by Greg Cox
“You should listen to him, Woryan,” April advised. “My first officer is under orders to destroy the ship rather than surrender it to you. And if you make her angry, I won’t be held accountable for the consequences. She might just decide to crash the Enterprise straight into your sanctuary.”
Woryan quivered in frustration. “But we need that ship. There must be some way to seize control of it. He must tell us how!”
“I quite agree, Commander,” Eljor said, “but we require accurate information. Threats or even torture will only encourage lies. He will tell us only what we want to hear or, worse yet, what he wants us to believe.” The scientist examined April with hir tentacles. “Allow me to have the specimens conveyed to my laboratory, where I may employ more sophisticated—and reliable—methods to extract the data we seek.”
“What sort of methods?” Woryan asked skeptically.
“Drugs, conditioning, perhaps even corrective brain surgery.” Eljor sounded disturbingly confident to April. “Science, Commander. That is how we will ‘persuade’ Captain April to turn over his ship to us . . . and tell us everything we need to know to subdue the Federation.”
Woryan mulled it over. “Are you certain you can get this creature to cooperate?”
“I guarantee it.”
* * *
“No word from the captain yet?”
“Not yet, Doctor,” Sanawey told Sarah on the bridge. “I’m sorry.”
The communications officer was more patient than he needed to be, given that she had already asked him the same question several times now, but she couldn’t help it. Knowing that Robert was on his own on a planet where an entire landing party had already gone missing was torture. She wasn’t sure if she should be relieved or not that no medical emergencies currently required her attention in sickbay. A routine checkup or procedure or two might have helped her take her mind off the very real possibility that she might never see her husband again. But who was she kidding? Work or no work, she was not going to rest easy until Rob was back on the Enterprise where he belonged.
Where we belong.
“How long has it been?” she asked.
“Fifteen minutes and counting.” Lorna Simon occupied the captain’s chair in Robert’s absence. She studied the ship’s chronometer just below the astrogator in front of her. “Forty-five more minutes to go.”
Sarah paced restlessly around the bridge. “We’re not really going to leave him behind, are we? If he doesn’t get back in time?”
“Those are the captain’s orders.” The first officer shifted uncomfortably in her borrowed seat. Her voice was sympathetic but firm. “If we don’t hear from him within the hour, we’re to flee the system at maximum warp and report back to Starfleet Command.”
Sarah watched the minutes and seconds tick down on the chronometer, wishing she had the power to slow or reverse them somehow. But practical time travel was still just a pipe dream as far as Starfleet was concerned. Time only flowed in one direction, sometimes far too quickly.
Hurry back, Rob, she thought. Please.
Twelve
Eljor’s laboratory was located several levels below the command chamber, in the citadel’s central hub. A short ride on a bubble lift brought April and Una to the lab, where a quartet of Jatohr guards herded them into a cramped cell that made the brig back on the Enterprise seem like a VIP suite. Leaves, branches, and other forest litter carpeted the floor in lieu of a bed or cot, leading April to believe that a Usildar specimen or two had once been confined here. A clear barrier, made of transparent aluminum or some similar substance, dialed into place, sealing the captives inside. April tested the barrier. It didn’t budge.
My diplomatic efforts, he concluded, are not going as well as one might hope.
“You there, creature!” one of the guards shouted at April. “Back away from the barrier!”
“It’s quite all right, sentries,” Eljor reassured the guard. “The cage is a sturdy one. The specimens are not going anywhere.” The scientist turned hir back on the cage to dismiss the guards. “Thank you all for your assistance transferring the specimens, but you may return to your regular duties now.”
The spacious lab seemed to occupy an entire level. Sophisticated equipment of indecipherable purpose crowded the facility, along with assorted work spaces, counters, examination tables, and terminals. The furnishings were built to accommodate Jatohr anatomy, naturally, which led to a conspicuous lack of anything resembling chairs or sofas. A humanoid skeleton, whose proportions indicated Usildar origins, was mounted in a transparent display column not far from April’s cage. One of the scientist’s earlier “specimens”? Maybe even the previous occupant of the cage?
April could’ve done without spying that grisly exhibit.
“Are you certain, Professor?” the guard asked. “Perhaps we should remain to keep watch over the creatures.”
“That is hardly necessary,” Eljor insisted. “The specimens are in no danger of escaping, and I can readily sound an alarm should the impossible occur.” The impatient scientist opened Una’s backpack, which contained an impressive collection of Starfleet materiel, and laid them out atop a scuffed, acid-pitted counter. “In the meantime, I require peace and privacy to do my work.”
The guards lingered, unconvinced. “But, Professor, your own safety—”
“Is my own concern.” Eljor pointed at the exit. “Now leave me to my labors. That is not a request.”
It suddenly dawned on April that he could understand the Jatohr as they spoke among themselves, as opposed to hearing nothing but unintelligible gurgles earlier. He could only imagine that the universal translator had finally cracked the Newcomers’ exceptionally alien tongue after running a sufficiently large sample through a wide variety of decryption programs. He mentally thanked whatever brilliant cyberneticist had gifted the translator with the ability to learn.
“As you wish.” The guard deferred to the scientist’s authority. “Do not hesitate to call on us if you require assistance controlling the animals.”
“I will be certain to do so. You are to be commended for your diligence. I will be certain to convey my appreciation to the commander.”
“Thank you, Professor!”
The guards departed the laboratory, leaving Eljor alone with the captives. April observed the exchange with interest, noting that the Jatohr scientist seemed to wield considerable clout. April appreciated the courtesy. Eljor struck him as possibly more rational than Woryan and more likely to listen to reason.
Aside from that talk about drugs and brain surgery, that is.
“Excuse me, Captain?” Una contemplated their cramped new accommodations. “About that ‘breeding’ business . . . With all due respect, I have no intention of being used to breed more laboratory specimens or slave labor. I would sooner die.”
“No offense taken, Lieutenant,” April quipped. “I’m a married man, after all.” He fingered his wedding ring. “But let’s hold off on any such drastic measures for now. Frankly, you’re my only backup at the moment, and I’m counting on your help.”
“Understood, sir.” She sounded relieved to change the subject. “You can rely on me.”
As Eljor saw the guards out and closed off hir lab, Una quickly briefed April on what had happened to the landing party. The captain had plenty of questions, but put them aside as Eljor slimed toward the cage. April tensed in anticipation, stepping in front of Una protectively. A chill ran down his spine. Given a choice, he’d rather face a firing squad than have his brain experimented on. He’d seen a victim of a Klingon mind-sifter once. It hadn’t been pretty.
“Listen,” he began. “Before you go any further—”
“My apologies for your treatment so far,” the scientist said. “I fear that my fellow Jatohr lack the imagination to see beings such as yourselves as sentient beings much like us. I had to think quickly to protec
t you from the commander’s wrath.”
April’s spirits lifted. Hope replaced apprehension.
“What are you saying, that all that talk about breeding and brain surgery was just a ruse? To keep Woryan from eliminating us?”
“Or worse,” Eljor said. “Forgive me if I alarmed or offended you. It was for your own good . . . and perhaps for ours as well.”
Was that a trace of remorse in the Jatohr’s artificial voice?
“We’ll trust your judgment in that regard,” April said. “Can you let us out of this cage now, as a gesture of good faith?”
“A reasonable request.” Eljor produced a compact remote-control device and aimed it at the transparent barrier, only to reconsider before unlocking the cage. “On second thought, however, how can I be certain that you will not take action against me? Alas, you have good cause to see my kind as your enemy and to want to avenge your lost companions.”
“I just came here to talk,” April said.
“And I to learn,” Una added, coming forward, “about you and the Usildar.”
April wasn’t sure he would’ve mentioned the Usildar at this juncture, but recalled that the idealistic young lieutenant had taken their plight to heart right from the beginning, which was not something he could truly hold against her. If anything, it spoke well for her character.
“And yet who could blame you,” Eljor replied, “for striking back after the unconscionable way you and your people have suffered at our hands?” S/he lowered the remote. “Perhaps a few prudent safety measures are advisable, at least until we get to know each other better.”
April bit back his frustration. They had come so close to getting out of the cage. But matters were definitely looking up, so he didn’t want to push Eljor too far too fast. At present, the sympathetic Jatohr scientist was still their best hope for turning this situation around.
“All right,” April said, “for the time being. I’m disappointed, but I can appreciate your caution. My own people have a saying: good walls make good neighbors.”
“A cogent truth, concisely put,” Eljor said. “But there we get to the crux of our current difficulties. Where we come from, we had no neighbors. To our knowledge, we were the only sentient life-forms in our universe. Little wonder then that my people are alarmed at the very idea of sharing this new cosmos with rival species. The Usildar posed little threat, due to their primitive ways and lack of technology, but an advanced civilization such as yours . . .”
“Is rather more intimidating?” April said, completing the thought.
“Sadly, yes.” Eljor’s tentacles drooped ruefully. “You must understand. The Jatohr are not a predatory species by nature. We are a compassionate, civilized people who treasure life and peace and prosperity.”
“As long as it’s Jatohr life,” Una said bitterly. “The rest of us are just ‘creatures’ who don’t really count as people.”
“Precisely. To my great shame.”
Guilt radiated from the scientist, perceptible despite hir inhuman form and body language. A triangular mouth twisted itself out of shape.
“You can’t blame yourself,” April said, “for the attitudes of the other Jatohr.”
“Perhaps, but I must certainly blame myself for their actions, since I am responsible for bringing us here in the first place.”
“You?” April was intrigued, wanting to know more. “Maybe you should explain.”
“You should know the truth,” Eljor agreed, “since it is your realm that is paying the price for my well-intentioned attempt to preserve my people from . . . a catastrophe in our own universe.”
“What sort of catastrophe?” Una asked.
Eljor hesitated, as though loath to reveal too much. “That is . . . difficult to explain. Suffice to say, the sanctuary was created to save my people by transferring us from one reality to another by means of the transfer-field generator, a mechanism of my own invention. We are refugees, seeking a new life on an alien shore.”
Finally, we’re getting some real answers, April thought, listening intently. “So it was this ‘transfer-field generator’ that brought your citadel to our universe?”
“You misunderstand.” Eljor swept hir limbs to indicate the glossy oyster walls surrounding them. “The citadel is the transfer-field generator. Only a mechanism of such size is capable of amplifying the field to transfer an entire population, although the heart of the generator is a master control unit I named the Transfer Key.” Hir limbs sagged toward the floor. “The Key is both my proudest accomplishment and my greatest crime. Once my people’s salvation, it has been corrupted into an instrument of oppression.”
“That’s how you make people disappear,” Una deduced. “You use the transfer field to banish them to a parallel universe.”
“Correct,” Eljor said. “Transferring this citadel required substantially more energy, of course, but the Key can also be used on a much less ambitious scale to target small groups or individuals, such as a rebellious Usildar tribe or your unfortunate companions.”
“But how exactly do you target people?” Una asked. “I didn’t see any obvious weapons employed when—” Her voice briefly caught in her throat. “When the landing party was ‘removed’ right in front of me.”
April heard the anguish in her voice, leaking through her professional composure. She had lost the rest of her team only hours ago, he recalled; the pain and shock were obviously still with her. It couldn’t be easy to be the last crew member standing after that tragedy—and on her first time leading a landing party no less. Chances were, she was carrying a hefty load of survivor’s guilt.
He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Steady there, Una.”
“There are no weapons as such,” Eljor explained. “Our security forces cannot remove people on their own. What transpires, when the need arises, is that they contact the master control room here in the sanctuary, where operators lock onto the target remotely. The only actual weapon is the transfer-field generator itself.”
April thought he got the idea. “In other words, it’s less like blasting someone with a laser and more like paging the transporter room and ordering the crew there to beam your opponents away, all from the safety of the Enterprise.”
“I suppose so,” Eljor said, “if I take your meaning correctly.”
“But that begs the bigger question,” April said. “Where did you send our people?”
Once again, the Jatohr scientist hesitated before answering. “To . . . the next realm.”
“Which would be?” April pressed.
“Beyond your comprehension, I suspect. To describe it in terms you would understand is not something that can be quickly or easily accomplished at present.”
April got the distinct impression that Eljor was not being entirely forthcoming with him, despite being a good deal more communicative than the rest of the Jatohr. Hir cryptic responses smacked of deliberate evasiveness.
Was s/he hiding something?
“But they’re still alive?” Una asked urgently. “Somewhere?”
“Possibly, probably, but the fate of a few unlucky individuals pales in comparison to the larger crime being committed against this planet and its inhabitants.”
“Like the Usildar?” April prompted.
“Just so,” Eljor said. “Those poor primitives are the true victims of my hubris. Please believe me, it was never my intention to bring harm to another intelligent species. I sought only to save the Jatohr from extinction. But it is one thing, I assure you, to devote your genius to rescuing your people; it is quite another thing altogether to witness your life’s work being employed to conquer and enslave others.”
April could well believe that Eljor’s conscience was bothered by what was happening on Usilde. Certainly s/he would not be the first scientist in history to be troubled by how their brainchildren were put to use.
/> Just look at Oppenheimer or N’Brullus.
There was just one thing April didn’t understand. “How is it that you feel differently about these matters than Commander Woryan and the others?”
“Not to be immodest, but perhaps it is simply that, as a scientist, I am fundamentally more open-minded than the majority of my species, and thus more capable of imagining that other forms of life might be as worthy as our own. Certainly I could not have conceived of the transfer field, let alone brought it into being, unless I was able to think beyond certain preconceptions and conceive of an entirely new paradigm when it came to the very fabric of the space-time-ethereal continuum. In short, I’ve made a career of thinking the unthinkable.”
“Like realizing that the world is round instead of flat,” April said, “or that subspace underlies conventional space.”
“Or that the Jatohr is not the only species that matters,” Una added.
“Indeed,” Eljor said. “Or perhaps it is simply that I am more acutely aware of the Usildar’s suffering because I bear the greater weight of responsibility.”
“My people have another saying,” April said. “The road to hell is paved with good intentions. We too have learned, from painful experience, that even the most benign of interventions can yield unexpected consequences, particularly when it comes to dealing with alien cultures and civilizations. That’s why we have adopted what we call our Prime Directive, which prohibits us from deliberately interfering with the affairs of others. It’s not always easy to follow, but it has served us well when it comes to avoiding tragedies such as what’s happening here on Usilde.”
“A wise policy,” Eljor said. “Would that my people had adopted such a directive upon arriving in this realm. I fear that Commander Woryan and the others will not rest until they have reshaped this entire planet to their liking—and then, perhaps, your entire cosmos.”
“Using the Enterprise to carry them from world to world?” April asked. “Is that why Woryan wants my ship?”
“Correct. The Transfer Key only allows us to cross from one reality to another, not to traverse space within your universe. To further colonize this realm, and subdue its inhabitants, a different form of transport is required . . . such as your magnificent spaceship. Woryan cannot resist such a prize, not if s/he desires to promptly expand our dominion beyond this planet.”
