by Dave Stern
“The larger body is Eris Alpha Three, the smaller its moon,” T’Pol said. “Neither contains an atmosphere. Several artificial structures—a number of them still intact—on the planetoid.”
Reed was reading the same information off his monitor. He saw that the structures were divided into two basic types—roughly two dozen smaller ones, arranged in a series of rings around a handful of larger structures. The smaller ones were composed of a construction-grade titanium alloy, and the larger ones—
Hmm. That was odd.
“Life signs?” Archer asked.
“None,” T’Pol replied. “But the radiation makes that reading less than a hundred percent certain.”
Reed wondered if the radiation was affecting the readings he was getting as well. He tried to adjust the sensors to compensate, and failed. No change.
“How about that message, Hoshi?” Archer asked.
“Still receiving it, sir.”
“There could be survivors down there.” The captain looked around the bridge. “Yes?”
T’Pol nodded. “The possibility exists.”
“I’d like to send down a landing party,” Archer said.
“There are potentially hazardous radiation levels down there, sir,” T’Pol said. “A number of areas we would have to avoid.”
Reed cleared his throat. “Something else, sir. Some of those structures on the planet below—they simply don’t scan.”
“What do you mean?” Archer asked.
“The sensors don’t pick them up at all. It’s as if they don’t exist.”
“Confirming that, Captain,” T’Pol said, looking up from her display. “Several buildings—as well as significant portions of the debris—appear to be composed of an alloy resistant to our sensors.”
“How is that possible?” Archer asked.
“It’s not,” T’Pol said.
“I see. That’s very interesting,” Archer said. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
Reed didn’t share his commanding officer’s excitement. Interesting had—more often that not, in his limited deep-space experience—proven to be dangerous.
“Let’s find out if anyone’s alive down there.” Archer looked around the bridge. “Hoshi, you and I. Malcolm, and Commander Tucker. We’ll rendezvous in launch bay one. Ten minutes.”
Reed stepped forward. “If I might suggest, sir—additional security personnel?”
“Lieutenant Reed’s suggestion is a good one, Captain,” T’Pol added. “You could be walking into a combat zone.”
“All right,” Archer said. “Additional security personnel as you see fit, Mister Reed. Have them meet us at the shuttlepod.”
Reed nodded. “Yes, sir.”
The captain and Hoshi left the bridge. Reed sat at his station a moment, considering how to supplement the landing party. He wanted Bishop, for sure. And one other person. With so much ground to cover on the surface, they would most likely split the landing party into two smaller groups.
Reed brought the duty roster up on screen, and saw that Diaz was up in the rotation.
Except Diaz was sick. And Alana was covering for her.
Reed hesitated. Given the tension between them ... it might be best to put someone else on the team.
On the other hand ...
That wasn’t about his level of comfort. It was about the job. And she was now fully qualified to do the job.
Bishop and Hart it was, then.
He opened a channel to the armory, and ordered them both to report to the shuttlebay.
Eleven
MESS HALL
1/17/2151 0431 HOURS
“LIEUTENANT REED.”
His eyes snapped open. For a second, he was totally disoriented. Then he looked up and saw Dr. Phlox standing over him.
“Good Lord.” Reed sat up and blinked. He’d passed out at the mess hall table. On the table, to be more precise. “What time is it?”
“Ship’s time is four-thirty. In the morning.”
“Oooh.” He stretched, and yawned, and blinked again. “I fell asleep.”
“That much is clear.” Phlox smiled. “May I suggest using your bunk for that purpose in the future?”
“Expert medical advice, Doctor. I’ll try and follow it.” Reed massaged the back of his neck. “What are you doing up at this hour?”
“I had trouble sleeping. I have been considering the matter of Ensign Hart’s death.”
Reed was suddenly wide awake.
“And?”
“I understand the captain shared the autopsy results with you?”
“He summarized them for me, yes.”
“I am not entirely pleased with my findings.” Phlox pulled out the chair next to Reed. “May I?”
“Of course.”
The doctor sat. “When you first brought Ensign Hart back to the ship, you’ll recall I took a series of readings in sickbay.”
“I remember. Yes.”
“Then you may also recall those test results were inconsistent with ones I’d taken earlier, while giving Ensign Hart her initial shipboard physical.”
“I remember,” Reed said, rubbing his eyes again. He didn’t see where Phlox was going with this. “Go on, Doctor.”
“Of course you do.” Phlox nodded. “Well. To continue. After making the appropriate correlations, I—” He looked at Reed more closely, and his voice trailed off. “I am being inconsiderate, Lieutenant. You have had little sleep and, I suspect, little to eat over the last few days.”
“It’s not important,” Reed said.
“Ah.” Phlox shook his head. “Sustenance is always important. Maintenance of the body’s internal combustion engine, as it were. Essential to proper brain function. You should have breakfast, Lieutenant. I have asked the staff to prepare for me a frittata—have you ever had one? It is an egg dish not unlike an omelet, filled with vegetables and all manner of meat products.”
“Meat products?” Reed’s stomach rolled over at the thought. “No, no. I’ll grab something later.”
Phlox frowned. “I must insist you eat something, Lieutenant.”
“Doctor ...”
“Lieutenant, one of my most important duties as chief medical officer is to insure that every person in this crew is in optimum physical and mental condition, fully capable of fulfilling the demanding schedule required of him and or her as a member of—”
“Doctor, I’m fine,” Reed protested.
“Required of him and or her,” Phlox went on, ignoring the interruption, “as a member of Starfleet. Now. I know for a fact that you have had very little sleep these last few days, and I would be remiss in performing my job if I did not—”
“All right, all right.” Reed held up his hands in surrender. “Toast, then. With jam. And coffee.”
“Excellent. Excuse me a moment, and I will place your order.” Phlox rose from his chair and went over to talk to the chef. A moment later he returned with two plates—his significantly larger than the one he passed to Reed. One of the kitchen staff came by with coffee for both of them.
“To continue,” Phlox said, between bites. “Or rather, to summarize my concerns. The correlations between Ensign Hart’s earlier readings, from the Achilles, and the ones I took at the time she returned to the ship. There is none.”
Reed, in the middle of sipping his coffee, frowned. “No correlation? What does that mean?”
The doctor shook his head. “I have absolutely no idea.”
“Excuse me?” Reed couldn’t believe he’d heard Phlox correctly.
“I can think of no explanation for the lack of correlation between these two sets of readings. They are a measurement of specific energy patterns that remain virtually unchanged over the lifetime of an individual. For them to be anything but identical ...” he shook his head. “It is impossible. As if I had been examining two different patients.”
Reed had never heard Phlox sound so perplexed. He thought a moment. “Could these readings explain why she behaved
as she did? So out of character?”
“Possibly.” The doctor shrugged. “Though again, for all I know, her actions could just as easily be accounted for by a chemical imbalance, psychological stress ...”
“Wonderful,” Reed said, wondering if what he’d put her through—their on-again, off-again relationship—could have had anything to do with what had happened to her later.
“Lieutenant? Is something the matter?”
Reed looked up to see Phlox studying him carefully.
“Not really. Just wondering if anything I did might have contributed to a breakdown.”
“I’m sure your actions were not a source of stress for Ensign Hart.”
“Yes, well ...” Reed sighed. “It’s a complicated issue, Doctor.”
“I understand. Your relationship with Ensign Hart had nothing to do with what happened to her, Lieutenant. I can assure you of that.”
Phlox smiled. Reed felt himself flush. “Relationship. What—”
“Lieutenant. There is no need to dissemble with me.”
For a second, Reed was puzzled. It sounded like Alana had been confiding in Phlox as well.
Then he realized she probably had.
“She talked to you about all this.”
“Ah.” The Doctor allowed himself a small smile. “I must assert doctor-patient privilege, Lieutenant. However ... I can tell you that after composing her transfer request, the ensign did have cause to stop by my office. And I can state categorically that whether or not she would have ended up serving here aboard Enterprise, or elsewhere—Ensign Hart was in a far better position to deal with whatever came her way because of your relationship.”
“Really?” Reed felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“If you’ll permit me a few observations.” The doctor went on without waiting for a reply. “Being forced to keep secret what happened aboard the Achilles—it took a toll on her, that to a large extent, she lost the ability to confide in people. She became afraid to trust, afraid to form relationships. Her friendship with you was, I believe, a very important step forward in terms of her mental well-being. The connection you made helped her begin to deal with her feelings. Up until that point, the guilt and regret she felt had, in a very real sense, paralyzed her development.”
Reed didn’t know what to say to all that. He was glad that he’d been able to help Alana, but at the same time ...
“Lieutenant. Guilt and regret. Ensign Hart lived with them for years, and they were not kind companions.” Phlox leaned forward, across the table. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Reed met the doctor’s eyes, and saw the concern there.
Phlox was talking about him, he realized—about the guilt that he felt over what happened to Alana. And Reed wondered, suddenly, if the Doctor hadn’t come looking for him this morning specifically to have this conversation.
“Ensign Hart was able to find a sympathetic ear in you,” Phlox said. “I’m sure many in the crew would have appreciated the opportunity to help her. Would have considered it a privilege to serve as such a—a sounding board, I believe is the term.”
“Yes.” Reed replied. “That’s the term.”
“I thought so. To my point again—many in the crew would be happy to serve as such a sounding board for any of their fellow shipmates in need. If you catch my meaning.”
Reed nodded. “I do. Thank you, Doctor.”
“Good.” Phlox stood. “And now I must return to sickbay. If I am to append anything to my autopsy notes, it must be soon. Enjoy your breakfast.”
“I will. Thank you, Doctor.”
“You’re very welcome.”
He watched Phlox go, and realized the doctor was right. He should talk to someone about what had happened. He would find Trip, or perhaps the captain. Maybe even go back to Phlox. But for right now ...
He had work to do. Thinking about the Doctor reminded him of the autopsy, and the fact that he’d promised the captain his report this morning, the report of what happened in the armory. Do that now, he thought, and then grab a few more hours of sleep. He took another bite of his toast, and stood up from the table.
Suddenly he realized he was starving.
Reed sat back down and had a full breakfast before leaving for his quarters.
He wrote his report for the captain, forcing himself not to linger on the details. After he sent it off, he undressed and took a long hot shower. Hot as he could stand it. He stood in the spray far longer than necessary, letting the water wash over his face and body without moving, without thinking, in a kind of numb, half-asleep state. He thought about Phlox, and the puzzling readings the doctor couldn’t explain. The explanations for Alana’s behavior they might never find.
Images flashed in his mind, as if someone had suddenly turned on a slide projector. Random snapshots from the last few days, pieces of a puzzle thrown up in the air and landing haphazardly.
Valay and Goridian arguing—and the ambassador’s crown, dripping with blood.
Phlox, leaning over Alana’s body in the armory.
Goridian in his cell, smiling as he assured the captain that he had nothing to do with what had happened to Ensign Hart.
And Alana—alive again, sitting behind him in the shuttlepod, as they sped toward the ruins of the Sarkassian outpost.
Twelve
SHUTTLEPOD TWO
EN ROUTE TO SARKASSIAN OUTPOST
1/13/2151 1531 HOURS
THEY WERE FIVE MINUTES out from Enterprise, five minutes away from the outpost. Trip had the helm. Archer and Hoshi were hi the jump seats immediately behind him, Bishop and Reed in the next row, and behind them, Alana, who had perfected the art of ignoring him. All were dressed in environmental suits, with their helmets off.
“Fifty kilometers,” Trip said. “Maneuvering thrusters.”
Archer, working one of the shuttlepod stations, nodded. “Online.”
“Here we go.” Trip switched off the impulse engines, and Reed felt a gentle boost of acceleration as the planetoid’s gravity took hold of them, and the shuttlepod’s engines fought back.
Reed had tactical sensors online, tied in to the Enterprise’s systems. Space all around them was clear. They were still picking up the distress signal. He’d narrowed down its source to the south end of the complex. There were also energy signatures coming from the north end, where the destruction appeared to be heaviest. Much of the debris was composed of that alloy their sensors were having trouble analyzing. Reed wanted to bring some of it back with them. He told the captain as much.
“I’d rather wait on that kind of thing, Lieutenant,” Archer said. “At least until we know a little more about the situation. Think about how we’d feel if someone started carting off pieces of Enterprise after a battle.”
“And if whoever built this station ends up being an adversary?” Reed said. “Think about the strategic advantage a material we can’t detect gives them. Sir, with all due respect, I think this is one of those situations where we need to act in our own self-interest.”
“I will think about it, Lieutenant,” Archer said, working his station. “For the moment, let’s leave everything where it is, all right?”
“Yes, sir,” Reed said.
The captain’s decision notwithstanding, he’d already put a few small sample containers into the side pockets of his environmental suit. Just in case Archer changed his mind.
Reed swung the sensor panel up and to the side of his seat. As he did so, he caught a glimpse of Alana in the seat behind him. She seemed calm enough. Ignoring him probably gave her something to focus on. He supposed that was a good thing.
He leaned forward and concentrated on what he could see through the shuttle’s front window. The outpost was just coming into view—a splotch of gray against the reddish brown, rocky planetoid below. As they drew closer, he began to pick out individual structures—three larger ones (the smallest of which, on a rise at the very center of the complex, was shaped like a pyramid) surrou
nded by a handful of much smaller buildings. Debris was scattered everywhere, with much of it concentrated at the northern end of the complex. It looked to Reed as if there had been an explosion there—huge swatches of ground were burned black, and even from a distance he could make out several piles of twisted, gleaming metal.
“Over there, to the left,” Archer said. “Looks like a landing field.”
Reed had a bad angle. He couldn’t see what the captain was talking about.
Trip could.
“I think you’re right,” the commander said. “You want to go around again, or set down now?”
“Let’s get on the ground,” Archer said. “See about that distress signal.”
The shuttle banked to the left, and began descending. Reed got a better view of the pyramid-shaped building, but only for a moment. It looked like it was carved from a single piece of metal—possibly even stone. A narrow platform circled its base, with a long flight of steps leading up to it. He had no frame of reference to judge the pyramid’s size, no way to judge how big those steps were or who they might have been designed for.
Wait. Yes, he did.
Reed swung the sensor panel back down in front of him, and brought it online.
Nothing. The pyramid was composed of that alloy the sensors couldn’t pick up.
With a barely noticeable thump, the shuttle touched down. Reed pushed the sensor panel back up and out of the way, and stood.
“All right, everyone, you know your groups,” Captain Archer said. He stood at the front of the shuttle, holding his helmet in one hand before him. “Hoshi and I are going to check out the distress signal at the south end of the complex. Trip, you go north to see what’s giving off those strange energy signatures. Ensign Hart, Mister Bishop, you’re with me. Malcolm, you’re with Commander Tucker.”
“Keep an eye on radiation levels,” Trip added. “We don’t know exactly what blew up down here, or what sort of particles might still be floating around.”
“Security checks every five minutes,” Reed added.
