Star Trek: Typhon Pact: Seize the Fire

by Michael A. Martin

  Vale reflected momentarily on the irony built into Keru’s observation. Though the security chief was not joined to a Trill symbiont, his people had kept the dual nature of a prominent elite minority of their race a secret until well after Trillius Prime’s entry into the Federation. And until very recently, they had kept the truth about their symbiont population’s kinship to a conquest-driven race of alien parasites even more deeply buried.

  She hoped nobody present would have the poor taste to bring any of that up.

  “I agree,” said Tuvok. “To date, the Gorn have given us little reason to trust them.”

  “Good point,” Vale said.

  “You’re forgetting about the help they provided during last year’s Borg attacks, Mister Tuvok,” Riker said. “They suffered some very significant losses in that fight.”

  Tuvok nodded in acknowledgment. “I have not forgotten that, Captain. Nor have I overlooked their subsequent decision to abandon all détente with the Federation in favor of entering the Typhon Pact. Therefore I see no logic in imputing any motivation other than enlightened self-interest to their brief participation in the Borg conflict.”

  Though Vale wasn’t any more inclined to trust the Gorn than Tuvok was, she also wasn’t certain that the Vulcan’s “enlightened self-interest” hypothesis panned out either. Most of the territory controlled by the Gorn Hegemony lay deep enough in Beta Quadrant space to have been well out of harm’s way during the Borg invasion. And the Borg’s beef, as it were, had been with Earth, not with Gornar.

  But Vale knew what Tuvok and T’Pel had lost to the Borg: one of their adult children, as well as a daughter-in-law, both of whom had perished while helping others escape from their adopted homeworld of Deneva. Maybe Tuvok blames the Gorn for that, she thought. Maybe he thinks the Borg might not have had time to wipe out Deneva if only the Gorn fleet had put up more of a fight.

  “Not being a Federation member,” Pazlar said, “the Gorn Hegemony wasn’t obligated to assist us at all.”

  “No,” said Ra-Havreii. “But it also wasn’t obligated to join up with a Federation-hostile power the minute it got a bloody nose for making common cause with us.”

  Shaking her head, Troi said, “Until now, we’ve only had dealings with the Gorn Hegemony’s warriors and political leaders. But those account for only two of the Gorn civilization’s social castes, and there appear to be a lot more of those than we’d ever suspected before. S’syrixx says he belongs to one of their technological castes, and the fact that he differs biologically from members of the castes we are more familiar with tends to bear that out. He’s also part of an arts subcaste, according to his report, so he may have an entirely different perspective than any Gorn we’ve ever encountered before. He could give us unprecedented insights into Gorn psychology and politics.”

  Arts subcaste, Vale thought as she glanced down at the padd and its copious diagrams and illustrations. I suppose that explains all the pretty pictures he’s uploaded onto this thing.

  “Or he might merely be a hostile spy with an elaborate cover,” Tuvok said. “Furthermore, if we take Mister S’syrixx’s own report at face value, then we must necessarily believe that his own people regard him as a saboteur—and therefore as an untrustworthy liability.”

  Riker held up both hands and spread them in the universal imploring gesture of the peacemaker. “I’m well aware that there may be as much reason to distrust Mister S’syrixx as to trust him. Once I inform him of my decision regarding his asylum request, I’ll expect you to keep him under discreet but constant surveillance, Mister Keru.”

  “I won’t let him out of my sight, Captain,” said the big Trill. “My people are already watching him like Arbazan vultures.”

  “Then let’s table the political discussion for the moment,” Vale said, delighted at the opportunity to move on to more urgent matters. “While there’s a lot we still don’t understand about the Gorn, we do know that they’re no slouches when it comes to engineering. Between their technical people and those of the other Typhon Pact powers”—she paused to gesture toward the floating holographic rendering of the orbiting terraforming platform—“they’re bound to get that damned thing running again sooner or later.”

  “And I’d wager much more heavily on ‘sooner’ than on ‘later,’” Ra-Havreii said.

  Vale nodded. “And that naturally raises the question, ‘So what are we gonna do about it?’ “

  “That’s why we’re having this briefing,” Riker said. “To fully examine our options, and all the likely outcomes.”

  “I know we’ve discussed this before, but why don’t we start with the direct approach?” Vale asked. “Storming the castle, as it were.”

  Pazlar reached toward a keypad before her on the table and tapped its control face twice. At once, the holographic platform that hovered above the table vanished, to be replaced instantly by a detailed wire-frame diagram depicting the very same object. As the wire-frame of Brahma-Shiva began slowly rotating along all three of its axes of motion, Vale could see rough indications of large hollow interior spaces, juxtaposed with vaguely opaque portions that might have denoted interior walls or support beams or even banks of indistinct machinery. The totality of the image resembled a half-done schematic drawing executed by a bright but inexpert child architect.

  “What you’re seeing is the latest set of computer-enhanced images generated from the sensor returns we received from the probes the Gorn destroyed.”

  “Our decoys,” Vale said.

  “Fortunately, those sensor drones turned out to be a good deal more than mere decoys,” Pazlar said. “Before the Gorn ships finished zapping them all, they gave us the best glimpse we’ve had so far into Brahma-Shiva’s internal workings.”

  “Fascinating,” Tuvok said. “I thought that the alloy that comprises the object’s outer hull was largely resistant to our sensor scans.”

  Pazlar nodded. “It is. But Hranrar’s natural magnetic field is far more powerful than our most sensitive active scanning equipment. Evidently, it’s capable of penetrating the hull enough to act like an old-style radiological scanner.”

  “What they used to call an ‘X-ray machine’ on Earth a few centuries ago,” Riker said. “Or a fluoroscope.”

  “That’s the general idea,” Pazlar said. “By taking advantage of this ‘fluoroscope effect,’ we managed to pick up a surprisingly large volume of interior data via the passive sensors on the probes.”

  “Maybe we’ll luck out,” Vale said, “and discover that millennia of constant exposure to this ‘fluoroscope effect’ has baked Brahma-Shiva’s interior so completely that it just plain won’t work when the Gorn finally do get it powered up and switched on again.”

  “I might be straying a little bit out of my field here,” Keru said, “but I’d have to say that that’s a distinct possibility.”

  “It is, no question,” Pazlar said as Vale’s gaze followed the three-dimensional diagram’s almost hypnotically slow omnidirectional spin. “But we can’t afford to make an assumption like that. It isn’t safe for us, or for the Hranrarii.”

  “Regardless, the data appears to be somewhat incomplete,” Tuvok said. “Any plan for an assault on this structure using this data will necessarily be highly problematic.”

  “Probably,” Riker said. “Unless Mister S’syrixx can fill in some of the blanks for us. He says he knows how to monkeywrench the thing. Maybe he could also help us get a tactical team inside it. Help us figure out how to take control of the artifact directly.”

  “Perhaps he could even help us take Brahma-Shiva away from here entirely,” Troi said. “Or at least help us refine our scans to the point where the Federation could reverse engineer the underlying technology later.”

  Tuvok’s mostly impassive face immediately drew Vale’s attention, only because his left eyebrow seemed to be trying to climb entirely off the Vulcan’s forehead. Obviously, the prospect of using this technology to restore the worlds the Borg had ravaged was an attracti
ve one.

  But just as obviously, to ask Tuvok to trust S’syrixx enough to make such a thing possible was asking a hell of a lot of him, the teachings of Surak notwithstanding.

  “As I said, I want to consider all our options,” Riker said. “Particularly those that might give us the best chance of keeping this ship in one piece, and saving the Hranrarii as well.”

  The Hranrarii. Vale suddenly found herself all but consumed with curiosity about this mysterious race. It occurred to her that the crew of Titan had risked quite a lot—and was preparing, potentially, to risk even more—on behalf of a species she had never before laid eyes on.

  “About the Hranrarii,” she said. “Who are they? What do they look like?”

  Troi tapped another command into her keypad. The schematic of Brahma-Shiva vanished, to be replaced at once by a depiction of a being that could be described as humanlike only in the broadest of terms. The unclothed yellow-green form stood on two powerfully muscled legs, each of which came equipped with a pair of knees that bent in opposing directions, giving the creature an almost cricketlike aspect at first glance. The upper body sported two long arms, and all the extremities possessed long digits draped in thin folds of skin that appeared to be adaptations to an aquatic environment. The neck was striated with grooves that had to be gills, though the chest cavity looked robust enough to have supported a decent lung capacity as well. The noseless and thick-lipped head evoked Vale’s childhood memories of catching transplanted Terran frogs and native fanfish on Izar, and the enormous, forward-facing eyes brought to mind images of Izarian barn owls. The image began slowly revolving as it hovered, allowing everyone present to see the creature from every angle.

  “Like the primary Gorn homeworld of Tau Lacertae IX, Hranrar lacks large bodies of water,” Troi said. “Hranrar differs, however, in that its temperate zones support a large number of water-rich marsh ecologies. There is little seasonal weather variation because of Hranrar’s minimal axial tilt, and the gravitational of interactions between the planet and its five small natural satellites appear to have kept the rotational axis stable for eons. These conditions appear not to have changed significantly for many millions of years, during which time the Hranrarii wetlands have given rise to sapient life.”

  But sapient life, Vale thought, that looks a lot more Gornish than humanish. She couldn’t help but wonder whether Mr. S’syrixx would have been so determined to save these people if they’d come equipped with hair and lactation glands instead of gills and webbed digits. She suddenly felt her neck and face flushing with shame. Ree had been right: Humanity’s commitment to excising its worst prejudices was indeed an incomplete exercise, perhaps even a beginner’s art. Would I be more gung-ho about taking down that world-wrecker out there if the people in harm’s way looked more like my family than S’syrixx’s?

  “The planet’s only evident sentient species—the Hranrarii—are very well adapted to this kind of climate,” Troi continued. “Like the amphibians and amphibian-analogs of many worlds, the Hranrarii are extremely sensitive to even small changes in temperature and atmospheric composition. Fortunately for them, variables of that sort have never posed a serious threat to them, especially during their present era of high technology. Of course, Hranrar’s relatively gentle conditions have had a lot to do with the emergence of the Hranrarii’s highly advanced civilization.”

  “As highly advanced as this society may be,” Ra-Havreii said, “its accomplishments don’t yet appear to include a capacity for spaceflight of any kind.”

  “True enough,” Troi said. “Perhaps they have been so successful in living in harmony with their environment—and maybe with each other as well, since S’syrixx made no mention of warfare between Hranrarii tribes or nations—that they never developed any serious impetus to find other worlds to colonize, or even to take the strategic ‘high ground’ of low orbit.”

  As she continued to study the holographic Hranrarii, Vale noticed that the creature’s eyes periodically closed, then opened again, blinking in an irregular, slow-motion rhythm. The eyelids, when they became visible, revealed a complex pattern of markings that Vale interpreted as alien writing or pictographs, their lines, loops, and swirls rendered in luminescent oranges, blues, and purples. She figured them for tribal tattoos of some kind.

  “So we know that Hranrar has been kind to the Hranrarii until now,” said the captain. “But that could all go right out the airlock once Captain Krassrr’s terraforming team finishes undoing whatever damage S’syrixx did to Brahma-Shiva.”

  “Then we’d better be ready to do something before that happens,” Vale said. “Assuming, of course, that our good friend Mister S’syrixx has been leveling with us about all of this.”

  Riker nodded. “That’s my assumption, for the sake of the Hranrarii. And against the chance that we might grab that terraforming tech for the Federation. It could hold the key to restoring entire ecosystems virtually overnight.”

  “To say nothing of its value to us simply in terms of the balance of power between the Federation and the Typhon Pact,” Vale said. “Having the tech would help us defend against its being used against us as an offensive weapon—in addition to giving us the use of that very same offensive weapon. A triple threat, so to speak.”

  “An apt description,” Tuvok said drily. “And perhaps an equally apt reason to choose the option of destroying this technology rather than allowing it to proliferate.”

  “Nonsense,” Ra-Havreii scoffed. “Suppose that ‘proliferation’ could put right the damage the Borg did to us in a small fraction of the time nature would take to do the same job?”

  A frown like a thunderhead wrinkled the Vulcan’s brow. “Some damage can never be undone, Commander. There are limits to what even the Federation’s best and brightest can do.”

  Ra-Havreii folded his arms across his chest, standing his rhetorical ground. “The only limits are those that we impose upon ourselves.”

  A sad, almost stricken look crossed Troi’s face. “Tuvok may be right.”

  “Oh, please, Counselor,” Ra-Havreii said disgustedly. “Not you, too. If your Terran ancestors had exhibited this kind of diffidence in the face of the new and the different, their revered Zefram Cochrane wouldn’t have gone anywhere, boldly or otherwise.”

  “I’m not talking about technology,” Troi said, holding up a hand almost in a “warding-off” gesture. “I’m talking about law, and Starfleet regulations. Realistically speaking, what can we do here? We’re still just as constrained by the Prime Directive as we were when we first arrived.”

  Vale didn’t much like thinking about it, but she knew that Troi was correct. Under a strict interpretation of the Prime Directive, Titan’s officers and crew would be forbidden even to warn the Hranrarii about their impending doom. The Hranrarii, after all, had yet even to put one of their own into low Hranrar orbit; the discovery of warp-drive technology, the traditional benchmark of Federation first-contact scenarios, was doubtless several generations away.

  And the Hranrarii generations alive today could well represent the last the species would ever produce, thanks to the Gorn.

  “Maybe our hands aren’t tied completely,” Pazlar said. “While the Gorn are still busy trying to repair Brahma-Shiva, can’t we at least send an away team down there to do a little covert studying of the natives and their civilization? It wouldn’t save the planet, but at least we could learn a little more about this society before . . .” She trailed off into a significant silence.

  “The Gorn are likely to be vigilant against any further incursions on our part,” Tuvok said.

  Ra-Havreii shrugged. “My engineering team won’t necessarily find that an insuperable problem.”

  “Approaching the Gorn flotilla too closely may be unwise,” Tuvok said. “Simply leaving this system and reporting our findings thus far to Starfleet may be the best option we have.”

  “That would leave the Hranrarii on the chopping block,” Riker said. “We’re talking about millions
of lives. I’d take a suicide run at Brahma-Shiva before I let the Gorn get away with genocide.”

  “So would I,” Ra-Havreii said, his grim tone leaving no doubt about his sincerity—or about the ghosts that still haunted him, from the engine room of the U.S.S Luna to the much more recent death of Titan’s AI avatar, whose brief and now terminated existence as a sentient being the chief engineer had been unable to restore. He obviously had no intention of allowing anybody else to die because of his actions, or because of his failure to act.

  A pall of thoughtful quiet had settled over the room. Obviously, nobody wanted to be stuck with the terrible final option Riker had just proposed, and that Ra-Havreii had just seconded—just as nobody seemed to be flinching from it, should the chips fall that way between now and this deadly game’s last hand.

  Troi was the first to break the contemplative silence. “We have to accept the possibility that the Gorn may succeed in denying us the ‘suicide-run’ option.”

  “Which is the same as saying that the Hranrarii are going to die no matter what we try to do about it,” Keru said.

  “As I said, we have to accept that outcome as a possibility,” Troi said. “And that obliges us to use every bit of Prime Directive ‘wiggle room’ we have.”

  “What kind of ‘wiggle room’ are we talking about here, Counselor?” Vale asked.

  “The kind that allows us to at least study the Hranrarii up close, but from behind concealment.”

  “You’re talking about a duck blind,” Riker said.

  “It may be the only answer, Will,” Troi said, her earlier sadness seemingly replaced by a gathering wave of enthusiasm.

  “An away team would be at continuous risk of discovery by both the natives and the Gorn,” Tuvok said. “To say nothing of the possibility that the Gorn may succeed in activating Brahma-Shiva while our away team is still on Hranrar’s surface. The entire endeavor may be unwise.”