“Chris, what are we seeing here?” He gestured at the holographic panel hanging in the air above his ready room’s desk, like an untethered window into a dark sky.
“You already know the answer to that, sir.” His exec stood on the far side of the desk, her slender arms folded across her chest. That hawkish look in Christine Vale’s eyes gave her a severe air, the same no-nonsense glare that must have served her well in her original career in planetside law enforcement.
Vale was a fast-moving officer rising up through Starfleet security and into the command track, and Riker had selected her for the post of Titan’s first officer soon after getting his captaincy. He’d had to work to persuade her to take the role, a fact that, if anything, had convinced him she was the right one for the job. Vale would make an excellent captain herself one day, but she was determined to put the work in and earn it by merit. That was fine with Riker. Any officer who went for the shortcuts wasn’t someone he wanted on his bridge crew.
“I’d like to hear you say it,” Riker told her. “Humor me, Number One.”
Vale reached a hand toward the hologram, her fingertips registering with the gestural interface, and made a widening motion. The image grew, focusing on a metallic green blob in the corner of the frame. The holo refocused and reframed, the blob gaining definition until it was visible as a sickle-like curve, blurred by motion.
“Romulan,” said Vale, without equivocation. “A Mogai-class warbird. I’d hazard a guess and say a Type-1 variant.”
“Clear as day,” Riker agreed. “More or less. And that in itself is unusual.”
“Long-range sensors picked her up twenty light-minutes past their side of the Neutral Zone border. Cruising close, but not uncommonly so.” Vale prodded a virtual tab and a tactical graphic of the sector replaced the image, along with a digital model of the Romulan ship. Fully revealed, it was a slender and deadly raptor, easily the mass equivalent of the Titan.
“Nothing unusual about a Romulan ship in Romulan space doing Romulan things,” said Riker. “But letting us see them from our side of the fence? That’s not typical.” The ready room’s entry chime sounded and he called out, “Come on in.”
As the door hissed open and his wife entered, Vale threw her a nod and carried on her train of thought. “This warbird dropped its cloak when we were well within detection distance. It executed a sublight course correction around a brown dwarf star and then we lost it.”
“They cloaked again,” said Troi. “But they wanted us to know they are there.”
“We’re sure it couldn’t have been some other reason?” Riker threw out the question. “System malfunction? Interference from the dwarf star?”
“Romulans don’t make mistakes like that.” Vale glanced at Troi for confirmation.
Riker’s wife knew the Romulan character better than anyone in the room. She’d even lived as one of them for a brief period, taking on the identity of one of their Tal Shiar intelligence operatives during a clandestine mission behind enemy lines. “They’re sending a message. We’re watching you.”
“Watching us, watching them, watching us…” The captain frowned. “Nothing changes.”
“With all due respect, Captain, that’s not so.” Vale took a breath. “The Romulans have always had ten agendas going at once, but now it’s largely about one thing. The supernova. The clock that’s ticking down on them.”
“You’re right,” noted Riker. “It’s an easy trap to fall into old thinking. Five years ago, that warbird would have been out here patrolling the border, showing the Romulan flag. Now they’re just as likely to be doing survey missions, looking for worlds they can send their refugees to before their star explodes.”
The three of them fell silent for a moment, each considering the tactical map, but each of them thinking troubled thoughts.
A year ago, Starfleet’s decision to withdraw from the Romulan rescue initiative had turned what was already a complex and fragile relationship into something far worse. Any hope of rapprochement seemed impossible to conceive of, but back in the core worlds of the Federation that matter was less important than everything else that was going on.
A year ago, a brutal and still unexplained attack by rogue synthetic worker androids at Mars’s orbital shipyard complex had set that planet’s sky ablaze. Dozens of vessels built to aid in the rescue mission had burned in their docks, perishing along with many people gathered from across the quadrant to work on them.
The shockwave from the attack resonated across the Federation, followed by the near-immediate ban on the construction of all synthetic life within its bounds. All practical research into artificial intelligence and android development was corralled, with only the theoretical still permitted, and even that was done under close scrutiny. It was a sweeping edict, echoing a similar choice made centuries earlier when the science of genetic manipulation had been decried.
The Federation and Starfleet had turned their gaze inward. Internal political schisms, many exacerbated by what some considered undue attention being diverted to the well-being of an old and bitter enemy, threatened the stability of the UFP. In the wake of the attack, Romulus was left to fend for itself, and out here on the fringes, the fracturing of the old order was already starting to make itself known. The minor interstellar powers, the criminal factions, and the smaller-scale threat forces were slowly realizing that Starfleet’s presence was no longer great enough to stop them indulging their own ambitions.
As for the rogue synthetics, what had motivated them to commit such an atrocity was still unknown. No claim of responsibility had come, no manifesto delivered or threat of further attack made. All of the worker androids that had been at the Utopia Planitia yards were obliterated in the destruction they wrought.
At first, some in Starfleet thought it was the precursor to an invasion of the Federation—a ploy of the Dominion’s shapeshifting Founders as retaliation for their enforced surrender, others bringing up the dire menace of the Borg Collective as a possible aggressor. But their predictions had not come to pass, and no one had made war on the Federation.
Some believed that the attack was actually directed toward the Romulans, in order to deny them any assistance in the face of their imminent disaster. The accusations flew, blaming the Klingon Empire, the Cardassian Union, and even clandestine elements within the Federation itself.
Or perhaps it was that the synthetics had decided to wreak this destruction on their creators. But it was hard for Riker to damn an entire form of life based on the actions of a few rogue elements, as horrific as they were.
As he often did when this matter came to mind, he thought of his friend Data and of Data’s errant brother, Lore. The two androids as both sides of the same coin, one striving to know himself, the other consumed by darker motivations.
What would Data say if he were here to see this? Riker wondered. He imagined the android there in the room with them, cocking his head in that curious manner as his positronic mind analyzed the problem. Data’s counsel would have been greatly appreciated.
There had been so many strong emotions in the days after the attack, but what stuck with Riker the most was the conversation he and his wife had with Thaddeus, as they tried to explain it all to the boy. He’d softened what he could of the terrible reality, but both parents knew they couldn’t just ignore it. Thad’s friends and teachers were talking about the events, and he was very perceptive for his age. Riker hated how he had been forced to steal a little of his boy’s innocence too early because of all this, but to lie to him had never been an option.
That night, the three of them had lain in the dark and held one another, and Riker had not slept. For the first time in his life, he was caught by a true fear for the future his son would grow up in.
“Maybe we’re coming at this the wrong way,” said Troi, the melody of his wife’s voice bringing him back to the moment. “Let’s think of this as an invitation. We could hail them, offer them any assistance they might require on their mission.�
��
Vale made an odd noise, like something had caught in her throat, and Troi shot her a look.
“Don’t laugh, Commander. I’m serious.”
“Wow, you really are.” Vale raised an eyebrow. “Well, good luck with that. Let me know how it goes.” Her tone made it abundantly clear how much confidence the first officer had in the willingness of the Romulans to converse with them.
Riker pressed a tab on the surface of his desk and the holograph vanished. “In practical terms, is this going to impact our mission?”
“Negative, Captain,” said Vale. “But just to be sure, I’ve asked Lieutenant Commander Keru to increase sensor sweeps and maintain a higher operational tempo for the time being.” The unjoined Trill served as Titan’s senior tactical officer, and Riker had come to consider him as one of the best in his crew. “If a cosmozoan so much as coughs three sectors away, we’ll know about it,” added the exec.
“Deanna.” Riker turned to his wife. “Let’s keep the circle small on this. We don’t need to inform the Jazari unless it becomes an issue.”
“I agree. They’ve practically been in seclusion all through this voyage, and I don’t think we need to give them another reason to hide under the bed.”
Vale blinked. “They don’t actually do that, do they?”
“Your guess is as good as mine, Commander,” said Troi. “But whatever they’re doing in their quarters, it’s quiet.”
“It’s suspicious,” Vale corrected, her eyes narrowing. “I know it’s my old peace-officer training talking, but someone making that little noise for that long has to be up to something.”
“We can ask them on the way to the hangar bay,” said Riker, glancing at his wife. “So, by my estimation Titan is about five minutes away from dropping out of warp at our designated intercept point. We’re all prepped and ready to go?”
Troi nodded. In addition to her work as senior ship’s counselor, she also maintained the post of senior diplomatic liaison, but with all the so-called reframing of Starfleet’s mission going on, she played that role less and less, for the most part leaving it in Lieutenant Commander Phosia’s capable hands. “Two shuttles are standing by in the main landing bay, the Coltrane and the Holiday. Engineering has rigged them to operate remotely from the bridge, so they can be piloted by instruments and use only the most basic sensors.”
“A lot of work just for a taxi flight,” said Vale.
“Well, we can’t send them through our transporters; you’ve read the file,” noted Riker.
“Yes, sir, I’ve read it,” said the exec. “All two paragraphs of it.”
Among the Jazari’s rules of privacy was a moratorium on the use of any matter-energy transportation systems, which they claimed were fatal to their physiology. They were also touchy about allowing any of their shuttlecraft to put down on board a vessel like the Titan.
“Look on the bright side,” said Riker as he rose from his chair. “When we’re done here, we all get to file reports back to Starfleet Command that will read Nothing Interesting Happened Today.”
The words had barely left his mouth when the intercom whistle sounded. He tapped the panel on his desk again.
“Riker here.”
“Captain? Good day to you.”
Riker’s eyes widened. “Ambassador Veyen?” The last voice he expected to hear was that of the Jazari delegation’s most senior diplomat, and he was briefly wrong-footed. “Hello, yes. Good day.”
To one side, Troi gave him a wry smirk. “You jinxed it,” she whispered.
“Your computer system has routed my inquiry to your office. I hope that is not an imposition.”
Riker ignored his wife’s comment. “Not at all, sir. Is there something I can help you with?”
“I wanted to inform you that we have dispatched a representative to converse directly with you about matters of transit and such. Please think of him as my proxy. I humbly request that you consider his requests to be made with the same authority as any of mine.”
“As you wish,” said Riker, after a moment. “Can I ask why—?”
The ready room’s door chime sounded, interrupting him, and Veyen spoke once again before closing the intercom channel. “That will be him now. Farewell.”
“Okay, then…” The captain tugged his uniform tunic straight and exchanged a look with his officers before calling out. “Come in.”
The door hissed open and a humanoid in a Starfleet uniform with sky-blue trim entered. Like most Jazari, Lieutenant Zade was of average height and build, but thin in the limbs, giving him a skinny, almost gaunt quality.
His species were of a reptilian nature, with flesh tones ranging from the lieutenant’s light green to dark emerald. Jazari were scaly and sported wispy feathery growths where humans had hair, along with tiny hornlike protrusions along the brow and neckline. Riker recalled that Titan’s chief of security had described them as “like a Jem’Hadar with all the angry taken out,” and there was a superficial resemblance, but beyond that the character of the two races could not have been more different.
Zade fixed Riker with his wide, yellow eyes and came to attention. “Captain. Reporting as requested.” He held a padd in one hand, clutching it tightly at his side.
“I made no such request, Lieutenant,” said Riker.
“Not you, sir. Requested by my people.” Zade’s voice had a slightly nasal register.
Across the room, Vale was looking toward the ready room’s window. “We’re dropping out of warp, right on schedule.”
Riker sensed the state change in Titan’s ubiquitous background hum as the distorted starlight outside collapsed back into normality.
“Ambassador Veyen asked me to take on this duty,” continued Zade. “It was felt that as I had served aboard the Titan for an extended period of time, and I am therefore the most familiar to you, I should be the one to explain the circumstances.”
“What circumstances?” said Vale.
Zade gestured to the ready room door. “If you will all accompany me to the bridge? Everything will be made clear.”
Troi frowned. “You spoke with the ambassador? I wasn’t aware the delegation had any visitors.”
“He communicated his intentions to me,” Zade replied, and didn’t elaborate further. “Please, if you will?”
Warily, Riker followed the Jazari back out onto Titan’s command deck, with Troi and Vale close behind. Zade walked across to the main viewscreen, passing in front of the conn and ops consoles, where the helm officer and navigator both gave him a questioning look.
Vale spoke quietly at Riker’s side. “Suspicious,” she repeated.
“Commander, please be assured there is no need to be apprehensive.” Zade was on the other side of the bridge, but he addressed Vale as if she had spoken directly to him.
“Good hearing,” noted Troi.
“Yes, it is exceptional,” said Zade.
In the middle of the bridge, Ranul Keru stood up from his temporary place in the command chair. “Captain, I was just about to signal you.” He jutted his chin toward the screen. “Passive sensors are getting some strange readings.”
“It is nothing to be alarmed about,” said Zade.
“I’ll be the judge of that.” Riker was not enjoying the sense that the Jazari was leading them around by the nose. He glanced at Keru. “Report.”
“The scans we have on record for the local planetary body, well, they don’t match up, sir.” Keru pointed at the screen. “Take a look and you’ll see what I mean.”
Riker stood in the center of the bridge and studied the view. Lit by the glow of a distant yellow star, a J-class gas giant striped with lines of dusky red and orange filled the majority of the view, and in orbit around it was the mottled globe of the Jazari homeworld. In the scant few images he had seen of it from Starfleet’s files, the moon was rust red in shade, reminiscent of Mars or Vulcan; or, at least, it had been when those images were captured. Now it was a dead, ashen gray and streaked with dark outlines.<
br />
“Magnify that,” he ordered. “Is it me, or does it seem… smaller?”
“It’s not just you,” said Keru. “Optical measurement shows nearly a ten percent reduction in planetary mass.”
The pallid world grew larger and now Riker saw that the streaks were in fact kilometers-deep trenches sliced into its surface. Huge, continent-sized swaths of land had been cut out, leaving massive open-pit gouges in the landscape, valleys that went all the way down into the outer mantle beneath. The atmosphere seemed thin and insubstantial, and certainly incapable of supporting life. In addition, where the Starfleet logs had shown the glowing towers of Jazari arcology cities, there was nothing but bare rock. The sliver of the moon’s visible nightside was an arc of blackness, showing no lights of any kind. The whole planet appeared as if it had been dipped in acid.
“No life signs down there,” noted Keru. “No energy readings. It’s been abandoned.”
“What happened here?” said Vale, horrified by the transformation. “Who did this to you?”
Zade cocked his head. “I think you misunderstand, Commander. The alteration of my planet is not the result of any outside forces. We did this. The Jazari.”
“Why?” Riker was aghast. A perfectly livable world had apparently been cut open and cored. That an intelligent species would do this to their birthplace was beyond him.
“In order to complete the work.” Zade gestured at the screen. “We should be within detection range now.”
Vale was at her station, peering at a console. “Captain, we’re reading a massive object approximately zero point four light-minutes from our current location, along the plane of the ecliptic. It’s an artificial construct, sir.”
“A space station?”
“A ship,” corrected Zade. “The Jazari have given up everything to build it. Our vessels, our cities, our world.”
Star Trek Page 3
