Mere Anarchy Book 1: Things Fall Apart

by Dayton Ward

  Even if he had ready access to a laser scalpel, Kirk was certain he still could not cut through the tension blanketing the bridge as everyone on duty regarded the image now displayed on the main viewscreen.

  “The situation is deteriorating down here, Captain,” said Nathan Apohatsu, looking out at Kirk and his bridge crew with tired, red-rimmed eyes. “You’ve already seen the reports of mass panic in many of the larger cities. Martial law has been declared, and a number of mass-scale evacuations are still under way.” Apohatsu sighed as he reached up to wipe away a sheen of perspiration on his forehead. “I don’t know where the hell they think they can go.”

  Sitting in his customary place at the center of the bridge, Kirk replied, “Perhaps it has more to do with them wanting to just do something.” He offered a resigned shrug. “Anything to avoid sitting around and…waiting.” According to the reports he had reviewed, the captain also knew that those Payav who had been working in the three space stations orbiting Mestiko had been evacuated and returned home. The thirty-four people residing on the planet’s only lunar colony were a different story, however. Even if a vessel were available to carry them, given the insufficient warning, the colonists had no time to make the transit back to their home planet.

  Kirk bristled at the current circumstances. Why had Payav leaders not taken steps to ensure those people were retrieved? While he understood the original decision to keep the approaching pulsar a secret from the general public, steps could still have been taken to ensure that the lunar colonists at least were with their families if and when the rogue object’s worst effects came to pass.

  Well, it’s our job to make sure that doesn’t happen, right?

  Leaning forward in his chair, Kirk said, “Doctor, there’s still time for us to return to the planet and have you beamed aboard.” He left the rest of his concern unvoiced.

  Apohatsu knew full well the implications of what had not been said. With a small, accepting smile, the doctor shook his head. “If it’s all the same to you, we’d rather see this thing through with the friends we’ve made here.” Straightening his posture, he leaned closer to the visual pickup. “Good luck, Captain.”

  “To all of us, Doctor. Kirk out.” The transmission ended and the image of Apohatsu was replaced with that of a starfield, with the pulsar depicted as an indistinct red blur at the center of the screen.

  Kirk noted the new silence around him, the only sounds that of indicator tones from the surrounding workstations as well as voices piped through the intercom system as other departments aboard the ship relayed normal status reports to the bridge. It was there that any similarities to just another mundane duty shift ended. He sensed anxiety in every person around him, with the notable exception of Spock, of course. The uncertainty was evidenced in the way his people went about their respective tasks—shoulders hunched as they sat at their stations, the movements of hands across consoles taut and efficient. There was no conversation, not even the normal exchange of duty-related chatter as the bridge crew saw to their various assignments.

  Though Kirk’s own duty at a time like this was to oversee the actions of those around him, such responsibility on occasion left him with nothing to do but sit and dwell too much on things that did not contribute to the accomplishment of the mission. When that occurred, he often felt envious of his subordinates, who at least could channel their apprehension and focus on their work.

  Each of them, along with every other member of his crew, knew full well the importance of the coming moments, and that they were about to bear witness to either a tremendous act of salvation or one of immense devastation. What would the next hours bring? Would there be cause for celebration, or mourning?

  With grim determination, Kirk forced away the troubling questions. Swiveling the command chair to his right, he looked to where Cameron now worked with Lieutenant Sulu at her station, coordinating the various aspects of the operation that was just now getting under way.

  “Professor?” the captain prompted.

  Looking up from the console, Cameron turned in her seat. “The probes are almost in range now, Captain. I’ll be ready to deploy the deflector grid as soon as they’ve been maneuvered into their final positions.” The professor’s report was more a courtesy for the rest of the bridge crew than anything else, Kirk knew. Cameron had assumed authority over the mission, and the deployment of the probes as well as the positioning of the Enterprise all had been at her direction, and she would enable the massive deflector shield at the designated moment.

  Despite his first impulse, Kirk forced himself not to ask again about the status of the shield network the probes would generate. He knew that Cameron and Chief Engineer Scott had spent a significant portion of the past several days examining the devices’ shield generators, looking for ways to enhance their output and further protect them from the tenacious assault they would face as they moved closer to the pulsar.

  Scott’s last status report had been straightforward, if not unduly optimistic: He and his engineering staff had made all the modifications possible under the circumstances, enhancing the probes’ shield output by several percentage points. Any further upgrades were simply beyond the physical limitations of the units themselves, and would require the replacement of key components not included among the Enterprise’s stores of supplies. As it was, Scott already had performed several unorthodox adjustments to the components he did have on hand in order to reach the level of enhancement he had achieved. In the engineer’s opinion, he had done all that was possible and even a few things that flew in the face of that.

  The rest, Kirk figured, would have to be left for Fate to decide.

  “Position report,” he called out as he rose from his chair, stepping out of the command well and making his way to the science station.

  Looking over his shoulder, Gary Mitchell replied, “We’re holding steady with the pulsar two million kilometers off the port bow.”

  “Maintaining parallel speed,” Kelso added. The helmsman shook his head. “Never thought I’d fly a starship this slow except out of space dock.”

  Kirk nodded. While the Enterprise’s current velocity was but a fraction of what the starship’s massive engines were capable of generating, he knew that speed was not the priority now. Professor Cameron had determined that due to the level of X-ray radiation being emitted by the pulsar, this was the maximum distance the ship could keep and still receive uncorrupted telemetry from the probes once the deflector grid was deployed and began its task of shunting the lethal radiation away from Mestiko.

  Studying the sensor data being fed to him at the science station, Spock looked up from his hooded viewer. “Pulsar will reach intersection point with the planet in two minutes.”

  “Probes are in position now,” Cameron called out a moment later. “Standing by to activate the deflector grid.”

  “You are doing the right thing, child. I am glad you are staying where you are needed.”

  The voice in her ear soothed Raya elMora as she listened to her elor over the wireless headset, just as it had for as long as she could remember. “How is it, Elee, that you always know just what I need to hear?” Raya hoped that the concern she felt was not making itself apparent in her own voice as she talked.

  It was a difficult conversation to hold, given the current circumstances. Sitting as she was in one of several dozen small, drab offices on the lowest of the two-level subterranean shelter, Raya could barely make out Elee’s words through the irregular static caused by the compromised audio signal. There also was the constant din of people moving and talking in the corridors and rooms beyond her makeshift office, the sounds generated by the hundreds of Payav who had been herded into this complex, one of four located beneath the Convocation grounds. The room was functional and afforded her some measure of privacy, but it hardly compared to her regular office, to say nothing of her home.

  “I have had many years of practice, now, have I not?”

  “You certainly have,” Raya replie
d. She had sought Elee’s words of comfort in the past for such personal hardships as adolescent heartbreaks, the difficulties of living alone while at university, and even after a few of her more strained political dealings had left her worn and frustrated. Today, though, made every personal drama she had experienced in her life seem trite by comparison, for today, Raya truly was unsure whether she might see a tomorrow.

  Even though Larenda was located in the hemisphere of the planet that would be spared the initial and much more catastrophic effects of the Pulse, Raya knew from the reports Umeen had shown her that no one on Mestiko was safe. Eventually, the atmospheric and environmental damage inflicted on the planet would overcome everyone, and everything.

  Or, would it?

  According to the speech Raya had just watched as it was delivered by Flen etHamwora, leader not only of the Gelta nation but also the global Zamestaad Council, the dire predictions first given by the media regarding the Pulse’s potential effects were no longer being reported with such certainty. Instead, Gelta’s first consul had offered the supposed conceit that there was no way to be certain as to just what would happen during or after the passing of the rogue object. Experts were forecasting severe weather events and possible high ultraviolet radiation surges as the worst consequences.

  With that in mind, the citizenry had been warned to seek every opportunity for shelter, and scores of people had gathered at the Convocation complex. Many of them had come in search of safe haven from the riots and looting that still consumed many areas throughout the province. Others had come with a mind to continue their lawless behavior, only to find themselves confronting law enforcement officers and military units deployed to protect the Convocation complex as well as other important locations. While Raya could have taken the opportunity to return to her home province and wait out the event with her family, she and other Servants instead had realized that their presence among the people would serve a grander purpose, perhaps providing a calming influence.

  Then why, Raya thought, am I letting myself be consumed with such dread?

  “I am taking up too much of your time, young one,” Elee said. “You should be using this time to call home and not worry about the likes of me.” Despite the low-quality connection that was a consequence of the inadequate audio transmissions inside the shelters, Raya still heard the ever-present strength from her father’s mother, and it buoyed her despite the concerns for her family half a province away. She hoped that as the situation progressed—or worsened—she would find within herself the same composure that her beloved elor apparently was able to muster in the face of such uncertainty.

  “Do not worry. I have already connected with everyone else. They have all moved to shelters. Will you be joining them?”

  There was a pause before Elee replied, “I am too old to be sleeping on the floor of someone’s storm cellar, or on a makeshift bed alongside two hundred strangers. I will be fine here, child, in my own home.”

  A beep echoed in her ear before an automated voice filled the connection. “This connection is required for official Convocation communications. Please terminate your connection immediately so that the frequency can be reallocated.”

  Feeling a sudden surge of tears well in her eyes and realizing her voice would soon betray her fear, Raya cleared her throat. “I have to go now, Elee, but I will talk to you soon. Promise me you will take care of yourself.”

  A burst of static that made her pull the headset from her ear was followed by the telltale tones signaling the connection’s termination. It was unusual for private connects to be so interrupted, but Raya knew these were extraordinary times. Feeling a tear begin to slide down her cheek, she stared at the now inoperative handset.

  “I love you, Elee.”

  Staring at the walls of the small office, which seemed to be closing in around her, Raya knew there was nothing to do now but wait.

  Or, so she thought.

  “Servant?”

  Turning toward the voice, Raya looked into another pair of concerned eyes. This time, the worried gaze belonged to her trusted aide, Blee, who seemed obviously unable to mask any inner turmoil in her expression.

  “What is it, Blee?” Raya asked.

  “You have a connect on the Civil Security line,” the assistant replied. “It is Servant orJurbes, and he pressed me to find you rather than having you connect back.”

  Raya followed Blee out of her office and down the shelter’s narrow, dimly lit main corridor. The passageway seemed even more confined due to the press of people who mingled listlessly in small groups, and from whom Raya was sensing an escalating sense of dread and gloom, the same feelings of discomfort and worry she had detected in Blee. As they walked, Raya reached out to place a hand on the younger woman’s shoulder, hoping that it might offer even the slightest consolation. Her aide did not even turn her head to acknowledge the gesture.

  At the far end of the corridor was a small, drab office, not unlike the one she had just left. Inside the room was an officious-looking young man, the sash he wore indicating his affiliation with Civil Security as he sat at a portable desk that seemed too tiny to support the large, bulky transceiver situated there. As soon as Raya stepped inside, the young man rose from his chair.

  “This is a hard-wired connection among the Convocation complex buildings for emergency use,” the man said crisply.

  “I am aware of the equipment’s function and purpose,” Raya said, hoping her smile might take some of the edge from the man’s perfunctory yet understandably nervous tone, “but we are in an emergency shelter. Does that not imply that any connects received over this equipment are related to why we are here?”

  Now looking somewhat sheepish, the man nodded. “Of course, Servant. However, I have orders to keep traffic on this channel limited to an official nature.”

  “I imagine that I would not be summoned by a senior Servant for anything less,” she said, still smiling as she took over the man’s seat at the station and leaning forward to talk into the slim microphone mounted on a pivoting arm. “Matthi? This is Raya.”

  “There you are,” replied the tired-sounding but still recognizable voice from the transceiver’s speaker. “You no doubt are very busy over there, and I just wanted to make sure you were getting something to eat.” There was a pause before Matthi added, “Let me guess: That poor security officer is glaring at you right now.”

  Raya turned to look over her shoulder and saw the young man displaying the very disdainful expression Matthi had predicted. She also caught the grin on Blee’s face, something Raya was pleased to see given the fog of uncertainty in which each of them found themselves. “Matthi, should I interpret this connect as you using your influence to access an emergency channel for personal use?”

  “Absolutely,” the elder Servant answered. When he continued after a pause, the humor was gone from his voice. “Raya, the initial predictions about the atmospheric effects from the radiation may well be correct. Level 5 on the side of the planet that will see direct exposure.”

  Raya felt a wave of dread wash over her. Coded classifications for the Pulse had been determined and secretly distributed among select government officials during their preparations in order to facilitate a quick but ciphered system of passing information without spreading panic. With regard to intensity, Level 5 was the extreme end of the list, and represented a level of destruction from which few to no survivors were to be expected.

  “What about everywhere else?” she asked, finally finding her voice.

  “At least Level 4, but it is important to stress that there’s still some uncertainty. I just thought you should know. Keep your head about you as I know you can do, and I will talk to you when this is over.”

  “Thank you, Matthi,” Raya said, feeling the same tightness in her throat as when she had spoken to Elee. “And I want to tell you that I—”

  “You can tell me later,” Matthi replied, her longtime friend’s voice sounding so secure and confident to her. “We will
talk soon.” Raya then heard a series of clicks from the speaker that signaled the end of the connection.

  “Level 4, Servant?” asked the Civil Security officer. “What does that mean?”

  “It means you should keep to your post,” Raya replied, certain that her expression must be undermining the effort she was making to stifle her grave sense of the situation. “You will be needed here.”

  For what specifically, however, Raya could only imagine.

  CHAPTER

  8

  “Tactical plot on main viewer,” Kirk ordered, turning toward the forward screen in time to see the image displayed upon it change from that of the pulsar to a computer-generated schematic. It featured a pale yellow grid superimposed over a black background, with a bright yellow sphere—Mestiko’s sun—displayed in the screen’s lower left corner. Smaller circles depicted Mestiko itself as well as its six sister planets. Closer to the center of the screen, a stark blue line illustrated the course of the pulsar while a moving white arrow represented the Enterprise following its parallel course. Six smaller white dots corresponded to the positions of the unmanned probes, arrayed in a hexagonal formation between the pulsar and the general direction of Mestiko.

  “Intersection point in ninety seconds,” Spock said. “Deflectors are holding steady. Mr. Scott’s modifications to our own shield generators are proving to be most effective.”

  Nodding at the report, Kirk looked to see Cameron focused on one of the sensor display monitors at her station, the index finger of her right hand poised over a control button. The finger was moving up and down rhythmically, and Kirk realized she was tapping in time to the countdown.

  Spock was just announcing the forty-five-second mark when the professor’s hand pressed the button. It was accompanied by a short, high-pitched tone.

  “Deflector grid activating,” Cameron reported, and Kirk watched on the main viewer as a web of orange materialized amid the array of probes depicted on the screen. “Starting the clock: three hundred and fifty seconds…mark!”