Star Trek: Typhon Pact: Seize the Fire

by Michael A. Martin

  She’s not gonna buy what I’m selling, Vale thought. “Yes. One of the things we learned from your information network is that your world is already capable of blowing this threat out of your sky. I want to encourage your government to do exactly that.”

  Ereb stood for a long moment in thoughtful silence, her huge amphibian eyes giving an air of cool appraisal. Or was Vale seeing the disdainful stare of an avowed pacifist who had just been told there was no alternative to fighting?

  If these people really are pacifists, that might help explain why they never applied their matter-antimatter technology to the purpose of space flight, she thought. After all, alien contact all too often had the unfortunate consequence of alien conflict.

  Vale watched as Ereb turned toward the cops. “Leave the prisoners locked up here overnight,” the senior watcher said. “I will decide what is to be done about them by the time the morning arrives.”

  Moments later, a small grassy hill extruded upward from the otherwise flat meadowland of the tower’s roof. A divot in the grass opened and grew until it became large enough to accommodate Senior Watcher Ereb and the entire group of constables, all of whom entered it. Then the divot sealed itself and the resulting greenery-covered mound of earth quickly settled down until it was once again flush with the rest of the meadow.

  “Wow,” Vale said into the ensuing silence of the rapidly approaching night. “I think this may be the first time I’ve ever seen a building with a grass elevator.”

  Now that they were unaccompanied for the first time since their capture by the Hranrarii, the away team broke formation. Tricorders came out and scans commenced as team members moved this way and that from what Vale judged to be roughly the center of the meadow.

  “Don’t get too close to the edge, people,” Vale called out to the entire group as Sortollo and Troi approached her. “That first step down to street level is a lulu.”

  “I thought the justice of the peace said something about locking us up,” Sortollo said. “Where are the bars?”

  “Do you see any way off of this rooftop that doesn’t involve accelerating to terminal velocity?” Vale snarked, though she understood how difficult it could be to square the team’s present bucolic surroundings with the fact that they were really standing atop one of the tallest buildings in the Hranrarii city. They were therefore confined no less than they would be at the penal colony in New Zealand, or in the dilithium mines of icy Rura Penthe.

  “Good point,” Sortollo said. “I suppose installing bars would just be gilding the lily.”

  “At least it’s pretty up here,” Troi said. “I wonder how cold it’s going to get, though. Assuming we’re here all night, that is.”

  Noting a slight cooling and acceleration in the breeze, Vale wondered why the local gendarmes couldn’t at least have brought their thermal provisions along. “Let’s hope we’re not stuck here long enough to find out.”

  Acting out of habit, she tapped her combadge and said, “Vale to Titan.”

  She expected to be greeted, yet again, with static-laced silence, to be followed by feelings of foreboding as she wondered what had become of the starship. Could Titan really have burned up in the atmosphere? Or was her captain merely employing the time-honored tactic of “playing dead” for the time being?

  Instead, she received a surprise that nearly made her leap off the roof. “Titan here, Commander,” Will Riker said. “Give me a sit rep.”

  U.S.S. TITAN

  “Somehow we’ve managed to pierce the ship-to-shore interference,” Riker said, delighted that he was once again hearing the voices of his away team—and his Imzadi. “We’re on a tight beam, so there’s not much chance of Krassrr intercepting this. But that’s only the good news.”

  “We can take it, Captain,” said Christine Vale. “What’s the bad news?”

  Relaying the very information that Lieutenant Rager had just given him after his ready-room conversation with Gog’resssh, Riker said, “We still can’t establish a transporter lock. Considering the fact that we’re hiding out in the most geomagnetically active zone in this planet’s atmosphere, we shouldn’t be able to establish audio contact either. But I’ll take whatever I can get.”

  “If the same thing should happen with the transporter, then we’ll all take that, too,” Deanna said.

  “Believe me, Counselor, if that should happen you’ll all be beamed up so fast it’ll make you dizzy.” Though he kept his tone light, being so paradoxically near to yet far from his wife caused him an almost physical sensation of pain, deep in his gut. “In the meantime, let’s hope your instincts about Hranrarii pacifism are on target. Deanna, are you and Chris on the same page about that?”

  “I believe so, Will.”

  “At least it means you’ll probably be safe down there until we can find a way to retrieve you.”

  “There’s that,” Vale said. “Still, I have to wonder how the Hranrarii’s apparent aversion to violence squares with a need for armed cops.”

  “Even the pacifist society on Halka creates enough low-level troublemakers to need a small police force, Chris.”

  “Point taken. But if these people are true pacifists, then convincing them that they have a better option than just letting the Gorn blow their ecosphere to quarks could be a much tougher sell. Unless these people are secretly superbeings like the Organians, they’re about to be royally screwed.”

  As unfortunate as it was, such was the fate that all too often befell pacifists—as well as those unfortunate enough to be caught in their midst whenever somebody more aggressive decided to let slip the dogs of war.

  “I swear I’ll get all of you out of there before the Gorn have their way with the place,” he said. “I could send a shuttlecraft out now. You’re on a rooftop.”

  “I wouldn’t do it, Captain,” Vale said. “Not unless Brahma-Shiva is showing signs of imminent Ragnarok, if you’ll pardon my mixed pantheons. There’s still a chance we might persuade these people to act on their own behalf. We start flying evac missions, then we’d not only be putting our theories about Hranrarii pacifism to the test, we’d also be tipping our hand to Krassrr.”

  “Krassrr’s not the only Gorn commander I’m concerned about,” Riker said, and then filled his exec in on the conversation he’d just had with the rogue Gorn skipper about making a joint effort to neutralize Brahma-Shiva before its final activation.

  “Please don’t tell me you’re going to trust him, Captain,” Vale said.

  Riker grinned. “Let’s just say I trust him to act in what he perceives to be his own self-interest. Don’t worry, Chris—I won’t be sticking my head in his jaws.”

  “That’s a sound policy regarding the Gorn, sir. Very prudent.”

  Riker chuckled. “Keep me apprised of any changes, Commander. I’ll do likewise. Titan out.”

  Rager turned from her console to face Riker. Her dark features were folded into a puzzled frown. “Captain, I’m picking up some unauthorized use of the external comm-system protocols. According to the comm logs, the transmissions were sent via the impulse exhaust manifolds.”

  “Sent where?” If somebody in Krassrr’s fleet had received a “posthumous” message from Titan, then life was about to get an order of magnitude more complicated for everyone on board—not to mention for the away team that was still trapped on Hranrar’s surface.

  After consulting her console for a moment, Rager said, “The message was transmitted to Gog’resssh’s ship. The S’alath.”

  Having nearly been burned badly once already, the name of only one possible culprit sprang to mind. “S’syrixx.” Riker rose from his chair and strode toward the turbolift. “Mister Gibruch, you have the bridge.”

  The human came storming unexpectedly into Qontallium’s quarters, his entrance briefly seeming to startle the Gnalish Fejimaera security officer as much as it did S’syrixx. S’syrixx had never before seen Rry’kurr appear so angry.

  “You haven’t been honest with us, Mister S’syrixx,”
the mammal said with a snarl that would have done credit to Captain Krassrr himself.

  “I . . . do not know what you mean,” S’syrixx said, though his protestation sounded weak even to himself.

  Rry’kurr stopped after his furry mammalian face had gotten to within the width of a youngling’s manus of S’syrixx’s broad snout. “Fortunately for me, my executive officer can match you high-tech trick for high-tech trick—and she’s at least twice as suspicious as I am. She thought you might try something like this after your little meltdown in sickbay.”

  S’syrixx took an involuntary step backward, toward the window that displayed the planet’s frozen polar reaches and their auroral fireworks. The shelf below the window still supported the holopicture of Qontallium and his slain mate. S’syrixx’s mind reeled; he’d been clumsy and stupid in tripping over an overzealous Federrazsh’n officer’s security protocols.

  “I know you’re communicating with somebody aboard the S’alath,” Rry’kurr continued, advancing relentlessly as S’syrixx retreated. “Are you working with Gog’resssh?”

  S’syrixx tried not to cower, but he couldn’t bear to let the mammal get any closer to him. “No, Rry’kurr. I do not . . . work well with war-casters. Krassrr, for example.”

  “All right. Then who were you talking to aboard the S’alath?”

  At length, S’syrixx said, “Z’shezhira was serving aboard the S’alath when Gog’resssh seized command over a suncircuit ago.”

  “Z’shezhira?” Rry’kurr demanded.

  “My . . . betrothed. She is caught in Gog’resssh’s claws, Rry’kurr.”

  The human lapsed into silence. He backed away a few paces, and seemed to calm somewhat as he processed what S’syrixx had told him. S’syrixx knew that Rry’kurr was separated from his own mate at the moment; perhaps he could even understand something of what S’syrixx was experiencing.

  But was any mammal, however clever, really capable of empathy?

  “So that’s what you’ve been holding back,” Rry’kurr said at length, his tone now far milder than when he had entered.

  “It can be difficult to learn to trust, Rry’kurr,” S’syrixx said.

  “It’s not any easier for me, Mister Ssy’rixx. Which is why I’m confining you to these quarters until that changes. And that means no access to padds or computers until further notice.”

  S’syrixx favored the mammal with a good-natured snort. “That’s far better treatment than I received from Krassrr. Rry’kurr, is there anything you can do to free her from Gog’resssh?”

  The mammal looked at him quietly for a lengthy moment with those disconcertingly tiny eyes. “I don’t know, S’syrixx. But I’ll do whatever I can. Provided you aren’t withholding any other important information.”

  “I’ve told you everything,” S’syrixx lied. There were some secrets so deep that they were beyond the ken of even the most cunning of mammals. “All I ask is that you continue to allow me to help you in your efforts to save the Hranrarii.”

  Rry’kurr began moving toward the door. “Mister S’syrixx,” he said, “I think I’m going to need all the help I can get.”

  GORN HEGEMONY WARSHIP S’ALATH

  Z’shezhira gradually became aware that a metal grillwork was pressing against her face, biting into the delicate scales near her right eye. Feeling, which consisted predominantly of pain, returned to her body, which she discovered was in a prone position. She hooked her claws into the deck grille, and the muscles in her arms burned as she pushed herself up into a sitting position.

  Amid the gray starkness of what she immediately recognized as a warrior-grade detention cell, Second Myrmidon Zegrroz’rh towered over her, his body hunched in a taut, battle-ready crouch.

  “You would be dead now if the decision were mine to make,” he snarled. “I would have spaced you after your first act of betrayal.”

  She offered him only silence. I cannot betray that toward which I feel no loyalty.

  The blue forcefield that protected the hatch threshold behind Zegrroz’rh suddenly flashed, then vanished altogether to admit First Myrmidon Gog’resssh. The commander stepped into the chamber, and the security screen returned with an ozone-tinged crackle a moment later.

  “Then it is fortunate indeed that this vessel runs on my authority rather than yours, Second Myrmidon,” Gog’resssh said. “Get to your station.”

  With a muttered grumble, the second myrmidon acceded, exiting the cramped cell.

  Z’shezhira quietly studied Gog’resssh as Zegrroz’rh lumbered past. Although the first myrmidon appeared as authoritative and steady as ever, his facial and cranial scales seemed to be growing discolored, graying slightly around the edges as though he were finally beginning to succumb to the radiation exposure that he and his troopers had experienced at Sazssgrerrn. She wondered how long it had been since he had consented to a radiation treatment?

  Perhaps, if we are all fortunate, his own fear of being poisoned by an infirmary medic will soon become his undoing, she thought.

  “I have seen the message you received from Tie-tan,” Gog’resssh said. “I know you have a confederate aboard the mammal vessel. “If I did not need your genes to establish a new, more intelligent warrior caste, I would have left you to Zegrroz’rh’s tender mercies a good deal longer.”

  Still seated on the hard deck, she rotated her shoulders slightly and winced at the pain the small movement generated. “It feels as though the time-interval was more than adequate.”

  Gog’resssh’s chest resonated with a guttural, chuffing laugh as he reached down, grabbed her left cranial crest, and pulled her painfully to her feet. “There is a price for acting in bad faith, little egg bringer. But as I said, I need your wisdom to help shape the future.” He released her cranial crest and turned toward the cell’s sole entrance.

  Z’shezhira struggled to maintain control over her breathing. “What future?”

  He came to a stop less than a claw’s width from the blue forcefield, which crackled and snapped as though driven to hunger by the nearness of Gorn flesh. “Why, the future that you yourself helped me visualize. A future in which a new Gorn warrior caste, a hybrid of my lineage and yours, takes control of the entire Gorn Hegemony.”

  She nodded, understanding to the marrow of her bones that it would be extremely unwise to do anything other than humor him. “Yes, First Myrmidon.”

  “The ranks of my warriors are badly depleted,” he said, deactivating the forcefield with an almost casual flick of his claws against the large, blunt keypad on the gray wall beside him. “As are your own caste’s numbers here aboard the S’alath.”

  “I know,” she said, feeling no small amount of regret. How many tech-caste lives might she have saved had her will to resist Gog’resssh not broken?

  “I need you on the command deck, at your post,” he said, stepping out into the narrow, semidarkened corridor. “To help me take the first step into the new warrior caste’s future, just as you suggested.”

  Not at all certain she was experiencing either eagerness or reluctance, she followed him. “What exactly would this . . . first step involve?”

  He paused in his march toward the command-deck lift and regarded her with his eerie insectoid gaze, his eyes refulgent with their own internal light. “We will destroy the ecosculptor before Krassrr can use it to annex this world for his old-order warriors—and before the mammals try to steal it for themselves. Before this dayturn ends, I will have set the old warrior caste back on its heels, frustrated the ambitions of the Federrazsh’n mammals, and even taken one of their most advanced vessels as part of a fleet of my own.”

  He turned and strode quickly toward the lift, leaving Z’shezhira to trot behind him. Though she was as disgusted as ever by the notion of sharing her genes with a mad warcaster—and it was surely nothing short of madness to entertain such ambitious plans of conquest when a Typhon Pact fleet would soon arrive to weigh in on much of Gog’resssh’s agenda—she allowed herself to feel some relief as wel
l; after all, a successful sneak attack on the ecosculptor would generate the decidedly nontrivial side effect of survival for millions of Hranrarii, unless certain Gorn or Typhon Pact decision-makers took the unlikely step of holding Hranrar responsible for the deed, rather than Gog’resssh.

  As she once again contemplated the monster who would use her as a broodmother, she thought, I wonder if the Hranrarii crossed Gog’resssh’s mind even once.

  U.S.S. TITAN

  Lacking access to any part of Tie-tan other than Lieutenant Qontallium’s quarters—to say nothing of access to any device capable of interfacing with shipboard computer systems—S’syrixx had little to do but stare contemplatively through the window at the curvature of northern Hranrar. When he wasn’t doing that, he was either gazing at the holophoto of the late Senior CPO Sar Antillea, or engaging her widowed mate in desultory conversation.

  S’syrixx carefully avoided mentioning Antillea, however, so as not to remind himself of the peril his own beloved still faced.

  The door chime sounded, prompting Qontallium to say, “Enter.”

  The tall, broad, and very hirsute mammal known as Ranul Keru entered, ducking slightly as he crossed the low threshold. He exchanged nods with Qontallium before approaching S’syrixx closely.

  “The captain has made a change of plans,” Keru said. “Because he still relies on your input, he wanted you to be informed.”

  “I am grateful to be taken into consideration,” S’syrixx said, completely sincere. “What plan has changed?”

  “With the Typhon Pact fleet only a little more than five hours out, the chances of successfully snatching the terra-forming device away from Krassrr look to be about nil,” Keru said. “Captain Riker has decided that our only option is to mount a sneak attack and destroy the thing outright. It’s a shame, but it’s the only way to prevent Krassrr from wiping out the Hranrarii. The captain just thought you ought to know while he’s busy going over the tactical plans.”

  No, S’syrixx thought. No, no, no, no!