by Dayton Ward
Apohatsu felt a new pang of sorrow. To see the reality of the current situation weighing so heavily on Mino was all but unbearable. Not only did she carry the burden of knowing what would soon befall all of her people, there were precious few others with whom she could share that knowledge and perhaps seek comfort, and now that isolation had been cemented by consular decree.
“Nathan,” Mino said after a moment, her smile fading even as the universal translator produced the slight mispronunciation of his name that was the closest the Payav woman could manage, “we have spoken before of your people and the laws you have against interfering with civilizations that are not as advanced as yours.”
Apohatsu nodded. “Just one law, actually. Our Prime Directive. Generally speaking, it applies to civilizations that have not yet discovered faster-than-light travel.” In Mestiko’s case, while the government of the Gelta nation had successfully broken the warp barrier, the technology remained untried in regular use and, more important, unshared with other governments and leaderships across the planet. It was a leading factor that had prevented him from advocating first contact earlier than he had. Only after prolonged observation, during which it had become apparent that Gelta’s ultimate goal was to use the capabilities of warp travel for the betterment of the entire world, had Apohatsu been led to his final recommendation.
“I admire the spirit inherent in the law,” Mino said, “that you are unwilling to risk cultural contamination by introducing societies to technology and concepts for which they might not be prepared.” She leaned forward in her chair, placing her hands atop one of the shorter piles of papers on her desk. “Given your overtures to me and my select circle of peers, it would seem the directive no longer applies.”
“I don’t know if it’s that simple, Mino,” Apohatsu replied. Using standard pre–first contact protocols, he and his team approached targeted members of Mestiko’s scientific community, employing a series of burst transmissions on low-band radio frequencies that when interpreted would translate to mathematical theorems. Once those broadcasts were received and returned, the team began a dialogue with that small cadre of scientists, eventually leading to face-to-face introductions.
In particular, Apohatsu’s first meeting with Mino orDresha, held months ago, resonated in his memory as if it had happened earlier in the day. Since that initial encounter—which she had taken with great aplomb and poise considering she was among the first of her people to meet with an extraterrestrial—they had forged a fast friendship. In their coded transmissions and during their rare personal meetings, they had spoken of family, of history, of art, and of ambition. The bond he had developed with Mino was unlike any he had experienced among his friends or colleagues.
Realizing he was staring at Mino’s small hands—something he had done on several occasions—Apohatsu cast his gaze downward to discover that he was absently fidgeting with the sixth finger of his left hand. Essentially an opposable thumb opposite the one he already possessed, the extra digit had been reproduced via a biomechanical prosthetic he wore on each hand, concealed beneath artificial skin colored to mimic indigenous pigmentation. While the mock-ups did not possess the full functionality of actual Payav hands, and would not pass muster if subjected to close examination, the prosthetics, working in concert with other skin coloring and a hair-hiding skullcap, allowed him to move casually through the city disguised as a local inhabitant.
“While you and the others we have approached know about the Federation,” he continued after a moment, “and my superiors are aware of our contact with you, there are still issues to consider. We can’t simply announce our presence here. That would likely do as much damage as informing the public about the pulsar.”
“But there is so much you could do!” Mino exclaimed, pointing at him with a gesture made all the more odd due to the extra digit on her right hand. “You have the ability to evacuate an untold number of our people, ensure they are taken to a world that can support our species. Even if our planet is doomed, you can make certain that our civilization and our culture is not lost.”
With renewed anguish, Apohatsu shook his head. “You know that we couldn’t evacuate the entire planet in time, and as your first consul said, there would be no way to enable a program of selection for potential evacuees without causing global alarm.”
Whatever he was going to say next was forgotten at the sound of the lock on Mino’s office door disengaging before the door itself swung open to admit a trio of armed guards, each wearing dark body armor and helmets with visors that concealed their faces. Apohatsu saw that all three carried ominous-looking rifles, the barrels of which were aimed at him and Mino.
Oh no. The words echoed in Apohatsu’s mind. They know! How?
“What is the meaning of this?” Mino shouted, rising from her chair. “How dare you barge into my private office!”
Another shadow fell across the threshold of the door, and Apohatsu watched as the small, hunched form of an elderly Payav male walking with a cane entered the room.
“I hope you will forgive me, my dear friend,” First Consul Flen etHamwora said as he stepped toward Mino’s desk. “The guards are of course acting on my order.” Apohatsu saw that the aged leader of Gelta was not looking at Mino as he spoke, but instead was scrutinizing him with a piercing gaze.
“With all due respect, First Consul,” Mino said as she stepped around her desk, “would you kindly tell me what this is about?”
Finally turning to face his science advisor, Flen replied, “Considering the gravity of what we face, I suspected you might seek counsel from other parties.” He shifted his weight, using his cane to maintain his balance as he regarded Apohatsu once more. “Though I admit I never expected what the true nature of that counsel might be. What manner of being are you, sir?”
Doing his best to feign an expression of surprise and confusion, “Forgive me, First Consul, but I do not—”
Flen held up his free hand, prompting Apohatsu to silence. “Let us not waste time with false pretenses.” To Mino, he said, “I have had your offices—as well as those of your associates—monitored for quite some time now. There was some concern that you might attempt to inform the public about the Pulse.”
“You would accuse me of insurrection?” Mino said, her voice rising an octave. “I gave you my word that I would remain silent, and so far as our people are concerned, I have done just that.”
Nodding, Flen replied, “An interesting choice of words, given your present company.” To Apohatsu, he said, “There will be time to discuss the historic aspects of our first meeting at another time, sir. For now, I have but a single question: Is there anything you can do for the people of my world?”
Swallowing the lump he felt forming in his throat, Apohatsu shook his head. “First Consul, I honestly do not know.”
NOW
CHAPTER
3
Jim Kirk hated meetings.
It was not that he failed to see their occasional usefulness, at least when information of importance was conveyed. Still, he always had been impatient when it came to such proceedings, discussing the merits and potential pitfalls surrounding a particular course of action rather than actually getting on with whatever tasks needed accomplishing. Despite what he recognized as a personal foible, Kirk was no fool. There obviously were times when meeting to hash out the details prior to undertaking a complicated, hazardous mission was a prudent strategy.
Acting to prevent the extinction of every living thing on a planet definitely qualified in that regard.
Kirk forced away the casual, even flippant thought, annoyed with himself even for harboring it as he looked around the oval-shaped conference table to the other people assembled in the Enterprise’s main briefing lounge. While Lieutenant Commander Spock, his science officer as well as his second-in-command, displayed his usual implacable Vulcan demeanor, the other members of his senior staff—Dr. Mark Piper, ship’s physician; Lieutenant Commander Montgomery Scott, the Enterprise’s c
hief engineer; and Lieutenant Hikaru Sulu, leader of the ship’s astro-sciences department—each wore expressions of concern and doubt that Kirk was certain matched his own.
“A rogue pulsar,” he said. Seated at one end of the conference table, the captain leaned forward until he could rest his forearms atop its polished surface as he regarded the image in the viewer at the far end of the table. He took an extra moment to study the computer-enhanced image of the pulsar as collected by the Enterprise’s sensor array. “I’ve heard of them, but I never thought I’d actually get to see one.”
“They are a rather rare form of stellar phenomena, Captain,” said Professor Lindsey Cameron from where she sat just to the left of the viewer. A human woman perhaps forty years of age, Cameron wore her blond hair cut in a style short enough to expose the tanned skin of her neck. Dressed in a contemporary one-piece jumpsuit that flattered her trim, athletic figure, the professor presented the appearance of someone far more accustomed to outdoor activity than spending long hours huddled in a windowless research laboratory. “I was most surprised when I received the report about it from Starfleet Command.” Offering a demure smile, she added, “I never expected to actually see one myself, let alone get very close to one.”
Though he had been captain of the Enterprise only for a short time, Kirk could appreciate Cameron’s excitement at facing the “unknown.” Indeed, it was that aspect of his ship’s forthcoming mission—a long-duration assignment that would take him and his crew into an uncharted region of the galaxy with the primary task of discovering and establishing peaceful contact with other intelligent space-faring civilizations—that filled him with a sense of anticipation unlike anything he ever had experienced.
Before he and the Enterprise could set out on that mission, however, they first would have to complete the task currently facing them.
“The object was discovered almost six months ago,” Cameron said as she rose from her chair and moved closer to the viewer. Using the stylus from her data slate as a pointer, she indicated the pulsar centered on the screen. “Astronomers on Mestiko became aware of it thanks to telemetry received from orbital telescopes, and its presence was later confirmed by additional data transmitted by a long-range probe currently traversing the outer boundary of their solar system. Long-range sensor scans from a Starfleet science vessel removed any lingering doubt.”
“It’s headed for Mestiko?” Kirk asked.
Cameron nodded. “In a manner of speaking.” Stepping away from the viewer, she clasped her hands behind her back as she began to pace the perimeter of the briefing lounge. “Though its projected course will bring it no closer than five hundred and twenty million kilometers from the planet, the pulsar still poses a tremendous threat.”
Seated next to Scott, Sulu said, “Captain, a pulsar emits X-ray radiation from its magnetic poles while spinning at high rates of speed. Think of it as a lighthouse, its search beams rotating dozens of times per second. In this case, those beams will intersect with Mestiko as the pulsar moves through the system.”
“What kind of damage are we talking about?” asked Dr. Piper, leaning forward in his chair, his frown acting to deepen the already prominent lines etched into his aged face.
Turning to face Piper, Spock replied, “The event will be sufficient to wipe out all life on the planet, Doctor. While that portion of Mestiko facing away from the pulsar will be spared from direct exposure, the damage to the entire planet will be catastrophic.
“The X-ray emissions will also have detrimental effects on the atmosphere, completely destroying the planet’s ozone layer and allowing lethal levels of ultraviolet radiation to reach the surface. Within forty-eight hours, the heat buildup resulting from radiation saturation will trigger innumerable severe weather events. Over time, that radiation also will inflict widespread ecological damage.”
“The Payav have also deployed a network of satellites and three staffed orbital facilities,” Sulu added, “some of which were utilized as part of their research into faster-than-light travel. Those exposed to the pulsar will have their guidance systems fused. Eventually, the heating of the atmosphere will increase drag on the satellites, slowing their velocities to the point that their orbits decay and they plunge back to the planet.” The astrophysicist shook his head. “There’s also a permanent research base located on one of Mestiko’s two moons. No evacuations have been ordered as of yet. Anyone at that colony or aboard one of those space stations doesn’t stand a chance.”
His own expression one of dread, Scott said, “Sounds to me like the lucky ones are those killed right away.”
“You’d be correct, Commander,” Cameron replied. “Those who survive the pulsar’s immediate effects will be doomed to eventual extinction, either by prolonged radiation exposure or by an atmosphere saturated with toxic pollutants.”
Shaking his head, Piper whispered, “Dear God.”
Kirk saw the anguish in the doctor’s eyes even as the older man released a sigh of resignation. His brown hair, thinning on top, was graying at the temples. There were bags under his eyes and the skin along his jawline was sagging and wrinkled. Kirk knew the man had seen his fair share of suffering and death during his career, and he wore the strain of more than four decades in service to Starfleet for all to see. Though he recently had put in his paperwork for retirement, Piper had agreed to remain aboard the Enterprise until the ship’s return to Earth, currently scheduled for three months from now. Perhaps he believed those final weeks would be uneventful, but instead he faced the possibility of watching an entire planet die while he stood by, powerless to prevent it.
Well, Kirk mused, not if we have anything to say about that.
As though reading his mind, Cameron halted her pacing and turned to face the group of assembled officers. “Of course, the reason we’re here is to make an attempt at preventing this catastrophe. At first, we discussed the possibility of building a larger version of the old Verteron Array on one of the system’s uninhabited planets, but eventually we decided that was not a practical approach.”
Frowning, Kirk leaned forward in his seat. “Verteron Array? Why does that sound familiar?”
“It was a mechanism constructed on Mars in the mid-twenty-second century, Captain,” Sulu replied. “Essentially, it was a massive emitter, using verteron pulses to direct comets to the planet as part of the then-ongoing terraforming efforts.”
“Aye,” Scott said, “but creating an emitter capable of moving a pulsar would be something else entirely.”
Spock nodded. “Indeed. The mass of such an object would be far beyond the capabilities of anything we could construct in such a short period of time.”
“Which brings us to our current plan,” Cameron said. Returning to her place at the conference table, the professor tapped a series of controls on the portable computer terminal Spock had placed there for her use. In response to her actions, the image on the viewer shifted to that of a technical schematic, albeit one for a device Kirk was not sure he recognized.
“This is a Series Alpha sensor probe,” Cameron said, “although it’s been substantially modified from its original configuration. As you know, this design is intended for investigation of spatial areas where it’s considered too dangerous to send a starship.”
From the opposite end of the table, Scott said, “Those beasties carry some heavy-duty shielding.” He indicated the viewer with a wave of his hand. “That looks to have had some enhancements, though.”
Cameron nodded. “Quite right, Mr. Scott. We’ve taken six of these probes and modified them with increased shielding, and replaced their sensor arrays with enhanced deflector emitters and power transfer relays. We’ve upgraded their auto-navigation and remote-controlled course correction components, and they each now feature a networking interface so that they can operate in concert with one another.” She pressed another control on the computer terminal, calling up another image to the viewscreen depicting six of the probes arranged in a hexagonal formation, with a pale
yellow field filling in the space between them.
“Once deployed,” the professor continued, “the probes will assume a course parallel to that of the pulsar, traveling so that they are positioned between it and Mestiko. The emitters we installed will deploy a single field designed to act as a moving shield, deflecting the pulsar’s X-ray emissions away from the planet. Based on the pulsar’s current speed, the shield will only have to perform this function for the duration of time its emission cones are intersecting with Mestiko’s trajectory.” She shrugged. “Perhaps five minutes, ten at the outside, and it’ll all be over.”
Scott offered an appreciative nod. “A fine bit of engineering, Professor.”
“Extraordinary circumstances, Mr. Scott,” Cameron replied, once more offering a small smile. “As an engineer, I’m sure you know and appreciate that any attempt to help these people would be of similar scope and mindset.”
Scott nodded. “Aye, Professor. Indeed I do.”
“Assuming it works, of course,” Spock countered. “It is worth noting that not only is this technology experimental, but this would also be the first known attempt to deflect or divert the radioactive emissions of a stellar body.”
Taking her seat at the table once again, Cameron replied, “If you’re saying that we don’t know whether this will work, Mr. Spock, well of course you’re right. However, it’s not as though we’re graced with a number of options here.”
Clasping his hands on the table in front of him, Kirk frowned. Untested technology usually meant all manner of unexpected complications. While he was not in the habit of shirking from a course of action simply because it had never been attempted, he also preferred to examine a problem from all possible angles in the hopes of reducing head-on collisions with the unforeseen. “It’s a valid observation, Professor. Suppose this deflector screen doesn’t work; what are the alternatives? What about evacuation?”
