“Please stand by to beam us out at our next signal, Captain. We still have to activate the delayed-detonation sequence.”
“Why the hell can’t we do that remotely, once we’re all back aboard Titan?” Keru said to Ra-Havreii in an almost conspiratorial tone as he busied himself entering the detonation parameters into a control padd.
The engineer shrugged. Sotto voce, he said, “Mostly because the ‘kaboom’ signal might not get through. As much as I’d like to do this thing by pushing a button a quarter-billion klicks away from here, we can’t risk letting a stupid malfunction bring down a whole civilization.”
“—cknowledged, Commande—Finish up—s quickly as—ou can.—itan will stand by—as long as Krassrr will—et us.”
Scant moments later, Keru looked up from the displays on his detonator padd. “Ready, Commander Tuvok. In sixty seconds, this whole place will be just more raw material for Hranrar’s ring system.”
Tuvok nodded. He was about to tap his combadge again when a sibilant growl from behind him interrupted the motion.
He turned away from the wall, facing the cavernous main room’s formerly empty center.
The space was empty no longer. Hovering about three meters off the floor was a red-orange sphere approximately twice the diameter of a typical humanoid’s head. It seemed both solid and insubstantial, both real and unreal, a thing of ethereal dreams and rock-hard reality all at once. Intermittent, ephemeral flares of energy orbited the thing as it steadily grew, nearly doubling in size in the span of just a few seconds. Lightninglike flashes encircled it, popping in and out of existence like pairs of virtual subatomic particles, or the short-lived electrical discharges that bridged the progressively widening gap in the primitive device known on Vulcan as a T’Klaas’s Ascent, or on Earth as a Jacob’s Ladder.
“It would appear that the Great Egg Bringer has decided to alter the plan,” S’syrixx said, his tone at once fearful and awestruck. “S’Yahazah comes!”
“Time until detonation?” Tuvok said, ignoring the Gorn’s displays of fear and reverence.
“Damned timer stopped at fifty-two seconds,” Keru said after glancing at his detonator padd.
Tuvok acknowledged the security chief’s observation with a nod as the glowing, energetic apparition in the middle of the chamber continued to swell and grow. The ruddy sphere already filled the room’s center, nearly touching both floor and ceiling.
“I’m afraid that’s not all,” Ra-Havreii said.
Tuvok braced himself for still more bad news. “Go ahead, Commander.”
“The antimatter in the explosive charges has somehow been . . . neutralized.”
Tuvok’s left eyebrow involuntarily lofted toward the ceiling. “ ‘Neutralized?’ “
“Rendered inert somehow. I’ve never seen anything like it, so I’m afraid I don’t have any better way of explaining it. Whatever caused it, here’s the bottom line: those charges now have all the destructive power of so much Kaferian apple butter.”
“There is only one cause for everything in all the universe,” S’syrixx said, staring worshipfully into the expanding energy sphere. “S’Yahazah, the cosmic mother.”
Visibly losing control of his temper, Keru turned his large frame toward the Gorn and said, “Will you please shut up about your precious—”
“Commander Keru,” Tuvok said, interrupting. “Regardless of its possible religious significance to the Gorn, this manifestation is undoubtedly the source of our current . . . technical problems.”
“It could be some sort of internal defense system,” Ra-Havreii said with a nod.
“Indeed. It may even exhibit at least a rudimentary intelligence, just as Mister S’syrixx alleges.”
“Real sentience?” Ra-Havreii sounded skeptical. “Forgive me for saying this bluntly, Commander, but I think that may be something of a stretch.”
Tuvok couldn’t blame Ra-Havreii for adopting such a skeptical perspective; ordinarily, he was no more sanguine about what the humans called “hunches” than was the engineer. On this occasion, however, a sensation—a feeling—of near certainty plagued him, refusing to relinquish its hold over his imagination.
“This . . . object,” Tuvok said, pointing toward the still-growing sphere, “recognized the active ingredient in our munitions and neutralized it. It could have employed any number of more lethal methods against us. Yet it acted with apparent deliberation in taking a more moderate approach.”
“I think ‘apparent’ is the operative word, Commander,” Ra-Havreii said, still clearly unconvinced.
“Outside the context of some manner of direct telepathic contact,” Tuvok said, “all sentience is mere appearance—even sentience capable of passing the Turing test.”
“So what are you proposing, Commander?” Keru said, gesturing toward the glowing, expanding orb. The object now seemed well on its way to pushing the boarding party into the walls. “That we try to reason with this thing?”
“That is precisely what I am suggesting, Mister Keru. Since destroying it is no longer an option, establishing communication with it may be the only way to save the Hranrarii from obliteration.” To say nothing of the boarding party, Tuvok added silently.
“Tuvok, exactly how do you propose to do that?” Keru said.
“I will initiate a mind-meld.”
Ra-Havreii shook his head. “You saw what happened both times we tried to download a little data, Commander.” He gestured toward the section of the floor where White-Blue’s inert metal-clad body lay beside a burned-out data module. “What makes you think you’ll fare any better?”
Tuvok could see that Keru, Ra-Havreii, and Qontallium were all looking askance at him. He ignored their obvious disapproval.
“Beam back to Titan, all of you. Take White-Blue with you.”
“What about you, Commander?” Keru said.
“Have Titan maintain a lock on me for as long as possible,” Tuvok said. “Await my signal. I do not want to risk beaming back to Titan until we are certain that Brahma-Shiva has been neutralized.”
“And if you end up just like White-Blue?” Ra-Havreii said with a scowl.
“In that event, please inform T’Pel that I merely did what logic demanded,” Tuvok said. “And that my last thoughts were of her.”
With that, he turned and approached the ragged edge of the spreading globular nimbus of coruscating energies. He felt the hairs on his neck and arms stand on end as he spread both hands and slowly extended them toward the object’s sparking, flashing boundary layer.
29
U.S.S. TITAN
Xin Ra-Havreii held his breath as the transporter took him. During the few seconds he spent disembodied in the matter stream, as the arcane hieroglyphics of the alien artifact’s interior gave way to the minimalist blue color scheme of one of Titan’s transporter rooms, he conceived a ridiculous hope.
Once the materialization process was complete, he noted with no small amount of disappointment that the transporter had reassembled the guilt he carried, along with the rest of his mind and body. The guilt, of course, had been well earned—he had agreed, along with the rest of the boarding team, to leave Commander Tuvok to face a deadly danger by himself.
“Where’s Commander Tuvok?” said Lieutenant Bowan Radowski, who was running the transporter console. “And your Gorn, um, guest?”
Still standing on the transporter stage, Ra-Havreii turned to look at his teammates. He quickly noted that only Keru and Qontallium stood with him, with the insensate metal form of SecondGen White-Blue and the dead data module each lying on one of the stage’s rear pads.
“Our friend Mister S’syrixx hopped out of the way of the beam at the last moment,” Qontallium said. “I saw him move but I didn’t want to risk . . .” The Gnalish security officer trailed off in apparent shame.
“Nothing to be embarrassed about, Qur,” Keru said. “Trying to dodge an active transporter beam is a good way to get yourself sliced in half. If S’syrixx is still alive he ca
n count himself as damned lucky.”
“Okay,” Radowski said, looking troubled, as though the unilateral decisions of two members of the boarding team to remain behind signified a personal failure on his part. “That accounts for one of the missing transportees. Why did Commander Tuvok insist on staying behind?”
“He had to take care of some . . . unfinished business,” Ra-Havreii said as he helped Keru and Qontallium carry White-Blue from the transporter stage.
Radowski’s combadge interrupted the proceedings. “Bridge to transporter room two,” Captain Riker said, his signal refreshingly static-free. “Report.”
“Most of the boarding team is back aboard, Captain,” Radowski said sheepishly. “Commander Tuvok and our Gorn guest are still aboard Brahma-Shiva.”
While Radowski and Keru quickly brought the captain up to speed, Ra-Havreii walked to the console that tied in with the main bridge viewer and activated it; having just witnessed the rather startling changes the artifact’s interior had undergone, he wanted to see what, if anything, was happening to the thing’s ancient, meteoroid-pitted exterior.
What appeared on the screen startled him. From its squat base to the kilometers-long needle-like structure that comprised the bulk of the object’s length, Brahma-Shiva was now nearly blindingly refulgent with an internally generated, bluish brilliance. Judging from the rate at which the illumination seemed to be increasing, it wouldn’t be long before no one aboard Titan could safely look at the thing without the intervention of filters and digital image enhancements.
“I hope the ghost in this machine isn’t an obsessive conversationalist,” Ra-Havreii said. “There’s no way this thing’s internal power buildup can be sustained for much longer.”
Ra-Havreii could foresee only one ending—a massive energy discharge directed at the surface of Hranrar. And the gods only knew what close proximity to such an enormous release of power would do to anyone foolish enough to be aboard Brahma-Shiva at the time.
“I’ve just established new transporter locks on both Commander Tuvok and Mister S’syrixx,” Radowski said, a note of triumph in his voice. “Don’t know how long they’ll last, though, considering the rise in Brahma-Shiva’s energy output.”
“Tell them you’re beaming them back, Bowan,” Ra-Havreii said to the transporter engineer.
Radowski nodded, his nimble fingers quickly opening a channel to what remained of the boarding team. “Titan to Commander Tuvok. Stand by for immediate beam-out.”
“Negative, Lieutenant,” Tuvok responded, his preter-naturally calm voice bursting through the curtain of static being generated by Brahma-Shiva’s immense internal power buildup. “Mister S’syrixx and I are not yet ready to leave.”
Keru’s brow crumpled. “Are you communicating with S’syrixx’s AI?”
“We have reached a . . . critical juncture,” the Vulcan said enigmatically. “Please stand by.”
Radowski threw his hands in the air.
“We’d better get the captain to settle this one,” Keru said, tapping his combadge.
Ra-Havreii had to agree. “I’ll be in engineering.”
GORN HEGEMONY WARSHIP S’ALATH
Gazing around the command deck with ever-increasing rage and frustration, Gog’resssh could see that the tattered remnants of his crew had all but turned to stone. They had balked at his order. The first myrmidon neither knew nor cared whether this reticence was born of a desire to save their own lives, or superstitious dread of some Gorn fertility goddess, or misgivings about the fate of the new warrior caste he still dreamed of building even now.
But he knew that what should matter to a Gorn warrior was the fulfillment of his orders; the will of a warrior’s superiors, once articulated, was to be carried out, and could be contravened only by death itself—a death that could later be extended to an entire family line should that warrior’s death turn out to be the result of his own cowardice, error, or some other malfeasance.
Gog’resssh reached Narrzsesh in two long paces. The diffident helmrunner lay sprawled on the deck, neck-broken and twitching, before he’d even realized what was happening to him. Before anyone else present could react, Gog’resssh entered all the necessary course and speed changes into the helm console with his own two steady manus.
The glow of the ecosculptor increased to nearly blinding intensity as it rushed toward the S’alath, swiftly filling the entirety of the forward viewer as the warship began its final headlong dash.
U.S.S. TITAN
Z’shezhira ignored the two armed mammals hovering nearby as she stood near Rry’kurr’s chair and studied the main forward viewer; it displayed the squat lower portion of the ecosculptor, and the night-darkened immensity of Hranrar far below it.
“It seems we’re on the same side of the planet as our surface away team now,” Rry’kurr said. “Lieutenant Rager, can we get a transporter lock?”
The mammal Rry’kurr had addressed shook her head. “Not with all the energy emanating from the artifact at the moment, Captain. There’s way too much interference to lock onto anything on the planet’s surface. I can barely get a comm signal through right now. We’re lucky to maintain a transporter lock with Brahma-Shiva.”
None of that came as a surprise to Z’shezhira, and she doubted it was news to Rry’kurr either; he was merely exploring every conceivable option in a bad situation.
“That’s not the only obstacle in our way,” he said, apparently addressing no one in particular.
“You refer to Captain Krassrr’s fleet,” Z’shezhira said. “And the Typhon Pact reinforcements that are on their way.”
“There’s more on top of that. The Hranrarii took our surface team into custody inside one of their cities. They’re advanced enough to have put any number of antitrans-porter measures in place.”
Z’shezhira used her left manus to gesture toward the portion of the screen that showed both the S’alath—motionless in relation to the ecosculptor—and a pair of Captain Krassrr’s recon vessels, which appeared to be slowly moving away.
“The news is not all bad, Rry’kurr,” she said. “You at least appear to have achieved a stalemate with Captain Krassrr, in a manner of speaking.”
“Maybe,” he allowed. “At least for the moment.”
“Call it what you will. But none of Captain Krassrr’s vessels have opened fire on Tie-tan as yet. And the S’alath is merely holding station near the ecosculptor—as though Gog’resssh has become indecisive.”
“We both know from experience that Gog’resssh has no trouble making snap decisions. This is only the calm before the storm.”
“Captain,” the mammal named Rager said, “Krassrr’s five ships are spreading out into a roughly globular formation surrounding Brahma-Shiva, the S’alath—and us.”
Z’shezhira’s forked tongue darted across her teeth and lips several times rapidly, a mark of her frustration. “That is certain to complicate any effort you might make to leave the immediate vicinity of the ecosculptor, Rry’kurr.”
The mammal captain displayed his tiny teeth. “Don’t worry. I have no intention of going anywhere until after Commander Tuvok persuades Brahma-Shiva to spare the Hranrarii.”
Focusing her narrowed gaze on him, she said, “Assuming that such a thing is even possible.”
“S’syrixx believes that the artifact carries the essence of a Gorn elder goddess. Can’t your deities be swayed by prayer?”
“Appealing to gods can be like bargaining with a supernova,” she said. “S’syrixx’s faith has always been stronger than mine. I always meant to tell him that he entered the wrong subcaste—that he should have taken religious orders.”
The mammal captain was watching her intently with those strange blue eyes. “You’ll have the chance to do that, Z’shezhira. I promise.”
An involuntary growl started up, directly behind her sternum. “How, Rry’kurr? Captain Krassrr has you backed into a corner, forcing you to use the ecosculptor as a shield. What can you do with a set of options t
hat bad?”
The mild expression—the smile—returned, but without the display of tiny teeth. “What I can do is wait until a better set of options presents itself. I can—”
“The S’alath is moving again, Captain,” Rager reported, interrupting the conversation. “High impulse.” She turned from her console to face her captain. “He’s going to ram Brahma-Shiva!”
I wonder what took him so long, Z’shezhira thought. She supposed some of his crew might have rejected a suicide order after having listened to Gog’resssh’s fire-breathing rhetoric about being destined to found a new warrior caste.
“Get a tractor beam on that ship!” Rry’kurr shouted, leaping to his feet.
Tie-tan shook slightly under Z’shezhira as Rager complied. On the screen, a golden shaft of light seemed to impale the S’alath as though it were lakeprey struggling on the end of a spear.
“Got him,” Rager said. “He’s still on a heading directly for Brahma-Shiva, and trying to accelerate.”
“Pull him back, Lieutenant,” said Rry’kurr. “Lieutenant Lavena, hold station here. Keep us steady.”
“Aye, sir,” said the helmeted fishmammal pilot.
“The S’alath is doubling down on her engine output, Captain,” Rager said.
An angry-sounding voice issued from the comm system. “Ra-Havreii to bridge!”
“Bridge here,” Rry’kurr said.
“Captain, this ship is still healing from the last couple of poundings it’s received from the Gorn. We can’t sustain such high-power tractor-beam contact for much longer.”
“Sorry for the inconvenience, Commander,” Rry’kurr said. “But I’m afraid your team may have to play hurt just a little while longer. Keep up that beam intensity, at least until we can retrieve Tuvok and S’syrixx.”
“Make it soon, please, Captain. Engineering out.”
Z’shezhira regarded the human who stood watching the S’alath’s image with a growing sense of wonder. He is beset on all sides by enemies. And yet he remains willing to risk his ship and his crew on the unlikeliest of prospects—calming the proverbial supernova, dissipating its destructive energies with persuasion as his only tool.
Star Trek: Typhon Pact: Seize the Fire Page 37
