by Dayton Ward
Or, zh’Thiin reminded herself, she simply could be having an adverse reaction to this particular Gallamite.
“Greetings, Professor zh’Thiin,” said the prerecorded voice of Eronaq Sintay, who stared out from the display with wide eyes and a broad grin consisting of two rows of gleaming, perfectly spaced teeth. “It is my pleasure to pass along the best regards of our mutual benefactors.”
Benefactors. The word all but burned in zh’Thiin’s mind as she beheld the Gallamite’s recorded visage. I’m trying to save a civilization, all while this parasite acts as a gatekeeper and earns money from my work. She knew that, in truth, Eronaq Sintay gained no monetary value from her endeavors. He was, in the parlance of those who cared about such distinctions, an “information broker,” acting as an agent whose primary task was to pass data between two or more parties. This usually was done while observing and safeguarding the anonymity of at least one participant in whatever transaction the agent was managing. In this case, he was protecting the identity of her mysterious sponsors, who had seen fit to convey through this bizarre means information that had proven to be of such aid to her research that its value could not—in her opinion, at least—be measured in any material sense.
“Our mutual friends,” Sintay continued, “have reviewed the information you’ve sent, and are quite pleased with the progress you’ve made. It seems their faith in your expertise and abilities was not misplaced, and they wish to express their utmost delight that your test trials appear to be advancing as you projected. We can only hope that the Andorian people will come to appreciate what you seem to have accomplished.”
Zh’Thiin felt a twinge of anxiety at the mention of the “information” she had sent for review at the request of her unnamed supporters. She had provided data and materials relating to her volunteer test subjects, including detailed notes about each zhen currently implanted with gametes enhanced in accordance with her experimental gene-resequencing protocol. There was no arguing that she had violated any number of regulations and laws surrounding patient privacy and the release of confidential medical information, but doing so was just one of the many conditions and parameters to which she had agreed in order to receive the assistance her benefactors had so far imparted. While she had been able to convince herself that what she had done and continued to do was justified if it aided in her quest to help her people, she was not a fool. If her actions ever came to light, there would be those among the Andorian populace who would take great exception to the sacred trust she had breached.
But perhaps their children and grandchildren will live to one day debate the merits of what I’ve done.
On the computer monitor, Sintay continued, “As to your request for additional information regarding genetic manipulation, my clients have expressed a reluctance to provide that at this time. I was told to pass on reassurance that you currently possess all that’s required for you to continue your work.”
As grateful as she was to hear such affirmation, zh’Thiin yearned to know more about the enigmatic party or parties responsible for what she had so far accomplished. It was they who had contacted her, using Eronaq Sintay as a conduit, informing her of their knowledge of her research and, incredibly, an interest in rendering assistance. At first zh’Thiin had balked at the notion, engrossed as she was in the voluminous research notes and data files compiled by Dr. sh’Veileth in the years before her death.
That was until Sintay transmitted a mere sample of the information his client wished to impart. From the first moment she reviewed the data given to her, zh’Thiin knew she had to see where this mystifying liaison might lead.
“Given the controversial nature of your research,” Sintay said, “and regardless of its potential benefits, our friends wish to avoid being the focus of attention, at least for the time being.” From the outset, maintaining secrecy as to the source of the data was one of the conditions for her having access to the information being offered by the Gallamite’s client. So far she had honored her part of that arrangement, keeping the truth behind her research hidden even from Dr. sh’Laenatha and Lieutenant ch’Thane. So far as anyone knew, zh’Thiin herself was the sole architect of the contentious theories she had put forth.
To her surprise, Sintay said, “Besides, while they provided the catalyst for your research, they have no desire to claim credit for the very real and necessary work you performed in order to bring about a viable gene-manipulation procedure.”
“Catalyst,” zh’Thiin said to no one, given that she was alone in her quarters. “That is an understatement of almost criminal proportions.” As intriguing as the data sample given to her by Sintay had been, it was not until she received a larger, more comprehensive information packet—itself encrypted in such a way that she had to wait for a subsequent message from her most peculiar caller to arrive containing the decryption key—that she realized the scope of assistance her apparent supporters proposed to offer. Though she was one of the foremost genetic scientists in the Federation, she had been unprepared for the knowledge now in her grasp.
Most of the information given to her revolved around gene sequences of a complexity that dwarfed the deoxyribonucleic acid found in most known life-forms. The sample strands of DNA provided with the information packet, according to her benefactors, represented a cross section of more than a dozen forms of plant and animal life developed in a laboratory setting. There was no mistaking the common bond shared by the samples, with each specific DNA strand possessing a varying number of chemical base pairs relating to the life-form in question. Each strand also carried within it chemical pairs that, in zh’Thiin’s opinion, appeared to act as a form of barricade between the first set of pairs and the remainder of the staggering amount of genetic information contained within the respective sample.
As for that information, in addition to what zh’Thiin could identify, the DNA strands contained molecules unlike anything on record, and defied classification despite the professor’s best efforts.
Zh’Thiin was certain that all of it obviously was artificially engineered, but by whom, and for what purpose? So far as she knew, no species in the charted galaxy possessed the ability to create genetic code of such complexity. She had reminded herself on more than one occasion that anyone harboring such knowledge might very well be keeping it themselves, given the Federation’s long-standing views on the practice of selective or “enhanced” genetic engineering. It was that attitude that had prompted Sintay to instruct her not to consult Federation or Starfleet medical and science databases in search of more information on this phenomenon. The genetic code, she was told, was far too valuable to allow the entire galaxy free access to it.
It’s easy to hold such values when your very survival is not part of the equation.
Setting aside her initial concerns surrounding her unidentified advocate, she had spent months studying the convoluted genetic code and learning about its adaptive qualities. Armed with that hard-won knowledge and using the perplexing artificial DNA as a guide, zh’Thiin developed a resequencing protocol that would allow her to apply her own version of the engineered genetic modifiers to fertilized gametes taken from an Andorian bondgroup’s shen, and prior to implantation in the uterus of the zhen. The resulting zygotes, if all proceeded according to her theory and expectations, would gestate and be carried to term as with any problem-free pregnancy. Would it work? So far, that seemed to be the case, but the final questions remained unanswered, at least until zh’Thiin’s first two test subjects delivered in just over three months’ time the babies they currently nurtured.
The recorded image of Sintay was smiling now, an expression that annoyed zh’Thiin. “There is still much work to be done, for which you require no more immediate assistance from our friend. For now, you are instructed to proceed as you have to this point. If it becomes necessary to offer additional guidance, rest assured that it will be provided. Until then, my client and I wish you continued success with your work. Good day, Professor.” The UFP seal appeared
on her monitor, advising her that the transmission had ended. In what had long ago become a habit, zh’Thiin reached for the terminal and pressed the control to delete the message and all archived copies from the Enterprise’s main computer.
Additional guidance. Zh’Thiin considered the phrase and decided that, under the circumstances, it was an interesting choice of words. In addition to the insights her research had provided toward possibly saving the Andorian people from extinction, she had become convinced that the delightfully complex strands of synthetic genetic code given to her for study were not complete. Could there really be even more to the already-remarkable DNA, beyond the overwhelming amount of knowledge zh’Thiin was sure remained to be gleaned from the samples currently in her care? If so, why keep that information from her?
As always seemed to happen every time she was contacted by the infuriatingly unflappable Sintay, zh’Thiin was left with a lingering frustration that in time would fall beneath the onslaught of a wholly different emotion: determination.
Sooner or later, she vowed, she would learn the truth. All of it.
For now, zh’Thiin decided, and as Eronaq Sintay himself had said, there remained much work to do.
13
Sitting in his customary place at the head of the conference table in the Enterprise’s observation lounge, Picard crossed his legs and hoped the stain gracing his right pants leg—split pea soup, courtesy of René—which he hadn’t seen while feeding his son lunch, was not noticeable. Even if anyone among the party assembled in the lounge observed the unsightly blemish, Picard was certain that none of them, with the possible exception of T’Ryssa Chen, would say anything.
“Thank you for coming, Professor zh’Thiin,” Picard said, nodding to where the Andorian sat in the chair nearest to him along the table’s left side. “I know that you and Dr. Crusher have been immersed in your research since leaving Earth, but I hope you can appreciate our desire to obtain as much firsthand knowledge and experience as possible regarding Andor’s current political and social climate.”
Zh’Thiin replied, “Of course, Captain. I’m eager to assist in any way possible. It’s the least I can do after all the help you and your wife have provided me since I came aboard your ship, and for the tasks you will soon undertake on behalf of all of Andor. Dr. Crusher has already provided some ideas that might well simplify the process and make it more easily available on a mass scale.”
Hoping that the professor’s sentiment was one shared by many Andorians—and knowing that likely was not the case—Picard merely offered a formal nod in acknowledgment of zh’Thiin’s kind words before turning to where Commander Worf sat to his right. “Number One, what’s our ETA at Andor?”
“Five hours, thirty-seven minutes at our present speed, Captain,” the Klingon answered without hesitation, and while using no padd to confirm what he had just said. Picard suppressed a small smile, knowing that Worf took great pride in presenting information without benefit of notes or anything else that might be interpreted as a crutch.
“We have already been contacted by Andor’s orbital operations command,” added Lieutenant Choudhury, from where she sat next to Worf. “They’re awaiting our arrival and have made available a docking berth at their primary space station in the event we wish to make use of recreational and other facilities for our off-duty personnel.”
Picard nodded. “Please extend my thanks and gratitude to the operations commander. Given the multiple demands I expect to be placed on our people once the conference is in session, I’d rather the Enterprise not be docked anywhere.” Leaning back in his chair, he clasped his hands and rested them in his lap. Much to his irritation, the soup stain registered in his peripheral vision, but he ignored it. “Which brings us to the next topic on the agenda. What can we expect to encounter before and during the conference?”
Sitting across from Choudhury and to zh’Thiin’s left, Lieutenant Chen cleared her throat and sat straighter in her chair, and Picard noted how her gaze shifted ever so briefly to Professor zh’Thiin before returning to him. “As you know, sir, Andor has experienced a resurgence in anti-Federation sentiment in recent years. While there is a wide spectrum of political ideologies, the two major parties, the Progressives and the Visionists, tend to dominate much of the dialogue. Then there are activist groups, such as the one calling itself the ‘True Heirs of Andor,’ which have been quite aggressive in spreading their message of hewing to traditional Andorian values. While some work to foster mutual cooperation and banding together, particularly during these trying times, the T.H.A. and groups like it are holding to the notion that Andorians are second-class citizens, subsuming their needs to the greater good of the Federation.”
“In their defense, Lieutenant,” zh’Thiin said, her voice low and even, “all such groups do not operate with a single agenda, nor do many of them even agree with one another. That said, it is worth noting that some of these factions do have legitimate criticisms. Federation efforts on Andor’s behalf with respect to our procreation crisis can be interpreted by such groups as . . . less than enthusiastic.”
“And I would take issue with that viewpoint, Professor,” Picard said, measuring his own words so as to keep the tone of the discussion civil. “The very real truth is that the unique nature of Andorian biology has been its own worst obstacle. You above anyone know that some of the brightest minds, from your people to the Federation science community, have wrestled with this issue for decades.”
Zh’Thiin nodded. “My apologies, Captain. I did not mean to infer a genuine lack of effort or commitment on the Federation’s part.”
“I apologize to you, as well, Professor,” Chen added. “It wasn’t my intention to generalize or diminish any genuine grievances Andorians of any affiliation might have.”
The professor reached out to pat the lieutenant’s hand, a very human gesture that Picard found surprising, coming from the Andorian. “Worry not, Lieutenant,” she said. “There are more than enough issues to address, without us inventing things about which to disagree. Think no more of it, and I hope you will excuse my interruption.”
Looking to Picard, who nodded for her to continue, Chen said, “Based on our reports, the True Heirs of Andor, while among the largest and most vocal of such groups on Andor, stand in unity with the Visionist party and have never really taken any radical steps so far as trying to spread their message. While some splinter groups have committed acts of vandalism or hijacked computer network hubs and broadcast media outlets to distribute propaganda, the T.H.A. has taken steps to remain in the background. There’s some speculation that they’re doing this on purpose, while at the same time funding the smaller, more extremist groups.”
“Not exactly an original strategy,” Worf said.
Chen nodded. “And actually not a bad idea. Have the hard-line activists do all the crazy stunts and get all the attention, both from the media as well as any law enforcement agencies investigating their activities, while you sit back and look fairly reasonable by comparison. The former Andorian presider, who aligned with the Visionist party, was a supporter of the T.H.A., as were several members of his administration, though they were outnumbered by members who identified themselves with the Progressive party.”
“Of course, most of the Andorian government was wiped out during the Borg attack,” zh’Thiin said. “As for Presider sh’Thalis, she is actually not affiliated with either of the two major parties. She describes herself as an independent or—as she likes to say—a social Progressive and a fiscal Visionist, supporting issues valued by either party as well as some of the smaller groups. Still, if forced to classify her, most pundits usually opt to describe Presider sh’Thalis as a Progressive.”
“A rather arbitrary designation, it seems,” Picard said. The notion of labeling groups of people in order to define the parameters of discussion and problem solving had always seemed to him little more than a fool’s errand. Ideas, so long as they were constructive and based in facts and reality rather than hy
sterics and the propagation of ignorance and fear, were worth exploring regardless of their presenters’ ideology. Unfortunately, the history of many worlds, including his own, was rife with examples of a less evolved approach to political discourse. Such tactics often came to the forefront during times of adversity, employed by opportunists and charlatans of every stripe, and demanded even greater vigilance to ensure such divisive and ultimately harmful concepts and actions did not acquire any lasting traction among a troubled populace.
“It’s worth noting that this issue has supporters and detractors across both major parties,” zh’Thiin said. “Still, many Visionists now serve within the new government, and several of those have used their position to make clear their stance on many of the issues currently plaguing my people. The controversy surrounding the use of the Yrythny ova as a means of stimulating windows of fertility within bondgroups seeking to procreate was at the forefront of the Visionists’ agenda even prior to the Borg invasion. It’s now a prime focus for the new government, as Presider sh’Thalis has come out in favor of continued and even expanded research for alternatives to the Yrythny solution, which despite its faults still offered much promise toward helping my people. She’s hoping this conference will raise awareness of such alternatives, not only to the people of Andor but also across the Federation.”
