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Star Trek™: Corps of Engineers: Remembrance of Things Past Book Two

Page 2

by Terri Osborne


  Corsi caught the smile on Vale’s face, one that suggested she was going to enjoy this.

  And that made Corsi worry a bit more about her old friend.

  Sarjenka sat back, her heart racing after hearing Data’s story. A distress call had gotten Data’s attention, and then Picard’s. But how? She remembered building that communications kit her father had bought for her eleventh birthday, right before the planet had begun ripping itself apart. It couldn’t possibly have had that kind of range.

  But Father showed me how to improve the power output beyond what the kit said. It couldn’t have been enough to reach the Enterprise, couldn’t have.

  But it had.

  Against all logic and the laws of physics, it had.

  The voice of a child in the night had saved her world—and it had been her voice.

  A searing pain, one like nothing she’d ever known before, ripped through her brain at that point. She got to her feet, stumbling away from Data and Picard into the forward cabin of the shuttle. Reaching for her medkit, she gave herself a quick injection of hydro-cortilene to stave off the headache. She made sure the injection was only two percent. Any more, well, she didn’t have Klingon blood to handle that much of the stuff.

  It did as expected, but it also made the flood of memories that came back to her at that point all the more surprising. Data had brought her up to the Enterprise to save her from the horrible floes of liquid dilithium that had threatened them all. She had walked the halls of the ship, her tiny hand in his cool one, until they finally reached the bridge, and Captain Picard. She remembered the fear at his angry tone, remembered hiding behind Data, knowing full well that he would protect her from the angry man. She hadn’t known the word human at that point, but she knew enough to realize that Picard hadn’t liked her being there.

  He had been nothing if not abundantly clear on that point.

  Then the dark-haired woman—Counselor Troi, Data had said—had tried to take her to get a sweet. But there was something about her that had said more. Somewhere in her mind, Sarjenka could recall being very afraid of being taken away from Data.

  “You,” she began, turning back toward the android. “You saved my life.”

  “Perhaps,” Data replied. “We did not know whether your home would be destroyed. And when you stopped communicating for so long, I began to—”

  “Worry?” she said.

  Then another memory flashed in her mind, the singer stone, as Dantas had called it, being given to her by Dr. Katherine Pulaski.

  It did come from the Enterprise.

  But it had been handed to her right before she had been placed on a nice bed to sleep, with Katherine wanting to do a scan just to make sure she was okay. “Katherine lied to me,” Sarjenka said, the realization hitting her in the stomach full-force. “She lied. She tried to erase my memory. She did make me forget. Traiaka, we studied her methods in neurology class.”

  “She had no choice,” Picard said, his voice still holding an edge of rasp. “I ordered it.”

  All Sarjenka could do was stare. Questions were flying through her mind so fast; it was hard to hone in on just one. Finally, one floated above the others. “Why? I mean, I understand the Prime Directive was part of it, but why try to erase the memory of one child? What harm could one child do?”

  Data gave her a gentle smile. “What good could one child do?”

  Sarjenka swallowed hard. Data was right. If the voice of one child could save the entirety of Drema IV, then they had no way of knowing what she could have done if she’d retained memories of her time on the Enterprise.

  Granted, she had always played games with her Kakerna Krana doll, imagining that she could fly up into the night, going to each and every light in the darkness to find out what was there. In her heart, she always knew Drema IV wasn’t alone in the universe. Memories of the Enterprise would have been nothing more than sauce for the Uprising Day kreba, but they couldn’t have known that.

  “No,” she said aloud. “You couldn’t have known.”

  A part of her wanted to cry, mourn the possibilities that she’d lost, but then she realized that really, she hadn’t lost them. Images of the Enterprise’s sickbay had remained behind, coming to her in dreams. She had drawn them over and over in her design classes, without even realizing it. Somewhere, deep in her mind, her memory had protected what it could, saving itself from Katherine’s attack.

  However, another part of her understood. She knew how highly regarded the Prime Directive was in Starfleet. There was no law above General Order 1. Intellectually, she knew everything Picard had done was right. The philosophy of the Federation valued pre-warp civilizations, much as hers had been back then. The integrity of the civilization had to be protected, allowing it to develop on its own, without Federation interference.

  But then the Exiles had arrived, and all of that was torn asunder as her people were overtaken. Any artifice of outside interference in Dreman cultural evolution was stripped away. All it had taken was one photon torpedo casing to lead her people to the Federation.

  Sarjenka turned her gaze to Picard, who still looked pale and fragile. He needed her help. Turning him over to Dantas’s care was only running away. You are a healer. Heal him as you would yourself. The past is gone. He did what he had to do, and you know it. You took the Oath. “First, do no harm.” Picard never had to do that.

  Another part of her mind chose that point to remind her of something else. Picard may not have, but Katherine did. And she harmed me. Willingly. How could anyone lie like that? Tear a hole in my mind, but save my father’s life? Why didn’t she tell me what happened?

  That was when it occurred to her. Could she have been trying to make amends? When Sarjenka saw Katherine again—she had thought then that it was for the first time—she was the chief medical officer of the U.S.S. Progress and was about to take over the star-base being constructed near Drema. Katherine had encouraged Sarjenka in her medical career.

  Traiaka knew that penance was something the humans were familiar with. She’d had an interesting education in that aspect of their culture while in the Academy. Guilt could be an excellent motivator, even if one didn’t acknowledge it openly.

  Katherine had attempted to strip Sarjenka of her memory of the Enterprise and all of its wonders, and had tried to atone by saving her father. Oh, she would take this up with Katherine as soon as she got back to the da Vinci. There were still stories to be heard, rationales to be presented, and she wanted to hear them all.

  Pursing her lips, the Dreman reached for her medical kit and took a deep, cleansing breath. “We can discuss this further when you are healthy, Captain. Now, please, try to sleep. Would you like a delta-wave inducer? I can’t guarantee it will work, but I did bring one.”

  Picard shook his head. “I am sorry. I had no other choice.”

  “Go to sleep, Captain. You need rest. I gather your headache is improving?”

  “Yes.”

  “Excellent. Commander Data, could you please keep an eye on the captain while I see how Dantas is doing with the others?”

  Data’s smile vanished at her formal tone. “Of course.”

  “Alert me if anything changes.”

  With a small nod from Data, Sarjenka turned and stepped out of the shuttle. She needed to be somewhere, anywhere, but there. As she turned toward the Shirley, she hoped Dantas was faring better with her patients.

  CHAPTER

  3

  Fabian Stevens leaned back in his desk chair, staring at the planetary scans on his viewscreen and becoming increasingly irritated with the lack of scan results. “Damn. Where’s the source on this?”

  He’d been looking for hours at the screen, so much so that his eyes were hurting.

  He closed his eyes, rubbing the heels of his hands gently against his eyelids. When he opened his eyes again, his heart stopped cold for a moment.

  The field had grown again.

  “Computer, take latest field scan and compare to the ot
hers showing growth. Is there any kind of pattern in the expansion?”

  “Unable to locate pattern in field expansion.”

  “And there’s no sign of a source of the field?”

  “Unable to locate field source.”

  He took a deep breath, then said, “Okay. Go back to the first scans of the field. When it expands, is there an accompanying rise in field strength?”

  “There is no accompanying rise in field strength in the first expansion.”

  “In the first expansion? What about the second?”

  “Field strength in the second expansion rose by 0.25 percent.”

  “Not even a single percentage point?”

  “No.”

  Stevens wanted to smack the side of the viewscreen, but managed to restrain himself. As the old technology adage went, once was maintenance, twice was abuse. And neither was relevant in this instance.

  “Okay, Fabe, think. If there’s no pattern, a negligible rise in field strength, and no obvious source, how is the thing expanding?”

  That was when the idea occurred to him. The frustration at not having thought of it before brought him out of the chair like a bullet. “Conductors. That’s it. There have to be field conductors down there.”

  “Unable to comply. Please rephrase question.”

  “No, computer…wait. Scan the new edges of the field for known elements that are highly energy-conductive.”

  Stevens stood, beginning to slowly pace the room as the computer worked. It couldn’t be that simple, could it? It seemed so obvious now. The field wasn’t getting stronger, so there had to be elements coming into play that were conducting the field strength out to the new limits, maybe even adding power of their own to keep field strength equal across the area. “It’s genius. Limits the power consumption at the field core, but keeps the strength at the required levels for everything to work. Damn, they’re good.”

  “Scan complete. There are thirty instances of a beryllium-copper alloy along the new field boundary.”

  “Oh,” Stevens began, “they really were good. Computer, scan the rest of the planet for more instances of this beryllium-copper alloy. Link anything resembling a concentric boundary and display.”

  “Working.”

  When Stevens saw the results, he slapped his combadge. “Stevens to Captain Gold. We need to talk, sir.”

  Sonya hacked at another vine that reached across their path, relieved when it made a resounding crack. After they’d accidentally cut through a twig snake about twenty minutes before, Sonya was beginning to appreciate the sound of a vine breaking far more than she had ever expected.

  “You sure you’re okay?” Paul asked from about two steps behind her. As he’d put it, the verve with which she’d been swinging that blade definitely gave off the stay away from me vibe.

  “Positive,” she answered, her voice as flat and emotionless as she could manage.

  “’Kay. I’ll just be back here watching out for the bats.”

  That got the entire group to stop. She could tell he was trying to lighten her mood, and she reluctantly admitted to herself that she appreciated the gesture, but she wasn’t about to tell him at that moment. Encouraging such behavior could never bode well in the long term.

  “Bats?” Carol asked. “Nobody said anything about bats.”

  Inana raised an eyebrow. “That’s because there aren’t any,” she said. Sonya knew that tone of voice. She’d heard it from her own mother when she’d misbehaved. “Paul was just having a bit of fun, weren’t you?”

  Paul looked appropriately abashed. Sonya couldn’t help but wonder if this wasn’t a joke they practiced on all the visitors they got. It certainly held the feel of a well-rehearsed routine.

  “All right, boss,” Paul said, “which way?”

  Sonya hadn’t even realized they’d reached a small clearing in the trees until he’d said that. I’m getting too focused on whatever that was I saw. Sonnie, now is not the time to avoid reality. Snap out of it.

  What looked like an already-cut path was on her right. It hadn’t even begun re-growth yet, unlike the gap in the trees to her left. Vines in every shade of green imaginable covered the ground, looking almost like a path of writhing serpents.

  Sonnie, stop it.

  An image flashed in her mind, a dark gray…thing…under water. She couldn’t make out many details, as what she saw was underneath a considerable amount of water, but it looked almost like what she remembered a water monitor—a big water monitor—to have looked like. You’re only scaring yourself. Stop it.

  When an odd, unearthly glow surrounded everything, she realized what she was seeing. Her own body, floating just under the surface of the water of Sun Bay, too near the Biobay. Her face was in the water, and suddenly, Sonya couldn’t breathe.

  She gasped for air, air that wasn’t coming. She was drowning again.

  “Sonya!”

  She could barely hear the voice in the layer of water that rested between her ears and whoever was talking. It didn’t sound like Mamí. It didn’t sound like Belinda. Who was it?

  An arm grabbed her around the waist, shaking her by the motion. “Sonya! It’s Paul. Can you hear me?”

  With a shake of her head, she was back to the forest, with Cunningham’s arm hard around her waist. “Yes,” she said, trying desperately to get her breathing back to normal. “Yes. I can hear you.”

  “Another hallucination?” Paul asked.

  Sonya could only nod her head.

  Inana took that moment to step to the front of the group. “Then come on, let’s get this figured out before it gets any worse.”

  CHAPTER

  4

  Sarjenka stepped into the Kwolek to see that Dantas had everything under control.

  Well, as much under control as anything could be with Makk Vinx around.

  Almost on cue, Vinx piped up. “Doc! Falcão here says people are gonna die if we don’t figure this one out. You really think that’ll happen?”

  Sarjenka briefly reconsidered that anesthezine gas canister and the vent in his quarters. Dismissing the thought as not nearly strong enough to take care of the problem, she grabbed Makk’s arm and led him outside the shuttle. When they weren’t within earshot of the Kwolek, she said, “Makk, there is no need to worry the patients over that. If we can get them to the da Vinci, I can help them. Do you understand?”

  “Capisce, boss. I gotcha.”

  “Good,” she said. “If you want to help, take your tricorder and start walking that way.” She gestured to the starboard side of the shuttlecraft. “When it starts working, you know you’re outside the field. Then contact the da Vinci and tell them what’s happening. Then come back here and get us. Hopefully, the field didn’t expand too far from here. I don’t like the idea of Captain Picard being exposed to whatever this is for much longer.”

  “Gotcha, Doc. I’ll be back before you know it.”

  He says that like it’s a good thing. “I hope so, Makk. I hope so. Remember, there are lives depending on you here.”

  Makk ran off toward the other side of the Kwolek, tricorder in hand. Well, if he runs, it might speed this evac up. Maybe he’s not completely hopeless after all.

  Sarjenka chastised herself just for thinking such a thing about a crewmate. Teams were teams for a reason. Her father had taught her that from his time in the dilithium mines.

  Another image chose that moment to flash in her mind. Her father, face covered in regenerated skin, arm still charred from where the bomb had torn part of it off. His life saved thanks to the very same person who’d tried to erase her memory.

  Sarjenka turned around and stared at the aft of the Shirley. She could easily report Katherine’s actions to the review board at Starfleet Medical, even though Captain Picard was rather adamant that she had only done it at his orders.

  It made sense, in a Starfleet kind of way. They’d violated the Prime Directive by even answering her distress call. Mitigating the damage was the most logical ste
p to be taken.

  Her distress call. Sarjenka was still trying to wrap her brain around that one. Her little radio had reached the stars. It had reached Data. It had reached Captain Picard.

  It had saved her world.

  No. I was just playing with the thing, trying to find anyone who might have still been out there. All I wanted was someone to talk to.

  She’d gotten far, far more than she ever expected.

  Closing her eyes, she tried to remember more, the gray and white corridors of the Enterprise, Data’s cool hand in hers, asking if one day, when she was bigger—

  “Could I be on your ship?” she had softly asked, remembering Data’s assurance that one day, perhaps she could.

  And she’d wished for it every moment she’d been on the Enterprise. She could recall it as clearly as if it had happened yesterday. As her gaze fell on the hatch of the Shirley, she realized that there might have been some truth to the old human adage of being careful what you wish for after all.

  What Gabriel had termed the temple was, to Carol’s eyes, a grassy mound roughly the size of a shuttlecraft. It looked more like an ancient tumulus than a natural formation. Gomez said, “This just looks like a burial mound to me—not an image I’m thrilled with, mind you.”

  Inana reached toward the mound, wiping the moistened dirt from a small panel not much larger than her palm. “This shows what it is.”

  From Carol’s vantage point, the panel appeared to have the same kind of glyphs on it that had been on Inana’s rubbing, only these weren’t encoded in any manner—at least not in any manner that Carol knew.

  “I thought these people were fighting for their lives,” Gomez said. “Why advertise the location of a temple?”

  Carol asked right back, “Why did they build obvious religious sites like Notre Dame or the Cathedral of the Holy Wisdom on Earth? Everyone needed to know where to go to worship. Making the building distinctive helped.”

  “And since they were a people under attack,” Cunningham said, “then camouflage the place, put a small sign on an unassuming spot where the attackers can’t figure out. Hide the temple in plain sight. Worked for dozens of cultures for centuries.”

 

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