room.
“Good afternoon, B’Elanna,” Chakotay greeted her warily. He hadn’t seen much of her in the last few weeks, but both her nerves and Tom’s had seemed frayed lately, and he wondered if their recent domestic tranquility might be hitting a few bumps. He had also noted that she’d been spending more time in sickbay. There were no reports of a medical issue, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one. Opting to tread carefully, he went on, “What exactly are you reading, Commander?”
“These are the metallurgic and mineral reports of the asteroid field surrounding the system,” she replied, as if the cause for her disdain should have been obvious. Chakotay had scanned the reports, but nothing had caught his attention.
“See anything unusual in them?” Chakotay asked.
Torres handed him a padd and stood back, crossing her arms at her chest. He read the sections she had highlighted but failed to see what had piqued her interest.
“I give up,” he finally said.
“The UV absorption patterns,” Torres said, as if that should have clarified everything. When he continued to stare at her blankly, she went on, “Those are traker deposits.”
“Really?” Chakotay asked.
“You still have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”
“No, but I’m sure you’re about to enlighten me,” Chakotay replied, hoping his tone would set her more at ease.
“I already ran an ico-spectrogram to be sure,” Torres said. “A number of the larger rocks out there have some significant deposits of dilithium.”
That did it. Chakotay rose from his desk and moved around it to stand opposite her. “How much?” he asked.
“Enough to shore up our supplies for the next three years and then some. If we do this right, we could probably send some home the next time one of the fleet ships makes a run to the Alpha Quadrant. I mean, I know it’s not the incredibly rare mineral it once was, but we know they’re running short of everything back home.”
Chakotay bowed his head, considering this revelation. The hopes he had nursed since they had left New Talax of proving the fleet’s worth with this mission were not exactly coming to fruition. Finding a new source of dilithium in unclaimed space was certainly noteworthy, though he didn’t know how far it would go toward burnishing the fleet’s record thus far in the Delta Quadrant. Still, a discovery like this was a step in the right direction, if a complicated one.
“What’s the problem?” Torres asked when he did not immediately send her off to begin collecting dilithium.
“The proctors and the sentries,” he replied.
“The planets these rocks used to be a part of are long gone,” Torres said. “Why would they care if we make use of them?”
“I don’t know,” Chakotay replied. “We still don’t know for sure why they brought us here. If the planet is the source of their distress, I don’t know if we’re going to be able to help them. I also don’t know if they are still acting on the orders or programming their creators left them. This entire area of space was hidden until they decided to show it to us. All we’ve done thus far is study the area, and they’ve seemed content to allow us to do so. Extracting dilithium from these fragments takes us from passive to active interference in their space. We can’t ask for permission. They might not care, but they might, and if they do, their retribution could be swift and dangerous.”
“How about a small test?” Torres asked.
“What are you proposing?”
“I’ll go out in a shuttle and collect a few small samples. That will allow me to confirm the crystal’s purity. And if the wave forms take issue, we’ll have our answer.”
Chakotay had to concede it was a reasonable risk. They already had several tactical responses at their disposal to deal with any attack by the wave forms. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was about to trespass against the wave form’s trust. And there was one other consideration.
“We’ve got a dozen away teams on the surface right now. We need to stay in orbit to facilitate emergency transports if necessary. But I’m not comfortable sending a shuttle too far out for us to render aid if the wave forms do take offense.”
“The Demeter can cover the transports,” Torres suggested. “The shuttle mission will take twenty minutes at most, and I can’t imagine that all twelve teams would need emergency evacuation. They’re scattered all over the planet.”
“One sample, very small,” Cha
kotay finally agreed.
“I’ll let you know as soon as I’m ready,” she said, turning to go.
“No,” he said, stopping her in her tracks.
“What?”
“Send Lieutenant Lasren and Ensign Gwyn. Brief them thoroughly on the procedure before they go.”
“Chakotay, I can do this in my sleep,” Torres said.
“Yes, you can,” he said. “But part of my job is making sure they can, too.”
“When did we suddenly become older and wiser?” Torres asked.
“Damned if I know.” Chakotay smiled.
DELTA FLYER II
“What was Commander Paris thinking?” Ensign Gwyn asked as she gritted her teeth in frustration. The knobs and levers he had installed in the shuttle’s flight control panel were cute, but apparently challenging to operate.
“I believe those controls were meant to provide the helmsman with a greater capacity to feel the ship’s responsiveness,” Lieutenant Lasren said after he confirmed that Gwyn’s difficulties were not taking the shuttle off course.
“A standard panel is plenty responsive,” Gwyn retorted. “I guess our first officer isn’t one for subtlety.”
“The long list of his accomplishments when he held your current post suggest otherwise,” Lasren observed.
Gwyn favored him with a disgruntled sidelong glance, then dropped the subject as the shuttle came within range of the asteroid from which they intended to collect the dilithium sample. Kenth Lasren was Betazoid, though he rarely used his empathic abilities unless asked to do so by a superior office. Having studied and served for so long with species that did not share his gifts, Lasren thought it rude to violate their personal space without invitation. Aytar Gwyn, for all she questioned Commander Paris’s appreciation for subtlety, would never have won any awards in that category either. To assess her mood on any given day, all one needed to do was glance at the color, cut, and arrangement of her hair. Today she wore medium-length spikes of almost midnight blue. Everything about them said “stay away.”
Star Trek: Voyager - 042 - Protectors Page 18
