by Dayton Ward
The two countries with the ability to further such goals, the United States and the Soviet Union, were frustrating with their veneer of civility that masked the deep-seated need to vanquish each other. Even as their people were locked in an ever-escalating conflict that was not even between themselves—at least, not directly—they had engaged in this odd competition to conquer first the space above their world and then its only natural satellite. Even as conflict drew to a close in Vietnam, a country Drevina had struggled to find on a map, American and Russian astronauts had worked together on a joint mission that was of nothing but symbolic value. The astronauts from both sides had shaken hands and made polite statements about forging lasting bonds and working together in peace before returning to their home nations, each of which was continuing to plot and plan its domination over the other. Whether the show of political niceties would lead to a lasting partnership between the two powers, in space or even just on Earth, remained to be seen.
Drevina had her doubts.
She and her friends had grown disillusioned as the humans’ continued efforts in space, and their interest in pushing outward the boundaries of their knowledge and place in the universe, began to wane. Their reactions were admittedly selfish, as Glorick at one point thought that human space travel might progress to a point where it could provide an avenue of escape for them back to Yirteshna. That hope had dwindled with each passing year, until now it had returned to its place as one dream among many that taunted Drevina in her sleep. Whereas humans seemed on course to make bold leaps to distant planets in the decades to come, it had become apparent that such goals were mired in hopeless naiveté.
Political will had all but disappeared in the wake of what leaders saw as the ultimate achievement of landing travelers on the nearby moon. The other planets of this system awaited, and yet the leaders of this world seemed content to allow all that vast potential to go untapped. Though automated craft had been dispatched to the system’s other worlds and satellites, those efforts were limited as much by distance as technology. A machine could not do all the things of which a living being was capable, and neither could it experience the thrill of discovery. Much like the early civilizations on her own planet, this thirst for knowledge and even conquest had first driven the people of Earth to venture across their own world and eventually to their planet’s lone natural satellite, but humans now seemed content to rest on those successes rather than trying to dwarf them.
Such a sad waste of potential, Drevina decided.
After spending several moments examining the scanner, Canderon looked up when the unit started beeping again, and Drevina saw the look of concern darken her friend’s features.
“What is it?” she asked.
“The protection protocol,” replied Canderon. “It has been enabled. I do not know why.” After studying the readings for a moment, he added, “It may be a result of the move from the Arctic, or as a defensive measure when someone attempted to access one of the ship’s onboard systems.”
Glorick’s expression was one of alarm. “Are you saying the destruct mechanism is armed?”
“Yes.” Canderon continued to consult the readings. “It has raised its alert level from when you set it initially, Drevina, but not to final protective mode. However, if someone makes a further attempt at unauthorized access, that is not out of the question.”
Drevina was already envisioning the scenario that would unfold if that sequence of events was allowed to transpire. “A detonation in a populated area? Hundreds of innocent people are at risk, and perhaps more.”
The scanner punctuated her remarks by offering yet another indicator tone, one that Canderon seemed displeased to hear. Shaking his head, he placed the unit back on the table and dropped his diagnostic tool next to it. He released an audible groan that Drevina recognized as one of despondency.
“Can you not repair it?” she asked.
Canderon shook his head. “I do not know. The component that is failing is not one for which we have a replacement. If a repair is to be successful, I will have to fashion a new part from whatever materials I can find.”
“I have every confidence that you will be able to do so,” said Drevina.
“And what if that proves untenable?”
Glorick replied, “Then we will persevere. If you cannot repair the scanner, then we will find a way to replace the components you require. If we cannot do that, then we will construct replacements. If that is unsuccessful, then we will find another way. It is what we have always done. It is what our people have always done.”
“I agree with Glorick.” There was no other choice, Drevina decided. She was simply unable to think in other terms. Her entire existence had been predicated on survival, on making do with what one had in their possession rather than whining about a perceived lack of resources. After all, they had devised almost from nothing the medicine that might save her very civilization.
Assuming they are even still alive, and come looking for us.
“Very well,” said Canderon, his demeanor seeming to improve. He placed a hand on Drevina’s arm. “As Glorick says, we will persevere, but that cannot be our primary concern now.” He gestured toward the map on the kitchen table. “What do you propose we do about the ship?”
There was only one answer, Drevina knew, and it served to pose still more questions. Did salvation await them, or final damnation at the hands of the Ptaen? There was a single way to find out, but they would first have to deal with the more immediate problem.
“We must go to New York.”
Twenty-One
Wall, South Dakota
August 12, 1985
“Rijal.”
His eyes closed and his senses focused inward, it took Rijal an extra moment to realize he was no longer alone. Drawing one more slow, deep breath and relishing in the sensation of the air filling his lungs, he opened his eyes to see Noceri standing before him.
“I apologize for the intrusion,” said the younger Ptaen, and Rijal could hear the slight tremor in his apprentice’s voice. “You asked to be notified if we became aware of something pertaining to our—”
“Yes, yes. I know what I asked you to do,” said Rijal, cutting off what was sure to be an extended explanation. With his body stretched parallel to the ground and the palms of his hands pressed flat against the cave’s stone floor, Rijal had achieved the perfect balance for meditation. On any other occasion, he would loathe having to sacrifice the harmony between mind, body, and earth, but it was apparent from his young learner’s expression that something important had happened. “What have you found?”
Noceri replied, “A transmission from the Iramahl vessel. It has moved from its original location.”
With practiced ease, Rijal pulled his legs toward his chest and shifted his body until he was suspending himself in a sitting position, holding that pose for one last breath before lowering himself to the cave floor. “You are certain?”
“Yes. We have verified the scans and confirmed that there is no equipment fault. The craft has moved, but we are unable to determine how this was accomplished.”
Rising to his feet, Rijal followed his apprentice into the larger cave that had been their home for the past several cycles. A small fire was burning in the center of the chamber, over which Noceri likely had been preparing their evening meal before the interruption. Along the cavern’s far wall was a portable worktable and before it stood his companion, Bnara, who appeared entranced by the scanning equipment arrayed on the table. Like him, she wore only the undergarment that helped regulate their body temperature, keeping them warm in the cave’s cool environs. She likely had been involved with her own meditation before Noceri had called on her with this new development.
“So, it is true?” Rijal asked as he joined her at the worktable.
Bnara nodded. “Noceri verified the readings twice before informing me, and I corrobor
ated his findings.” She smiled. “You have trained him well.”
“The ship remains on the planet?”
“Yes. As we confirmed when we examined it, the ship is no longer capable of flight or space travel, at least not without extensive repairs that likely are beyond its crew’s abilities.” Leaning over the table, she swept her hand across the scanner’s biometric interface. “The ship has been moved to the eastern United States, a densely populated region the humans call New York.”
Rijal was familiar with the location, having studied it and this planet’s other major population centers from the scans conducted upon their arrival. Like those Ptaen who had come before them, he and his team had been forced to start their investigation with nothing, acquiring and scrutinizing all manner of information gleaned from multiple sources in order to formulate a strategy for hunting the fugitive Iramahl.
“It is a considerable distance,” said Bnara. “I have no idea how it was accomplished.”
Rijal considered the possibilities. “Perhaps they were able to utilize a ship or other technology from one of our other teams to assist them.”
“Could they have found allies among the humans?” asked Noceri. When he received questioning stares in his direction, he added, “If it is true and the fugitives have been here all along, then they almost certainly would have interacted with the indigenous population. Is it not feasible that they may have befriended representatives of this civilization, who in turn aided them?”
“Of course it is feasible,” Rijal snapped. “Surviving here for all this time would require at least some interaction.” Realizing his reply carried with it more force than he had intended, he said, “It is good that you explore the possibilities. See the problem from multiple perspectives, apprentice. What is another alternative explanation that we have not yet discussed?”
Pausing a moment to consider his answer, the young Ptaen said, “Humans found the vessel on their own and moved it themselves.”
“And what is the flaw in that theory?” asked Bnara.
It took him a moment, but then he nodded with obvious confidence. “The time required to excavate and transport the craft to its new destination would be far longer than what actually transpired. We have been monitoring the vessel’s location since we found it, and the change in its location took place much too quickly for humans to accomplish with their present level of technology.”
“Correct.” Bnara offered an admiring nod. “Well considered, apprentice.”
“Of course, this leaves us with an even more intriguing mystery,” said Rijal. “Does it not?”
His mission here was twofold: locate the missing Iramahl dissidents and determine the status of the previous hunter teams dispatched to this world. Few messages from them had been received in the cycles since their departure from the homeworld. Though the presence of the fugitives had been established on this planet, there was no way to know whether they had found a means of escape. Some among the Consortium’s higher leadership echelons had even postulated the idea that the Iramahl may have commandeered a craft from one of the hunter teams and now were well away from this planet and its primitive civilization. This theory had yet to be proven or refuted, and doing so was also one of Rijal’s mission mandates.
For his own part, Rijal had concluded that the Iramahl renegades remained here, a notion he had despite any evidence to support his assertion. Other hunters had been sent into the void, including teams who had used this planet, Earth, as a starting point for continuing the search along likely vectors toward other star systems with habitable worlds, in hopes of discovering some clue, but they had found nothing. Given the enormity of the task, it was still ongoing, but Rijal believed that effort to be a waste of time and resources.
The fugitives were here. Of that, he was certain.
As for what may have happened to their fellow Ptaen, Rijal did not know. The hunters sent to Earth before he had been given his current assignment were soldiers he had not known, taken from other hunter units who had been more closely involved with overseeing Iramahl prisoners or factories and other work camps. Rijal’s unit was a separate group, specially trained and reserved only for the most high-risk and high-value targets. Members of his unit had not been assigned to this effort because—in the beginning—it was felt that a mere handful of civilian dissidents could not hope to evade trained soldiers with access to weapons and equipment that far surpassed their own.
Only after the first teams were dispatched and cycles passed without word of success had the Consortium begun to realize they may have underestimated the resourcefulness and sheer audacity these “mere civilians” might be able to demonstrate. After all, the fugitives were running for their own lives, but in a very real sense they also were fleeing in the hopes of safeguarding the future of their entire civilization.
There also was the idea given voice by Noceri, that the dissidents had benefited from the assistance of human allies. That was possible, of course, but Rijal suspected there would be severe limits on the sort of assistance that could be obtained. Food, shelter, and transportation were obvious examples, and if that was the case, then his mission would be even more complicated. The Iramahl resistance had thrived in no small part due to the willingness of individual citizens as well as entire communities to risk their own lives in order to protect those who actively fought against the Consortium. They did so with full awareness of the consequences of their actions when they were found guilty of providing such support. If the fugitives here had enlisted the aid of humans, did that mean the people of this world might one day rise to stand against the Ptaen? It was an interesting if alarming thought, Rijal conceded. At their present level of technology, the humans posed no threat whatsoever, and he guessed it would be generations if not longer before they even ventured beyond the confines of their own solar system.
But what if they were to receive their own assistance, perhaps provided by the Iramahl or another spacefaring civilization?
It was yet another interesting yet troublesome notion, Rijal thought, and one best left for a more appropriate time. For now, there were more pressing matters.
“Bnara,” he said, “are you able to ascertain the vessel’s precise location?”
Studying the scanner for a moment, she nodded. “Yes. It appears to be housed within a structure. Though the city itself is home to a sizable population, the area where the ship is located is relatively free of habitation.” She paused, and Rijal saw her features darken as she studied the readings. “This is interesting. I am detecting the presence of energy sources that are inconsistent with current human technology and which cannot be accounted for by the Iramahl craft.”
“One of ours?” asked Noceri.
Bnara shook her head. “No, this is different.” She turned from the scanner. “There may well be someone from another advanced race already here. That is the only logical conclusion, based on the available information.”
His gaze shifting between her and the scanner, Rijal asked, “What sort of technology are you detecting?”
“I cannot answer that at this time. A form of scattering field seems to be in use, blocking attempts to scan the interior of the structure. Therefore, I am unable to provide information on what might be waiting for us when we arrive.”
Rijal nodded. It was not the most encouraging report, but it was better than nothing. After all the time he and his team had spent here, hiding away from curious human eyes, they now had the opportunity to make some true progress with their mission. Were the Iramahl with their ship, or had the craft been salvaged by humans? If others from beyond this world were somehow involved, then to what extent and for what reason? What were their motives and true objectives?
“Begin your preparations,” he said. “We depart with the setting of the sun.”
Answers await.
Twenty-Two
San Francisco, Earth
E
arth Year 2283
“Admiral, with all due respect, would you kindly sit down before you wear a trench in my carpet?”
Lost in thought, it took Heihachiro Nogura an extra moment to realize that his longtime friend and the current Starfleet Commander, Harrison Morrow, was addressing him. Hands clasped behind his back, Nogura stopped his pacing and noted he had almost wandered into the large window that afforded Morrow a wondrous, unfettered view of San Francisco Bay.
“My apologies, Harry,” said Nogura, turning to look at where Morrow sat in one of the two overstuffed recliners in the corner of his expansive office. The chairs were positioned before a stone fireplace, or what in truth was a fireplace constructed with modern materials that simulated the look and feel of stone. The fire itself was provided by a self-contained fuel source that also was installed with safety in mind, producing flames that were real but safely confined within the firebox.
The entire corner looked as though it belonged in a cabin on a lake somewhere, which was the point, given Morrow’s predilection for camping and being as far away as possible from technology and other trappings of modern society. The admiral was notorious for taking his infrequent bouts of shore leave in the mountains of northern California, and leaving behind his communicator or any other immediate means of contacting him. It often fell to one of his luckless assistants to transport from Starfleet Headquarters to apprise him of any legitimately urgent matters requiring his attention, though such instances were rare. His instructions while on shore leave were infamous: “If I can’t see the flames from orbit, then it’s something you can handle until I get back.”
