A Time to Harvest

by Dayton Ward

  Nechayev knew that getting Admiral Brand to recommend changes to the Academy’s military training curriculum would not have been difficult. The Academy superintendent had proposed greater emphasis on such subjects almost from the first day she had assumed that posting and soon after the initial discovery of the Borg and the awesome threat they represented.

  “There may be such a thing as going too far,” Ross countered, rising from his chair and crossing to the replicator. “Azernal’s paying a lot of attention to military initiatives, but what about other areas? We still have a lot of problems to solve, after all.”

  He had a point, Nechayev conceded. More than a year after the end of the Dominion War, rebuilding efforts were still under way on many member worlds and would require much in the way of time and resources to complete. If those concerns were ignored, the Federation risked alienating valuable allies at a time they were most needed. While Nechayev appreciated the need for a strong defense and had always advocated what she believed to be reasonable measures to assure that security, she had not joined Starfleet merely to wage war. Were the policy changes proposed by Koll Azernal too drastic?

  “I imagine the Federation Council will make sure he doesn’t go too far,” she said. “President Zife has assured the Federation that his first priority is rebuilding and reconstruction efforts. I’m sure that when he submits his plan to the council, all the issues, civilian and military, will be addressed accordingly.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Ross said as he retrieved another cup of coffee from the replicator and moved back toward his chair. “For the first time in a while, we’re at a point where we can concentrate on something besides war. I joined Starfleet to explore, after all.”

  As he passed her, Nechayev caught the scent of his coffee, its pleasing aroma touching off a grumbling in her stomach and reminding her that she had not yet eaten breakfast. A glance to the wall chronometer told her that she had fifteen minutes to see to that particular issue before the demands of her daily schedule began in earnest.

  Ignoring her stomach for the moment, she instead said, “I take it you’ve reviewed Picard’s report?”

  Ross nodded as he sipped his coffee. “First thing.” Shrugging, he added, “I needed a pick-me-up after the stuff I’ve been going over the last few days. His report is remarkable, to say the least.”

  “That there are survivors is what’s remarkable,” Nechayev replied, “but considering their predicament, that they’re thriving the way they are is incredible.”

  Rather than finding the decimated remnants of a planet that had once been home to a prosperous civilization, Jean-Luc Picard and the Enterprise had instead found survivors of the catastrophe that had destroyed the home planet of the Dokaalan more than two centuries earlier. Having accomplished rudimentary spaceflight, the Dokaalan had established a network of mining colonies in the immense asteroid field that drifted in orbit between the fifth and sixth planets of their solar system. The colonies had provided a rich source of minerals and raw materials, extracted from the asteroids and transferred back to the homeworld.

  It was that technological achievement which had also allowed thousands of Dokaalan to seek shelter among the mining colonies as their world fell victim to months of increasing tectonic stresses, uncontrollable forces that ultimately tore the planet apart. Millions of Dokaalan were lost in the disaster, leaving behind a scant fraction of the population to fend for themselves in the brutal environs of space and the asteroid field. Those people and their descendants had gone on to fashion a new way of life, one based at first on sheer survival and later augmented by fierce determination and the desire to honor those who had lost their lives so long ago.

  “Their level of technology is on a par with Earth’s at the time of our first permanent settlements on the moon,” Ross said. “Their space vessels possess a rough equivalent to impulse drive, which at least make interplanetary journeys possible within reasonable amounts of time, but their warp-drive efforts have been almost nonexistent save for the rudimentary engines used to power the trio of unmanned probes they sent with their call for help.”

  Still, it was enough, she conceded. Primitive though the Dokaalan’s efforts at faster-than-light travel might have been, they were still sufficient to circumvent any dissenting opinions voiced by some members of Starfleet and the Federation Council that interacting with these people was a violation of the Prime Directive. Per that very strict principle, such contact was reserved for those species who demonstrated the ability to travel at warp speeds and had therefore unlocked the potential to hurl themselves into the midst of an interstellar community they were in all likelihood ill prepared to face. So far as Nechayev was concerned, the Dokaalan certainly qualified in that regard, having met the directive’s criteria in their own unique way.

  “I’d like to go back two hundred years,” she said, “and tell our predecessors what a mistake they made by not sending a ship out to investigate when they found that first probe.”

  Ross chuckled at that. “I wouldn’t be too hard on them, Alynna. Times were different back then, after all.”

  “True enough,” Nechayev conceded. “What did they have? One or two long-range ships that could travel at warp five? That, and the Vulcans second-guessing everything Starfleet did.” Shaking her head, she added, “It was definitely a different time.” But an exciting one, she amended silently.

  “As for the Dokaalan, this terraforming project of theirs has a lot of people talking,” Ross continued, retrieving his padd and scrolling to that portion of Picard’s report. “Terraform Command is already jumping all over themselves to get a ship out there just from the information in the Enterprise chief engineer’s preliminary report.” Shaking his head, he added, “I wonder if they’re excited about the possibility of learning about a new terraforming method, or just scared that someone else out there has the know-how to try it.”

  A rhythmic tapping sound from the window caught Nechayev’s ear and she looked up to see the first raindrops smacking against the glass. The storm was definitely on the move, she decided.

  “I don’t think we have anything to worry about in that regard,” she said. “According to Picard’s report, the Dokaalan are motivated solely by survival and a desire to make a real home for themselves. Besides, it’ll take generations before that planet of theirs is ready.”

  The rain smacking against the window was growing more insistent now, and even from her vantage point high above the ground she could see trees far below swaying as the wind picked up, and idly wondered if the weather-modification network would be required to make adjustments for the coming storm’s intensity.

  Interesting thought, she mused, considering the topic of conversation.

  Placing his coffee cup on a table positioned between their chairs, Ross said, “He also said that they’ve declined offers not only to be relocated to another suitable planet, but even for us to assist them in their current efforts. Still, I’ve already spoken to Captain Scott and he tells me that as soon as we give the word he can send the Musgrave and its S.C.E. detachment to the Dokaalan system. They’ll act as an advance team until a full contingent from Terraform Command can get out there.”

  Nechayev nodded at that. The Starfleet Corps of Engineers might not be the best long-term solution if the Dokaalan changed their minds and accepted the offer of Federation assistance, but she knew that Captain Montgomery Scott’s department of versatile engineering and technical specialists was more than capable of filling in until a properly trained group of terraforming experts could be dispatched to the Dokaalan sector. In addition to providing assistance as quickly as possible, the presence of the Musgrave would be able to showcase Starfleet’s vast array of talents and proficiency.

  “The tough part will be convincing the Dokaalan to accept our help,” she said.

  “From everything Picard’s included in his reports,” Ross replied, “the Dokaalan are a proud and peaceful people.” Nodding in approval, he added, “Still, if
anyone can convince them of our desire to help them in any way we can, it’s him. I trust his judgment.”

  It was refreshing to hear someone else say that, Nechayev realized, especially when that someone was Ross. In the weeks since the incident with the Ontailians, it almost seemed as though no one in the halls of power at Starfleet Command was willing to voice their support of Jean-Luc Picard. This despite the fact that at least a few of those same people knew the truth behind the incident and why he had taken the blame for it. Even Ross himself had offered the notion in the aftermath of that incident that perhaps the time had come for Picard to retire. He had later retracted that statement, and his comment now further illustrated his restored faith in the Enterprise captain.

  In the admiral’s defense, he originally had good reason for his original thinking. Indeed, at the outset of the affair she too had been among those with strong feelings that Picard had finally reached the point in his distinguished career where it was time to step down, at least from active starship command. Her thinking had changed after learning the details of the incident, of course, and in the days afterward she had found herself in the unfamiliar position of being Picard’s ally, even his protector.

  Her relationship with the renowned captain had been a strained one at times, though as the years passed she had come to appreciate the man’s talents, experience, and wisdom. To this day she remembered their exchange over Picard’s decision not to deploy an invasive computer program into the Borg Collective that might have destroyed the Federation’s most feared enemy in one bold maneuver. To him, the attack would have been one of genocide, killing uncounted millions of individuals who were in fact helpless victims forcibly assimilated by the Borg. It was an unconscionable action in his eyes, one he had steadfastly refused to undertake.

  While Nechayev still fervently believed that Picard had acted incorrectly from a military standpoint, she had come to respect what had motivated him to make that decision. For Picard, the Federation’s laws and guiding principles were more than mere words. He lived his life and carried out his duties in strict adherence to those ideals. It was a position that had run him afoul of his superiors on numerous occasions, including the situation with the Ontailians and the demon ship.

  Of course, none of that had prevented Picard from being caught up in the larger machinations of interstellar politics. The proverbial powder keg that was the Ontailian governmental situation was still so delicate that their secession from the Federation was a constant threat. In order to prevent Ontailian leaders from losing the trust of their people in the aftermath of the embarrassing demon-ship incident and perhaps causing enough internal strife that they were forced to renounce their Federation membership, Picard had instead taken responsibility for the affair. His willingness, in Nechayev’s eyes at least, had done much to prove not only his loyalty to the Federation but also his absolute competence to command.

  I’m sorry to be counted among those who doubted you, Captain, she thought, hoping one day that circumstances would allow her to offer that apology in person.

  Listening to the melodic rhythm of the raindrops pelting her office window for a few moments, she said, “I trust him, too, though I wonder what some of his detractors will make of his report.” She held up her own padd. “The trouble he ran into during that rescue mission is going to raise some eyebrows. Twenty-seven deaths, including two of his own crew.” Shaking her head, she added, “It has to be weighing on him pretty heavily, I’d think, and while I know it wasn’t his fault, somebody might use that as just another reason to second-guess Starfleet’s decision to give him back command of the Enterprise.”

  Ross shook his head. “They’d be picking at nits. He saved nearly four hundred victims during that rescue operation. While it’s tragic that anyone was lost, it wasn’t because Picard was negligent and I’d be happy to take on anyone who said otherwise.”

  “Something tells me that when push came to shove, you’d have plenty of company,” Nechayev replied, smiling at the image their comments evoked. Rising to her feet, she added, “And with that in mind, I suppose we should be heading to the morning briefings.”

  Hanging his head in fine melodramatic fashion, Ross let go a heavy sigh of mock surrender. “All right, if we have to.”

  Nechayev chuckled as she moved to her desk to retrieve another padd, the one with her day’s agenda as well as the reports she would brief other staff officers on during the morning’s meeting session. It was then that her stomach provided her with another rude reminder.

  Breakfast. She sighed in amused resignation. Too late now. Hopefully, it was not another omen for the type of day waiting for her.

  Those hopes were buoyed, however, by the thought of the agitation Jean-Luc Picard’s report would invoke in those people she would face on this day, specifically the ones who had voiced doubt as to the Enterprise captain’s abilities and competence to continue as commander of the starship bearing perhaps the most storied name in Federation or even Earth history.

  Good work, Picard. Damn good work. His initial report had held such promise, his simple milk-run mission having blossomed into a heartening first-contact situation and a chance to demonstrate all of those qualities that so personified why the United Federation of Planets was founded in the first place.

  Alynna Nechayev wished she could be out there with Picard and the Enterprise. As she stepped with Ross into a turbolift on their way to their morning’s worth of dreary, boring meetings, a lone question occupied her mind.

  “I wonder how things are going out there?”

  Chapter Two

  WILL RIKER’S STOMACH LURCHED as the Enterprise moved around yet another large asteroid, rolling to port and allowing the massive hunk of rock to slip past.

  “Sorry about that, sir,” Lieutenant Kell Perim called over her shoulder from where she sat at the conn. Her fingers moved with the grace of a concert pianist’s as she entered commands to her console, which were in turn translated into instructions for the ship to maneuver through the Dokaalan asteroid field. “This last stretch is going to be a little rough.”

  Riker almost laughed out loud at the lieutenant’s comment. The Trill officer had worked at the same pace since leaving the Dokaalan central habitat for the now-crippled Mining Station Twelve. Riker wondered when she might tire—and whether that might happen before they reached their destination. For the third time in an hour, he felt compelled, pulled almost as if by tractor beam, to take the helm and fly the ship himself, but knew better than to act on that impulse. His place was the one he currently occupied—the center seat, in command of this mission, and trusting the people around him to do their jobs.

  “Now you tell me.” He tried to let a bit of his natural joviality lace his words, just enough to reassure Perim of his confidence in her skillful navigation through the asteroid field. Like everyone else on the ship and particularly those with a prime vantage point on the bridge, he knew that any travel through the seemingly endless expanse of tumbling asteroids drifting between them and hundreds of injured—most likely dying—Dokaalan was fraught with hazards at even the slowest speeds.

  That danger was magnified as the Enterprise pushed forward as fast as Perim dared, responding with all due haste to a call for help sent from one of the Dokaalan mining outposts. Captain Picard had been with First Minister Hjatyn and other members of the Dokaalan leadership caste when the call came, and had dispatched the ship to respond to the outpost’s plea as quickly as possible while he, Dr. Crusher, and Counselor Troi caught up to them in their shuttlecraft.

  Now the lives of more than eight hundred people were hanging on the ability of Commander Riker to move the Enterprise through this asteroid field, and complicating the matter even more was the information that Picard had shared with him: that the explosion at the mining outpost might have been a deliberate act of sabotage. Was someone, some group of Dokaalan, trying to instill terror in the rest of the community? Were they extremists pursuing some as yet unknown agenda and hoping
to extract a measure of conciliation from the Dokaalan leadership? If so, how far were they willing to go for their cause? Was the Enterprise in danger?

  That this was the second such rescue mission they had mounted since arriving in the system was also a point not lost on Riker. The first instance had embodied its share of obstacles, but the Enterprise crew had successfully rescued all but a small number of Dokaalan miners from their damaged outpost. A sour taste still filled the first officer’s mouth at the thought of those they had failed to save, a feeling that had not lessened no matter how much he had tried to dwell on the hundreds of victims that had been rescued.

  We’ll just have to do better this time, won’t we?

  Further complicating things for Riker was a shorthanded command staff to aid him through the rough spots. As well as Dr. Crusher not being on board to oversee the chaotic triage operation that was sure to come once the ship reached the outpost, Geordi La Forge was still off the ship, examining the Dokaalan’s terraforming operation on Ijuuka, and Data had, for reasons unknown, fallen victim to some sort of as yet unexplained breakdown. Engineering had been attempting to diagnose the cause of the android’s incapacitation, but that effort was now sidelined as they worked to prepare the ship for the upcoming strain on its systems and resources.

  Additionally, and though he would not admit it to anyone else, Will Riker also missed the comforting presence of Deanna Troi. Not only did she provide him with his own emotional anchor, but her empathic abilities were an unmatched gauge for the mental well-being of the crew. At a time like this, such insight would be invaluable.

  Well, he reminded himself, you don’t have it, so you’re just going to have to get by.

  “I’m picking up fluctuations in the inertial dampers,” Perim said, not taking her eyes from her console. “I think the background radiation must be affecting them somehow.”

  Not for the first time, Riker quietly cursed the asteroid field and its troublesome varieties of ambient radiation, which had plagued the Enterprise since it arrived here. Several of the ship’s systems—transporters, tractor beams, sensors, and now the inertial dampers, to name but a few—had been disrupted by the constant assault of the potentially deadly radiation permeating the region.