Star Trek: Typhon Pact: Seize the Fire

by Michael A. Martin

  “I am Ensign Ot Rynaph,” one of the other three reptiloids said. The creature’s eyes, the nearest of which was fixed upon S’syrixx, were set on opposite sides of its heavily ridged, pink-scaled skull. This feature, along with its wide mouth, reminded S’syrixx of the images of the Hranrarii he’d found in the Gorn fleet’s planetary database shortly before Krassrr had . . . dismissed him. “I work in the ship’s airponics lab.”

  “I am Chief Garem Urkral,” said the reptiloid who stood nearest to Ree. “I serve aboard Titan as an engineer.” This creature, whose femaleness S’syrixx intuited because of her slight frame and high-pitched voice, had the gray-green skin of a jaundiced Gorn hatchling. She also possessed front-facing yellow eyes that were startling for their sheer size; they seemed nearly twice as large as the eyes of any Gorn he had ever met.

  “And what of you?” S’syrixx said after turning his head toward the only reptiloid who had yet to speak, a mottled-gray-skinned, stooped-postured creature who almost could have passed for a member of the Gorn labor caste but for its long tail, its startling, ruby-hued eyes, and the single scaly horn that rose to a sharp point near the top of its serpentine head.

  “I am Lieutenant Qur Qontallium,” said the indeterminately gendered being as it extended both manus toward him, palms and claws downward in what S’syrixx surmised was a gesture of greeting. “I am a security officer.”

  S’syrixx allowed his gaze to drift down to the security officer’s hip, upon which a small, unobtrusive device was clearly visible. It was no doubt a deadly weapon, and probably a fitting complement to the creature’s formidable-looking claws.

  It occurred to S’syrixx then that none of the reptiloids with whom he was speaking were wearing uniforms as such. Each of them sported various items of uncoordinated apparel, but none showed any indication, at least from their highly individualized modes of dress, that they were crewmates on a ship, or members of a quasimilitary organization. S’syrixx suddenly realized that this lack of uniformity had to be part of a deliberate effort to put him at ease.

  And that thought put him distinctly ill at ease.

  “You . . . you aren’t Gorn,” he said, addressing the group as one. Though he still felt weak, he nevertheless managed to push himself up until he had almost reached a sitting position on the narrow bunk. “None of you are Gorn.”

  “Please,” Ree said, trying to push S’syrixx back down into a supine position. Though the physician’s grip was as strong as it was gentle, S’syrixx managed to shake it off and raise himself until he was sitting completely upright. This time he experienced no sensation of lightheadedness.

  “None of you are Gorn,” S’syrixx repeated to the pink reptiloid. “Which worlds do you come from?”

  “I come from Kashet,” the creature called Rynaph said.

  “I don’t know that world,” S’syrixx said, feeling belatedly dizzy. Perhaps Ree had been correct in directing him to lie still. “Where in the Hegemony is it located?”

  “Kashet is not affiliated with the Gorn Hegemony,” the alien said. “It has been a member of the United Federation of Planets for more than a century.”

  “As has my homeworld of Sauria,” said Urkral, the engineer.

  Qontallium, the security officer, said, “Gnala, the homeworld of my Gnalish Fejimaera people, is a longtime Federation member as well.”

  “My homeworld is Pahkwa,” Ree said. “My species, the Pahkwa-thanh, joined the Federation only about two decades ago.”

  Federrazsh’n, S’syrixx thought. Perhaps the Federrazsh’n is not quite so mammal-infested as the political caste would have us all believe.

  The comfortingly reptilian hiss of a portal opening across the chamber startled him out of his reverie. When he looked up to see who had entered, he was startled even further. Mammals! A pair of them strode toward him, perhaps the very same two that had surprised him earlier (he wasn’t certain because it was inherently difficult to distinguish between individual members of the softpink races). The four other reptiloids noticed the mammals’ entrance immediately, and made deferential noises, which included addressing the fur-faced male as “Captain.”

  The other reptiloids spread out to allow the mammals to pass—all except Dr. Ree, who interposed himself protectively between the captain and his patient. The inaudible conversation that passed between the physician and the two mammalians no doubt also served the purpose of bringing the captain up to speed on everything S’syrixx had revealed about himself so far, deliberately or otherwise.

  He felt his cloaca muscles involuntarily tighten as he noticed the mammals watching him with their small, clever eyes. Then Ree abruptly withdrew, leaving S’syrixx defenseless as the mammals approached to within nearly a fully extended arm’s length. S’syrixx snorted in response to an unpleasant aroma, which might have arisen from either the creatures’ hair or epidermis.

  “I’m Captain William Riker,” said the facially hirsute mammal. Gesturing with one fleshy, clawless manus toward his shorter, more cranially hairy companion, he added, “And this is my senior diplomatic officer, Commander Deanna Troi. You seem to be recovering nicely, Mister S’syrixx. I’m glad to see it.”

  Why? S’syrixx thought. So you can fatten me up and add me to your crew’s list of dining options? He wondered if this Rry’kurr would have his remains fashioned into apparel and other adornments once the feasting was done—and whether they would kill him before or after Krassrr finally succeeded in bringing the ecosculptor back on line and wiping out the Hranrarii with it.

  Aloud, he said only, “Thank you, Captain. It was my good fortune that you and your vessel were in a position to pick me up when you did.”

  “Apparently that wasn’t your only bit of good luck today,” said the mammal captain. “Doctor Ree found a paralytic compound in your system that might have had something to do with your surviving long enough for us to reach you.”

  R’rerrgran, you old rogue, S’syrixx thought. He hoped his longtime friend’s kind but ill-advised action wouldn’t rebound badly on him later. If Captain Krassrr were ever to discover that the execution over which he had presided today had been thwarted . . .

  “It would seem there’s plenty of good fortune to go around,” the female mammal said.

  S’syrixx tipped his head to the side, confused. “I do not understand.”

  The one Rry’kurr had called Troi took a seat on a nearby platform that resembled the one that supported S’syrixx. She folded her slender forelimbs across her chest, momentarily sparing S’syrixx the sight of her ostentatiously mammalian contours. “Well, you’re obviously a member of one of the Gorn technological castes. We believe that you’ve come to the planet Vela OB2–404 II in order to—”

  “Hranrar,” S’syrixx corrected, his broad snout wrinkling in response to the mammals’ sterile designation for such a vibrant, living world. It reminded him of the bloodless machine-mammals the Hegemony had spent so much of its precious blood and treasure fighting off during the previous suncircuit.

  “Hranrar,” the Troi-mammal said with a nod that made her long, dark hair move about as though it were an independent life-form that might pounce on him of its own accord. “We believe you’ve come to Hranrar as part of a team that’s deploying a powerful terraforming technology.”

  “Terraforming?” S’syrixx asked. He supposed the mammals’ translator was unable to cope with certain technological terms, especially when it came to rendering them in intelligible Gorn Standard.

  “Terraforming is the science of rebuilding planetary environments,” said Rry’kurr. “It’s a means of remaking dead worlds into places where life can flourish.”

  Terraforming, S’syrixx thought, though he believed “Gornarforming” might be a more appropriate, albeit still not perfectly precise, term. Aloud, he said, “Do you speak of ecosculpting, Captain?”

  “Ecosculpting,” Rry’kurr said, apparently pleased by the way the new term sat upon tongue and teeth.

  The Troi-mammal nodded again, t
hough S’syrixx found the movement of her hair somewhat less alarming this time. “Ecosculpting, yes,” she said. “We know that your fleet plans to use this technology on Hranrar.”

  “We think it has something to do with an ecological disaster that occurred sometime last year,” Rry’kurr said. “An event that left your warrior caste without a hatchery planet.”

  “Your government apparently thinks Hranrar is the best candidate to become a replacement for that hatchery planet,” said the Troi-mammal.

  S’syrixx’s throat went suddenly dry. How could the mammals have learned so much about the ecosculptor? Perhaps they were merely speculating, waiting for him to fill the gaps in their knowledge.

  It came to him then that his “rescue” might not redound to anyone’s good fortune. Despite the presence of kindred-appearing reptiloids here and there within this Federrazsh’n and its Sst’rfleet, surely the mammals who dominated both would do everything in their power to thwart the Gorn Hegemony’s efforts to replace the dead, sunscorched war-caster crècheworld of Sazssgrerrn. No, they would try to seize the fires of creation for themselves—perhaps after first allowing the Gorn ecosculpting team to finish testing and fine-tuning the ecosculptor for them. The consequences, whether for the innocent natives of Hranrar, the warrior caste, or the defense of the entire Gorn Hegemony itself, would be immaterial to the furry parasites of the Federrazsh’n.

  Great S’Yahazah, I have been delivered straight into their grasping, fleshy little paws, S’syrixx thought, a deep sense of desolation sweeping across his soul like an equatorial sandstorm on Gornar. Captain Krassrr will have much to answer for.

  But in the end, it wouldn’t matter who was ultimately to blame for what was to come. The warrior caste would die off through attrition, all for want of a suitable crècheworld. The mammals would merely have to play a waiting game. And when the time was finally ripe they would overrun all the Hegemony’s crècheworlds and colonies, sparing none of them—not even ancient Gornar itself. Then the Hegemony would die, and the mammalians would gnaw at its bones with their tiny yet wickedly sharp teeth. And the mammalian infestation would rule the entire cosmos, as it now ruled distant Inner Eliar. . . .

  S’syrixx suddenly became aware that Rry’kurr was speaking sharply to him. “Are you still listening to us, Mister S’syrixx? We know that you’re knowledgeable about that artifact—what you might call an ‘ecosculptor.’ And we think you know something about why the Gorn haven’t yet been able to get the thing through its preliminary trials.”

  S’syrixx bared his teeth and hoped the sight made the mammals uncomfortable. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Captain. I’m only a lowly kitchen worker. You’re interrogating the wrong person.”

  Rry’kurr paused to exchange a quick but apparently significant glance with the Troi-mammal; she responded with a silent shake of her head.

  The mammal captain stepped closer, coming almost nose to snout with S’syrixx. Surprised, S’syrixx inadvertently received a partial lungful of the stink of Rry’kurr’s cranial fur; he barely restrained himself from gagging.

  “Please don’t try to deceive us,” Rry’kurr said.

  “Why would you think I’d do that?” S’syrixx said, knowing he sounded pathetic. He struggled not to display any fear before the fur-bearing creatures. He knew they could smell such emotions, that they reveled in them.

  “Mister S’syrixx, you’re simply not an accomplished enough liar to fool my half-Betazoid diplomatic officer,” the captain said, his face flushing redder as his voice boomed in very evident anger. “The planet your people are using as a petri dish supports an indigenous civilization. If they activate this . . . ecosculptor there, millions of innocent people will die. I’m not going to just sit here and let that happen.”

  S’syrixx couldn’t have been more surprised if the mammal had just offered a proposal of marriage. Was it even barely possible that he had misjudged these beings, or that his caste superiors had done so? Or was it likelier that this was some devious interrogation trick, employed without remorse by clever but conscienceless mammals?

  “Why should you care about what happens to a few million Hranrarii?” he said. “You’re Federrazsh’n, aren’t you?”

  Rry’kurr seemed about to hurl an angry retort, only to be interrupted by the Troi-mammal, who suddenly jumped up from the bed upon which she sat.

  “Mister S’syrixx, I think a better question would be why you seem to care so much about what happens to a few million Hranrarii.”

  Rry’kurr displayed a look of surprise that S’syrixx thought must have mirrored his own. How had she known that? Could she detect chemical-pheromonic cues, as he could? Or was she some sort of telepath? What other potent secrets had these creatures managed to keep concealed from the Gorn Hegemony’s fund of general knowledge?

  S’syrixx felt the abrupt return of the intense light-headedness that had taken him down mere moments after his initial return to consciousness aboard Tie-tan. The room suddenly spun crazily about him, and he belatedly realized that someone was grabbing him, pushing him gently backward onto the bed.

  Someone with comfortingly scale-covered and claw-tipped limbs. He chose not to fight the ministrations of those limbs.

  “Captain, my patient needs a break from this . . . interrogation,” S’syrixx heard Ree say, a perilous anger evident in his voice. Although he was clearly subordinate to his mammalian captain, the physician was just as clearly unafraid to advocate on behalf of those in his care.

  “We’re not done here yet, Doctor,” Rry’kurr said.

  “Yes, you are, Captain,” Ree said. From his supine position on the bed, S’syrixx watched as the doctor interposed himself between his commander and the narrow bed on which S’syrixx lay.

  “Doctor,” said the captain, “the Gorn have seized a machine that will kill millions if they manage to get the damned thing started. That could happen any minute now. To prevent that, I need to know whatever your patient knows about that machine.”

  “My patient was near death less than an hour ago, Captain,” Ree said, his words carried along on a dangerous growl that might have given the doughtiest Gorn war-caster pause. “I will not have him badgered in this manner. Not in my sickbay. I will have you removed first. Please, Captain. Do not make me warn you again.” The physician punctuated his last request by displaying his double ranks of long, sharp carnivore’s teeth.

  S’syrixx noticed only then that the other three reptiloids were uncomfortably milling about the room’s periphery, as though unsure whose side to take. Was phylum-loyalty colliding with command discipline, right before his eyes?

  “Ree’s right, Will,” the Troi-mammal said, laying one of her pink paws on Rry’kurr’s arm in a manner that appeared strangely intimate. “S’syrixx needs to rest.”

  The mammal captain appeared to hesitate. Patting the Troi-mammal’s hand, he turned back to face Ree and said, “Fine, Doctor. Just make sure your patient understands that I don’t intend to play games with him. Not when the stakes are this high. If he won’t share his expertise with us—help us deal with the terraforming artifact over Hranrar—then I’ll repatriate him to the Gorn fleet at the earliest opportunity.”

  “Repatriate?” S’syrixx asked, once again unsure of the translator output he was receiving.

  The Troi-mammal drew uncomfortably close to him. “It means that the captain wants to send you back to the Gorn fleet.”

  “Once Doctor Ree certifies you fit and ready to travel, of course,” Rry’kurr said.

  S’syrixx experienced a jolt of panic; he considered trying to sit up again, but swiftly abandoned the idea. “You can’t do that,” he said.

  “Why not?” Rry’kurr said. “Because you’d find it inconvenient to be handed over to the same fine folks who made you walk the plank in the first place?”

  S’syrixx strongly suspected the translator was again having trouble rendering certain of Rry’kurr’s terms or idioms in Gorn Standard. Even so, there could
be no mistaking the captain’s meaning.

  “Please . . .” S’syrixx said. If the mammal captain was sincere in his threat to hand him over to Captain Krassrr, his life would be finished in very short order. Krassrr would leave nothing to chance in his second attempt to carry out the tribunal’s final and irrevocable Decision of Condemnation. In addition, S’syrixx knew that his having survived the initial execution would implicate his old friend R’rerrgran, earning him an execution of his own.

  Then there would be no one left to speak for the Hranrarii. No one save these savage warmbloods, whom every fiber of his being told him couldn’t be trusted not to pervert his knowledge of the ecosculptor. What, save S’syrixx’s own silence, was to stop them from turning it into a super-weapon to be wielded remorselessly against every caste in the Gorn Hegemony?

  “Think about that while you’re . . . convalescing,” Rry’kurr said as he turned on his heel and stalked toward the exit, the Troi-mammal following close behind him.

  S’syrixx came to a decision then. For better or worse, it might be better to find a way to survive among the unclean endotherms than to die at the cold claws of his own people. Summoning what little strength remained to him, he pushed himself back up onto his elbows despite Ree’s best efforts to make him recline.

  “Wait, mammal!” he cried.

  S’syrixx saw the two mammals pause on the threshold of the open doorway.

  Rry’kurr and the Troi-mammal turned back to face him. “I’m listening, Mister S’syrixx,” Rry’kurr said.

  “If you are truly as concerned about the survival of others as you would have me believe, then you will not return me to those who would execute me,” S’syrixx said. “Whether I cooperate fully with you or not.”

  “Why do you say that?” Rry’kurr asked.

  “Because, Captain Rry’kurr,” S’syrixx said as he felt his body lowering itself back into a recumbent pose, “I now formally request your protection from Captain Krassrr and the Gorn military.”