Star Trek The Next Generation: Planet X

by Michael Jan Friedman

“No, sir,” said his first officer.

  Data worked his Ops controls. “I am unable to find a match for it in our computer files.”

  “Captain,” said Sovar, “I cannot seem to raise Chancellor Amon. There appears to be a malfunction in the communications booster satellite.”

  “Try another one,” Picard told him.

  “I have, sir,” the Xhaldian assured him, an undercurrent of concern in his voice. “None of them seems to be working.”

  The captain sat back in his seat and considered the evidence. An unexpected and hostile-looking ship in orbit around the planet. A malfunction in its only link to the outside universe. And all at a time when Xhaldian civilization was wracked by unprecedented chaos.

  It could hardly have been a coincidence. The more Picard thought about it, the more it sounded like a premeditated act of aggression.

  But how could the aggressors have known this would be a propitious time to attack? Did they have some insight into the emergence of the transformed? Or had they simply been scanning Xhaldia, waiting for the right moment—and seen the opportunity handed to them on a platter?

  So many questions. So few answers.

  The captain stroked his chin. “Yellow alert,” he said at last. “Shields up, Mr. Sovar.”

  “Aye, sir,” came the response.

  All over the ship, crewmen would be reporting to their section chiefs. Tactical systems would be checked. Silent glances would be exchanged by friends and colleagues.

  But nothing would happen for several hours. After all, they had only recently passed the outermost world in the Antiacus system.

  Picard wanted desperately to hurry, to come to the Xhaldians’ assistance just a little sooner. He could have managed that by activating the Enterprise’s warp drive—but it was too dangerous to go to warp so close to a star and its planets.

  Normally, the captain would have sat there as patiently as he could, while the Enterprise homed in on beleaguered Xhaldia. However, he had some business to attend to.

  “You’ve got the bridge,” he told Riker. “I believe our guests will want to know what is going on.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  PICARD LOOKED AROUND the lounge, one of the smaller ones on Deck Seven. The X-Men were all present.

  “Since you have offered to help with the situation on Xhaldia,” he said, “I thought you should know that it has changed. There is a vessel in orbit around the planet.”

  “A vessel fulla who?” asked Wolverine. “Friends or enemies?”

  “We don’t know who they are,” the captain replied. “Nor do we know why they are there. But the evidence suggests they are not on a humanitarian mission.”

  “What’ll you do?” Shadowcat asked.

  “Whatever we have to,” he told her. “If they are invaders, we will oppose them. If they are something else, we will deal with them as seems appropriate. However, the one thing we will not do is act precipitously.”

  “In other words,” said Nightcrawler, “we’re taking it slow until we know what’s going on. Sounds right to me.”

  “And what about us?” asked Colossus. “What can we do?”

  Picard shrugged. “Nothing, really—other than remain prepared to face the situation around Verdeen. Of course, if I see a use for your talents before that time, I will not hesitate to let you know.”

  Storm frowned. “I would like to come up to your bridge later on, to see this vessel with my own eyes.”

  The captain couldn’t see any reason to forbid it. The silver-haired mutant wasn’t the type to get in the way.

  “As you wish,” he responded.

  “Thank you,” Storm replied.

  Picard scanned the X-Men’s faces. They seemed to have taken the information he had given them in stride. Then again, these were seasoned warriors, unlikely to flinch at the prospect of adversity.

  “If there are no other questions …” he said.

  “I have one,” Colossus told him. “How are Dr. Crusher and Commander La Forge faring with their research?”

  The captain sighed. “They have yet to come up with anything conclusive, I’m afraid. But if I were you, I would trust in their abilities. Neither of them has failed me yet.”

  On that note, he rose and left the room, leaving the X-Men to ponder what he had told them. The difficult part for them, Picard knew, would be the waiting.

  But then, that was the difficult part for him as well.

  Ruugh Isadjo, High Implementor of the Draa’kon vessel Connharakt, leaned forward in his command pod and eyed the vessel imaged on the scanplate in front of him.

  He didn’t know where the ship had come from. However, he was reasonably certain it was not native to Xhaldia. His people had been monitoring the planet on and off for nearly thirty cycles, and they had never seen such a vessel in its vicinity.

  Isadjo turned his dark, massive head to gaze at Mynaagh, his second-in-command. “Who is this?” he demanded. “Why are they here?”

  Mynaagh’s gill-flaps fluttered, knowing her wisdom was being tested. “Their arrival at this juncture reeks too much to be a coincidence. We must assume they have come to defend Xhaldia against us.”

  The Implementor’s leathery-skinned hands balled into fists. “But we destroyed the planet’s means of contacting void-going entities. And according to our instruments, we did it before they could send for help.”

  His second-in-command scowled, her slitted, yellow eyes sliding toward the scanplate. “So we did,” she agreed reluctantly, shamed by her inability to shed light on the situation.

  “That is all you can say?” he rasped.

  Mynaggh’s lips pulled back from her several rows of teeth. “It is all,” she spat, knowing the significance of such an admission.

  Isadjo’s eyes slid toward the ship on the scanplate as well. It seemed small, but he knew from long experience that appearances could be deceiving. He made a sound of disgust in his cranial cavities.

  This was supposed to have been a quick and easy mission, assuring his political faction on the Draa’kon homeworld the prominence it had long deserved. Now, the matter had become complicated.

  Still, it wasn’t Mynaagh’s fault that this had happened. At least, it didn’t seem to be. Therefore, Isadjo had no reason to inflict unnecessary pain on her.

  “Submit yourself to the recycling facility,” he told his second-in-command. “But first, sever your primary nerve linkages.”

  Mynaagh gazed at him with gratitude in her eyes. “I am pleased to serve so wise an Implementor,” she hissed. Then she lumbered out of the command chamber and went to carry out his order.

  Isadjo grunted at her departure. “Ettojh,” he barked.

  His third-in-command advanced to his side. “Implementor?”

  “You are now second,” said Isadjo. “Serve well.”

  Ettojh bowed his dark, rounded head. “While you permit it,” he replied, completing the ritual.

  That done, the Implementor returned his attention to the scanplate. He tried to decide whether it would be better to go after the interloper now or wait for it to come closer.

  Normally, he would have gone after it and would have relished the encounter. However, he had forces on the planet’s surface to take into account. Under the circumstances, it seemed the better choice was to remain in orbit.

  Isadjo was not known for his patience. Quite the contrary, in fact. But in the long run, he reminded himself, it hardly mattered when he destroyed the interloper …

  Only that he did.

  * * *

  Even before the captain uttered the words, the counselor felt the rush of urgency that always preceded them.

  “Red alert,” said Picard.

  The bridge was bathed in a lurid red light, signaling a new level of preparedness all over the ship. Weapons were powered up and shields were reinforced. Even the captain moved forward to the edge of his chair.

  Troi knew it was only a matter of minutes before she would be able to sense the psyches of
the alien aggressors—if they were aggressors. She was so focused on that eventuality, she almost failed to notice as the lift doors opened behind her—or as someone emerged from them who was hardly a member of the crew.

  Then she felt the inner calm of the newcomer, the remarkable air of self-possession, and even without looking she knew exactly who had joined them. It could only be the mutant known as Storm.

  Captain Picard, who was seated to the counselor’s right, turned to look at the X-Man. So did Commander Riker. However, their emotional reactions to Storm’s presence were quite different, Troi mused.

  The first officer clearly didn’t quite approve of the situation. To him, the bridge was a place for uniformed officers only, except in those rare instances when a civilian had been recruited for his or her expertise. As far as he was concerned, the mutant didn’t fit that bill.

  Picard, on the other hand, wasn’t at all perturbed by Storm’s entrance. On the contrary, he seemed to welcome it.

  In fact …

  Suddenly, Troi realized she was in danger of crossing a boundary she had set for herself a long time ago. As a ship’s counselor, her job was to monitor the feelings of her colleagues, to make sure they were sailing on an even keel—not to pry into their personal lives.

  And yet, without meaning to, she had read a very personal emotion in the captain. An emotion she had no business knowing about.

  The Betazoid couldn’t undo what she had done. She couldn’t erase the knowledge from her mind. She could only keep it to herself and make sure no one else found out about it.

  As she thought this, Storm took up a position beside her and examined the viewscreen. “Ah,” the mutant said evenly. “We are almost upon them now.”

  “Almost,” the captain confirmed.

  “I see now why we couldn’t contact Xhaldia,” Sovar noted sourly from his place at the tactical station. “The communications booster satellites have all been destroyed.”

  Troi frowned. More and more, she wished she could get inside the aliens’ heads. Perhaps there was a reason for their actions.

  “Three hundred thousand kilometers and closing,” reported Rager, who was manning the Conn station.

  “We should be close enough to scan them,” said Riker.

  “Aye, sir,” replied Sovar. “I’m trying that now.”

  After a moment, the counselor saw Picard look back over his shoulder. “Results, Lieutenant?”

  Sovar grunted. “Their shields are making it difficult, sir. But I’m picking up some four hundred life forms. A single species, as far as I can tell … one we’ve never encountered before.”

  The captain appeared to digest the information. “What about their tactical capabilities? Weapons and so on?”

  The Xhaldian studied his monitors. “Their weapons are based on disruption technology—not unlike that used by the Klingons and the Romulans. They have no tractor emitters that I can see, but they’re built for battle. Nearly sixty percent of their power is permanently channeled to their weapons ports.”

  “Two hundred thousand kilometers,” Rager announced.

  “Their propulsion systems?” asked Riker.

  “Much like ours,” said Sovar. “Maybe a little less efficient. And if they’re a lower power priority, they can’t proceed at high speeds for any length of time.”

  “Unfortunately,” Picard observed, “that won’t be a disadvantage in close quarters. In fact, we should channel extra power to shields and weapons ourselves—just in case.”

  The tactical officer followed the captain’s suggestion. “Done, sir.”

  Rager spoke up again. “One hundred fifty thousand kilometers.”

  Soon, Troi thought, they would be face to face with the aliens. By then, she would have found out the truth.

  Abruptly, Data turned to face Picard. “Captain, I have managed to penetrate Xhaldia’s energy fields with long-range sensors.”

  Picard nodded. “Excellent, Commander.”

  The android returned his attention to his Ops monitors. “There is a great deal of interference, but …”

  “Yes?” the captain prodded.

  Troi was eager to hear his findings as well.

  “It appears,” said Data, “there are several smaller versions of the orbiting vessel already in evidence on the planet’s surface. Eight of them, to be precise. What is more, they seem to be clustered in a particular area.”

  Picard digested the report. “What area is that?” he asked.

  The answer didn’t come from the android. It came from the station directly behind them.

  “The vicinity of Verdeen,” said Lt. Sovar, his voice trembling ever so slightly.

  “The transformed,” Storm gasped, with a certainty that seemed to go beyond logic. “Whoever these people are, they are after the transformed.”

  Riker scowled. “It seems that way, all right.”

  “But why?” asked the X-Man. “And how did they know about the transformed in the first place?”

  “A good question,” said the captain.

  “Eighty thousand kilometers,” Rager told them.

  “In any case, it’s not an invasion,” the first officer observed. “At least, not the kind we anticipated.”

  “That’s true,” Picard agreed. “One can hardly conquer an entire world on the strength of a few landing parties.”

  “Captain,” said Sovar, breaking into the exchange. “We are being scanned by the alien vessel.”

  Of course, the counselor thought. If the Enterprise could scan the aliens, the aliens could scan them.

  “I guess we’re even now,” said Riker.

  Suddenly, Troi felt something on the fringes of her consciousness—something that made her skin crawl. Her every instinct told her to break the connection. But she knew how important it might be, so she opened herself up to it even more.

  “Counselor?” said Picard.

  Troi groaned. “I … sense the aliens. They are … brutal … belligerent. All they care about is power.”

  Storm put her hands on the counselor’s shoulders. “Easy,” she said. “Do not seek to do too much, child.”

  But Troi wasn’t finished. “They have … nothing but contempt for the people on the planet … for the Xhaldians. They consider them … consider all other species … unworthy of their concern.”

  The counselor writhed in her seat. She had never felt such arrogance, such hunger for havoc and destruction. Up until then, she had been willing to give the aliens the benefit of the doubt; she could do so no longer.

  “They are conquerors,” she whispered. “But they have not come here to conquer. There is something else … something they covet …”

  The transformed, she thought. Just as Storm had said. Satisfied that she had gleaned all she could, Troi severed the empathic link. Overwhelmed by a wave of relief, she slumped sideways in her chair, her skin bathed in a cold sweat.

  “Are you all right?” Picard asked her.

  The counselor nodded. But her fears had been confirmed—and then some.

  “Twenty thousand kilometers,” Rager said.

  Storm knelt at Troi’s side. “By the goddess,” she said admiringly. “Those aliens are tens of thousands of miles away. And yet, you can see what is in their hearts?”

  “The counselor’s talents are most impressive,” Picard agreed. He gazed at Troi, still concerned about her. “Are you certain you’re all right?”

  “I’m fine,” the Betazoid told him. “Really.”

  “Impressive is not the word for it,” the mutant said. “Professor Xavier is the most powerful telepath on Earth, and even he requires mechanical aids to detect minds miles away.”

  On the screen, the alien vessel loomed larger and larger. The counselor only had to look at it to be reminded of the brutality within.

  “Five thousand kilometers,” Rager said dutifully. “Four thousand. Three thousand. Two—”

  “All stop,” Picard commanded.

  As Rager cut power to the impu
lse engines, the Enterprise came to a halt. According to the monitor in Troi’s armrest, they were a mere five hundred kilometers from the alien vessel—and no further from Xhaldia than her solitary moon.

  The captain sat back in his seat. “Hail them, Mr. Sovar.”

  The Xhaldian looked surprised, but he did as he was told.

  For a moment or two, there was no response. Then Sovar looked up from his control console.

  “Their Implementor wishes to speak with you,” he told Picard.

  The captain stood and approached the viewscreen. “Put him through,” he told the lieutenant.

  In the next instant, a dark and formidable-looking visage confronted them. The alien’s head was round and massive with bulblike structures protruding from its forehead, and it lacked anything even vaguely resembling a neck. Its skin was leathery, its yellow eyes long and slitted like a lizard’s.

  The counselor swallowed. There was no pity in the alien’s expression, no inclination toward compromise. Still, she knew Picard had to attempt to achieve a peaceful solution.

  “I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard,” he said, “commanding the U.S.S Enterprise. I’ve come in response to—”

  “I am Isadjo,” the alien growled, showing a maw full of short, sharp teeth, “High Implementor of the Draa’kon vessel Connharakt. You will go back where you came from, or we will most certainly destroy you.”

  Chapter Twenty

  PICARD CONSIDERED HIGH Implementor Isadjo. Obviously, the Draa’kon wasn’t one to beat around the bush.

  But then, neither was the captain of the Enterprise.

  “We have no intention of going back where we came from,” he replied almost matter-of-factly. “Not until we have assured ourselves that Xhaldia is safe and secure again.”

  The High Implementor made a derisive sound. “You will have reason to wish you had decided otherwise, Captain Jean-Luc Picard.”

  Then he cut off the communication. Immediately, his image was replaced by that of his ship.

  “Sir!” said Sovar. “They’re firing at us!”

  “Evasive maneuvers,” the captain told Rager. “Picard delta—”

  Before he could get the rest of it out, the deck pitched wildly beneath him. It sent him staggering into Data. As he disengaged himself from the android, the ship lurched again—even worse than before.