A Time to Sow

by Dayton Ward

  “Such is the life of a laborer,” the Dokaalan replied, the thin line of his mouth forming a smile. Despite the fact that he appeared to be a specimen of superior conditioning, if the muscled physique La Forge had seen earlier was any indication, he still bent slightly under the weight of the respirator tank he carried on his back. Unlike the Starfleet officers with their suits’ atmospheric regeneration systems, the Dokaalan workers were forced to carry oxygen and other gases necessary for their survival with them into these cruel environs, including the arid, dusty, and quite poisonous atmosphere of Ijuuka. It was not unlike the methods used by humans on Earth during the dawn of their space age.

  On top of everything else, the Dokaalan people were contending with gravity that, while still lower than Earthnormal, was still more than four times that which they had lived with among the asteroids for generations. Those personnel who had been assigned to work on Ijuuka had become accustomed to the conditions here, but La Forge could tell that Faeyahr was earning the steps he took.

  Yeah, the engineer conceded, I don’t have it so bad after all.

  “We are almost there,” Faeyahr said as the trio approached the processing plant and its main control center.

  Rising several hundred meters out of the valley created between towering mountain peaks, the structure was a conglomeration of immense, rectangular buildings connected by a spider’s web of conduits, funnels, and metallic grating. It reminded La Forge of the giant ore-processing facilities on Delta Vega, Janus VI, or any one of dozens of uninhabited worlds in the more remote regions of Federation space. The plant was large enough that it had been visible even from high orbit, and the energy readings it gave off as he navigated their shuttlecraft down through the atmosphere were on a level he had not seen except in larger power generators employed on some densely populated worlds, such as those used to power the massive planetary computer system on Bynaus.

  Though he probably should have stayed on the Enterprise to oversee the reconfiguration of various systems affected by the asteroid field’s background radiation, La Forge had been unable to resist the notion of inspecting the atmospheric processing plants for himself. With a smile of satisfaction, he reminded himself that his team of engineers had already done exceptional work to modify some of the ship’s compromised systems. Tractor beams were now functional, though their range and power were limited. Transporters had been certified for nonliving matter, and tests were still under way to make them safe for humanoids. Phasers were still offline, but so far that had not presented a problem.

  No, La Forge decided, my people are handling things just fine without me looking over their shoulder, which of course left him to marvel in what he was observing now.

  “I said it before and I’ll say it again,” he offered as they passed through the plant’s inner perimeter fence, “what you’ve done here is amazing, Faeyahr.” Looking around at the mammoth processing complex, he nodded in sincere admiration. “I can honestly say I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Regarding the Enterprise chief engineer, Faeyahr replied, “Considering what I have seen of your tools and ship, I find that surprising.”

  La Forge shrugged. “You shouldn’t dismiss your own capabilities so easily. In fact, if we get the chance, I wouldn’t mind a crack at flying one of those skiffs of yours.”

  The Dokaalan technical specialist had ferried over to the starship from one of his people’s own vessels using a small craft he had called a “skiff,” which turned out to be very similar in form and function to the standard workpods employed at Starfleet orbital dockyard facilities. According to sensors scans La Forge had taken while the ship was in flight, the tiny two-person ship was not only fast but also maneuverable, and would therefore seem ideal for navigating the asteroid field. For use at various exterior mining locations, the skiffs also featured remote-controlled maneuvering arms and even small laser drill emitters, making the craft quite versatile indeed.

  As for the processing plants they were now touring, La Forge and Taurik had learned during their earlier visit to the first such facility that the power requirements for the network of fifty-six processing stations around Ijuuka were answered through the virtually inexhaustible geothermal energy siphoned directly from the molten depths of the planet itself. The scheme spoke volumes about Dokaalan ingenuity and skill, demonstrating that at least in this regard, they were actually more advanced than many societies with comparable levels of technology, progressing to the use of such efficient and environmentally friendly energy resources faster than a good number of their contemporaries.

  “It has taken a great deal of time and effort to reach this point,” Faeyahr said as they neared the airlock that would allow them access to the plant’s control center, “but we still have a long way to go.”

  That much was true, La Forge knew. Even after decades spent cleansing the atmosphere, the network of processors was still a generation away, at minimum, from achieving its goal.

  The engineer was familiar with the terraforming accomplishments of Kurt Mandl, Pascal Saadya, and the late Gideon Seyetik, of course, not to mention, he thought with a shiver, his personal experience with the notorious Project Genesis. While those efforts were examples of far more advanced techniques than what was occurring here, the Dokaalan’s was still an efficient operation, one of the finest examples of planetary reformation La Forge had yet seen. Even landmark terraforming efforts, such as that on Acheron or Dr. Mandl’s long-abandoned project on Velara III, had not operated in so fluid a manner despite benefiting from the most advanced facilities and techniques devised by Federation science.

  His thoughts were interrupted as the trio proceeded deeper into the processing station. They passed several Dokaalan along the way, with many of the workers stopping their activities to get their first real look at their visitors.

  “Welcome to our new home!” one greeter offered, smiling as he stepped forward. The muffling effect created by both his own suit helmet and La Forge’s did nothing to diminish the man’s fervor. The expression warming the Dokaalan’s blue features showed not a hint of unease or distrust, and the engineer could not resist returning his infectious smile.

  A similar welcome had been extended to them during their inspection of the other station earlier in the day. He saw that, as in the first plant, a good number of children were employed here, performing as apprentices alongside their adult mentors and demonstrating their own levels of enthusiasm. They hurled questions at a rapid-fire pace, and the Starfleet engineers were hard-pressed to even acknowledge them all, let alone provide answers.

  Just as he had during that prior event, La Forge now noted a whole host of reactions to their arrival, ranging from animated greetings such as the one they had just received to others who simply stood back and watched with varying expressions of wonder and, in a few cases, suspicion.

  It’s going to take them a while to get used to us, he reminded himself, unable to blame any of the Dokaalan who might be a bit on edge given the circumstances. He held little doubt that their current multipronged predicament was not helping to ease the stress.

  The Enterprise engineers followed as Faeyahr led them to an elevator that would take them up to the plant’s main level and the control center. The elevator itself was little more than a metal cage with a lever used to control the car’s movement through the vertical shaft extending from ground level up to the structure’s highest point.

  As had been indicated in the design schematics for the processing stations provided by Science Minister Creij, this facility was very similar in construction to the one they had visited earlier in the day. Just as starships and their interiors tended to evolve from the same basic template in order to reduce the acclimation time spent by Starfleet personnel when transferring from one duty assignment to another, the processing centers were designed in much the same manner. There were variations in the external configuration of the buildings to account for the differences in terrain, of course, but the interior details of the
structures they had seen so far were practically identical to those at the first plant.

  “You might be pleased to know,” Faeyahr said as the elevator car ascended under the Dokaalan’s control, “that this station currently holds the record for most consecutive work shifts without an accident. There has not been a single mishap here for nearly three hundred cycles.”

  In fact, La Forge was quite impressed. Given the immense power and maintenance requirements for each of the processing complexes, he simply assumed that work-related injuries or even deaths would be a normal occurrence. He was quite happy to be proven wrong. “That says a lot for your safety measures and leaders.”

  Nodding, the Dokaalan replied, “Most of the plants have excellent safety records, but a few have been plagued by misfortune, particularly in recent times. Our lead engineers believe that these malfunctions are symptoms of the atmospheric generators reaching the end of their operational lifetimes. Breakdowns are occurring more frequently, which is inevitable the longer we continue forward with the project, and all we can do is plan for those eventualities and minimize the risk to the workers. So far, our leaders are pleased that we can maintain a high standard of safety despite technical problems.”

  Taurik turned to La Forge. “Commander, it is possible that examination of the information we have gathered during these inspections may yield alternative procedures that can extend their equipment’s life span while at the same time allowing for the increase of intervals between periodic maintenance.”

  Seeing the confused expression on Faeyahr’s face, the chief engineer smiled. “That’s his way of saying we might be able to help you.”

  Once the elevator had reached its destination at the plant’s main level, the trio entered the airlock leading into the regulated environment of the facility’s command center. La Forge would have loved to discard his EVA suit for a while, but they would only be here long enough to get an overview of the plant’s operation and current progress before returning to the shuttlecraft.

  Removing his helmet, he noted that the air had a definite metallic tinge to it, but La Forge still breathed a sigh of relief as he drew in his first lungful. At the moment, he welcomed any air that did not come from his own atmospheric regenerator.

  Small favors, and all that.

  “Greetings!” offered an elderly Dokaalan as he rose from his station at the front of the room. Bowing formally in the Enterprise officers’ direction, he added, “We were told to expect visitors today. My name is Alerott, and I am the director of this facility.”

  After introductions were made, Alerott spent several minutes giving the Starfleet engineers his informal tour of the control room, pointing out the current status of the plant’s atmospheric processing efforts. Just like its counterpart at the first plant, the control room here was a functional collection of computer consoles and banks of gauges, dials, and a variety of status indicators. La Forge was surprised to find that unlike the other facility’s command center, where several of the consoles had been configured for automated monitoring, here most of them were being manned by workers.

  Taurik noticed it, too. “Alerott, if I may ask a question: Is something unusual happening?”

  The elderly director’s expression turned to one of worry. “Not at all. Everything is operating well within normal parameters. Why do you ask?”

  “From what we understand,” the Vulcan replied, “these facilities are capable of functioning almost exclusively under automated controls overseen by their central computer system. With that in mind, there would seem to be an excessive number of personnel on duty here.”

  Alerott abruptly laughed in response to the query. “We like to do things a bit differently here, Lieutenant. I have worked at this facility since its activation, and even after all this time I have never been completely comfortable allowing a machine to do my work.” Still smiling, he shook his head. “My daughter tells me that I should open my mind to new ideas, but I have always been rather slow in that regard. Besides, it keeps me active and at my age that cannot be a bad thing. Would you not agree?”

  Sensing that Taurik might want to debate the illogic of not employing available automated measures, La Forge quickly replied, “I can’t argue with that, sir.” He grinned as he noticed the lieutenant’s quizzical expression.

  “Well,” Alerott said, holding his arms out to indicate the control room, “what do you think of our remodeling effort?”

  “ ‘Incredible’ isn’t too strong a word,” La Forge answered. “We have people back home who are responsible for projects like this, and not only will they be interested in seeing what you’ve done here, I guarantee they’ll be tripping over themselves to get out here and see it for themselves.”

  Nodding, Alerott replied, “I have heard of your captain’s offer to assist us. While others might feel the need to decline such generosity, I have no such false pride. There is no shame in being shown a better way to do something, after all.” A beeping tone from one of the consoles behind him caught the Dokaalan’s attention, and he glanced at it before turning back to his visitors. “If you will excuse me a moment,” he said with an almost paternal smile, “I must now go watch over my subordinate.”

  As he returned to his work, La Forge and Taurik found themselves allowed to wander the control room, spending the next ninety minutes or so overseeing the operation. It was obvious from the way the technicians carried out their responsibilities and communicated with one another that they were well versed in their roles. Even when a hydraulic failure was reported in one of the power generator’s cooling plants, a repair crew was dispatched with nary a fluctuation in what was obviously a well-rehearsed routine. La Forge found himself impressed yet again with their hosts.

  It was Taurik, however, who spoiled his good mood.

  “Commander,” he said as the engineers made their way back toward the airlock, “I was able to scan the computer system tasked with overseeing the main atmospheric processors, but I am confused by some of my readings.”

  “How so?” La Forge asked.

  “As we have been told, the software protocols used by the computers at all of the plants are of a uniform nature, designed to keep the impact of the reformation process balanced across the entire planet. However, if my tricorder readings are correct, it would seem that the protocols in use at this facility are deviating from that norm.”

  His brow furrowing in concern, the chief engineer said, “Could it be a computer error?”

  “I find that unlikely,” Taurik replied. “None of the system’s error-tracking programs appears to be registering anything out of the ordinary. From my preliminary readings, I suspect this deviation is deliberate. The changes being introduced by the new formulae are subtle, so minute as to avoid detection by any of the system’s fault-discovery software.” He paused, his right eyebrow rising as he considered his own words. “It is also possible that the oversight protocols themselves have been modified to allow these deviations to function undisturbed. I would need more time to test my hypothesis, however.”

  Turning the Vulcan’s theory over in his mind, La Forge found himself not liking what he was coming up with on his own. “How long do you think this has been going on?”

  “I cannot say for certain without a more thorough investigation of my findings,” Taurik said, “but from my initial review I believe these changes are not meant to produce immediate results. Instead, they appear designed to introduce a cumulative effect over time. The changes to the software may have been in place for years.”

  From what La Forge had gleaned from Creij’s design schematics, the vast array of complex mathematical calculations used to constantly monitor the processing stations’ operation were designed to adapt to the ever-changing nature of the environment the Dokaalan were creating. Separate computer software was required to oversee the reformation protocols, constantly on the watch for errors that might introduce dangerous elements into the new atmosphere. The need for accuracy was far too great to think t
hat a deviation such as Taurik was describing could be accidental or even the fault of computer error.

  “If you’re right,” he said, “then that means we’re talking about the work of an experienced software engineer. How many people among the Dokaalan population have that kind of skill, along with the opportunity to make their changes and keep an eye on things to see that no one else figures out what’s going on?” It was a physical effort to keep from looking over his shoulder at any of the Dokaalan workers. Who among them, if any, might be a suspect?

  Despite the misgivings held by many, La Forge was convinced that the very future of Dokaalan civilization would almost certainly reach a point where a project as bold as terraforming a planet would become critical to their survival. This was especially true if they were unwilling to relocate to another world. Still, he knew that many Dokaalan were against the idea, preferring instead to stay among the asteroids where they had at least come to terms with their situation and had devised ways to handle most of the difficulties.

  But were any of them capable of sabotage to further their desires?

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  ABLE TO USE the relative solitude offered by the chief engineer’s office, Kalsha had plumbed the Enterprise’s massive computer core, scouring its extensive databases for the information he sought. With each step, he deleted all traces of his search before the computer’s security protocols even knew he was intruding, just as a fugitive on the run might brush his own tracks from a dusty path so as to stay hidden from his pursuers.