Fire On High (Star Trek: The Next Generation)

by Peter David

  "Considering the gestation period of the last energy creature we encountered, we might survive into the next century," Soleta said.

  "True enough, Lieutenant. Are you willing to risk your life, and the lives of everyone on this ship, on that possibility?" fired back Morgan.

  "None of us are," cut in Calhoun. "But neither are we willing or interested in committing resources to a false lead to a race of beings so mythic you don't even have a definite name for them. We could be chasing fairy tales for all we know."

  Si Cwan stepped forward. "And yet these fairy stories have a ring of familiarity to me, Captain. I described earlier the tales of my youth, of the gods and the firebringers. Morgan's own naming of her mystery race is after a similar fire-to-humanity story that exists in our own mythology. Don't you find it curious that both of our civilizations share a mythology having to do with the acquisition of flame?"

  "That is not at all unusual," Soleta replied. "There are many core concepts that prompt similar myths. Many cultures have end of the world scenarios, flood scenarios, and different mythologies explaining different aspects of nature. No, it is not uncommon at all, and hardly proof of any connection. Unless you are about to claim that these mysterious Prometheans were responsible in some way for technological advancement on the part of mankind."

  "Anything is possible."

  "But not probable," said Calhoun. "We could use some sort of proof about this race aside from your suppositions and guesses. Otherwise my assumption will be that this is merely an elaborate ruse that, for some reason, Lieutenant Lefler and Ambassador Si Cwan have bought into."

  Si Cwan glance down at Morgan and said simply, "Show him."

  "Now is the time, Mom," agreed Lefler.

  She nodded and reached under her shirt, sliding something that was round and hard up toward the collar. And then she pulled out, mounted in a black casing, a small amulet with a raised image of a flame on it. "We came upon two of these through a trader on Momidium who didn't realize what he had," she said. "Tarella and I believed that they were markers of some sort. Perhaps even beacons, a means of summoning the Prometheans, although we were not entirely sure how they would function."

  There was stunned silence in the room for a moment.

  "Look familiar?" Morgan asked drily.

  Calhoun turned to Soleta and said quickly, "Go get it." Soleta was out of her chair like a shot.

  This prompted a confused look from Morgan, who turned and stared up at Si Cwan and Lefler, who were standing nearby. "What am I missing?" she asked. "You told me they'd be interested in the medallion. You didn't go into any detail beyond that. Is there something I should know?"

  "Perhaps," said Robin. "But you've been so busy being mysterious and hard to comprehend, that I thought it only fair to give you a bit of mystery right back. Seems equitable to me, don't you think?"

  "Yes," Morgan said slowly, and clearly slightly amused by the situation. "Yes, I suppose it does at that."

  Moments later, Soleta had returned, and to Morgan's utter astonishment, she placed down on the table a disk that likewise had a flame emblem on it. Slowly, her hand trembling, Morgan reached toward it.

  "Captain…" Shelby said warningly, but Calhoun decided to go with his gut and waved Shelby off, indicating that they should let Morgan touch it. She picked it up, turned it over in her hands, and ran her fingers along the flame symbol engraved on it. She noticed immediately that, as opposed to the medallion she herself bore, the flame emblem was indented on this one.

  Burgoyne, for hir part, seemed unimpressed. "We're wasting our time with this, Captain," Burgoyne said urgently. "The smart move is to try and get back to a starbase out of Thallonian space. Some sort of facility that can help us in extracting Sparky from the warp core."

  "There is no guarantee that any facility short of the shipyards in San Francisco would be capable of accomplishing such a feat, nor do we know if even they could do so," Soleta said reasonably. "Furthermore, we do not know the full abilities of this creature. Can you imagine if the efforts of unknowing Starfleet engineers should cause the creature—"

  "Sparky," Burgoyne corrected her.

  "The creature," continued Soleta, "to flee the containment of the Excalibur only to take up residence within the core of Earth itself, as the energy creature did on Thallon? That scenario would be catastrophic, to say the least."

  "You're saying we're stuck out here?"

  "I am saying, Chief, that if there are other options it would be wiser to explore them first, no matter how far-fetched."

  "Captain," Morgan said cautiously, holding the faces of the medallion and the disk opposite each other. "Do you have any objections if… ?"

  Her intention seemed self-evident and Calhoun weighed the possible consequences. "From where I sit," he finally decided, "I don't see as that we have a lot to lose. Go ahead. Let's see if rubbing the lamp will pull the genie out."

  With a deep breath, Morgan slowly brought the two metal disks together. She couldn't help but notice that the diameters were a perfect match. And not only that, but with the slightest of turns to adjust, she clicked the flame emblem of her medallion into the recess of the disk handed her by Soleta.

  She wasn't sure what she had expected. A flash of light, perhaps, or a sepulchral laugh. A surge of energy or a massive telepathic bolt that would cut straight to the very core of her soul and bond with her at a spiritual level. A Chinese gong. She had no idea, really.

  Unfortunately, what she wound up getting was nothing.

  She simply sat there, the disks in her hand. Nothing trembled, nothing vibrated. Nothing, in short, happened.

  "Are we rescued from Sparky yet?" Calhoun asked drily.

  "I don't understand it," Morgan said. But then, with more firmness of tone, she added, "But then again, I didn't necessarily expect to understand it. There has to be more to it than this, Captain, and with any luck at all, the answer is on Ahmista."

  "Any luck at all is something we haven't had in abundance." He sat back in his chair, considering the matter a moment. "Ambassador, do you know anything about this Ahmista?"

  "Not really," replied Si Cwan. "A fairly small population, the planet had no particular strategic value, and the residents were not especially advanced. It was never considered a worthwhile use of Thallonian resources to have much to do with them. We knew of them, but we never bothered with them."

  "Fair enough," said Calhoun. "Do you know where Ahmista is?"

  "I'm not McHenry, Captain," Si Cwan said with slight amusement. "I don't carry these matters around in my head. If I could see a starmap and our relative position on it…"

  "Soleta?" prompted Calhoun.

  Soleta punched it up on the computer terminal next to her and, moments later, the desired information appeared on the conference lounge viewscreen. It displayed all the known information about Thallonian space that they had, and a blinking spot that marked the Excalibur's location. He studied it for a moment, and then pointed to a system that was not especially detailed. "Right here," he said. "This is it."

  "There's no indicator of any planets there," Soleta noted,

  "I think you'll find that the Federation is not in possession of any complete starmaps of Sector Two-twenty-one-G," said Si Cwan, using the Starfleet designation rather than referring to it as Thallonian space. "My people tended to be circumspect about such matters, even after the point that such circumspection was of any use to the greater good. Nonetheless, it is most definitely here. Three planets, with the outermost being the one she refers to as Ahmista."

  Shelby leaned forward, studying the location. "At warp nine, it's still three days' journey from here. That's a best guess on my part; McHenry could probably tell you down to the second. But that seems about right."

  "Can we afford to go to warp nine, Burgy?" asked Calhoun.

  "I think so," said Burgoyne slowly, although s/he didn't appear all that enthusiastic. "As near as we can tell, increased warp activity makes Sparky more active. Doesn't
make him more hostile though. The only hitch is … well, it could accelerate his development or growth. In trying to track down someone who can help us with this situation, we may be exacerbating it."

  "This entire business is a long shot at best, Captain," Shelby observed.

  "Are you saying we shouldn't do it, Commander?"

  "No. I'm just saying it's a long shot."

  Calhoun considered the matter for a moment, drumming his fingers on the table in thought. And finally he said, "I don't want to have to give up this ship, people. Abandonment remains an option, but it's not one that I accept gladly. To say nothing of the fact that, if we do abandon, we have no guarantee that once we shove everyone into the saucer section and cut the Engineering hull loose, Sparky might not come out of the warp core and take up residence in the saucer section impulse engines, and then we'll be worse off than when we started. A long shot is better than no shot. Commander, have McHenry lay in a course for Ahmista. Burgoyne, monitor Sparky even more closely than you are now. Eat, sleep, and breathe in synch with his cycle if you have to, but stay on top of him. Understood?"

  "Aye, sir."

  "Captain," Lefler asked, "may my mother leave the brig?"

  He studied Morgan appraisingly for a moment. And then he said, "Your mother, Lieutenant, blew a hole in the door of shuttlebay two and almost cost Si Cwan his life, her subsequent actions notwithstanding. I don't trust her yet."

  "I'm right here, Captain," Morgan commented.

  "You don't have to speak of me in the third person."

  "I don't trust you yet," amended Calhoun. "And until such time that I do, if ever, you can take up residence back in the brig where I don't have to expend any security forces for the purpose of keeping an eye on you."

  Lefler started to protest, but Morgan was already on her feet and nodding her head in acquiescence. "I understand fully, Captain. Were I in your position, I would likely be doing the same thing. And I find that I have a fairly good track record at this point in noting what you will and will not do. Robin, Ambassador, I appreciate your efforts on my behalf. And now I believe my escort is waiting for me. Captain, may I keep this?" she asked, holding up the joined medallion.

  "I would rather you didn't," he told her. "Keep your half if you wish, but return the other to Lieutenant Soleta, please."

  She nodded and, with a slight effort, pulled the two apart. She handed the indented side back to Soleta and then said to Calhoun, "I appreciate your indulgence in this matter, Captain."

  "May I ask, Morgan, why you are suddenly being cooperative?" Calhoun inquired.

  The others looked to her, clearly interested in the answer. "I wish I had an easy answer for you, Captain. Perhaps I simply see more advantage in cooperating than not cooperating. Perhaps I think we can actually be of help to each other. Or perhaps…" She looked at Si Cwan. "You know, I thought, for all the time that I was incarcerated on Momidium, that I would do anything, absolutely anything, to achieve my freedom. And I discovered that, no, that wasn't the case. There are some things that I wouldn't do to gain freedom. And I found that to be … heartening. Does that answer your question, Captain?"

  "Not completely, no."

  "Well, you may just have to live with that, Captain. We all do to some degree or another."

  He nodded in agreement, finding himself liking her in spite of himself, which was more than a little annoying.

  XII

  SICWAN, IN HIS OFFICE, studied the picture of Morgan Primus that remained on his computer screen. There was a slight flicker of power, but then the couplings righted themselves as the rerouted systems Burgoyne had cobbled together righted themselves. By this point, Cwan was barely noticing such fluctuations. Like victims of any war-torn environment, difficulties that would once have seemed oppressive now had faded into mere background inconveniences.

  He studied the woman's face carefully. Damn, but she was a striking individual. There was something within her, though, something that seemed to cry out of secrecy. Some deep and unending mystery at which he could only guess.

  "She has old eyes," he said at last. To a Thallonian, that was a comment that had deep meaning. To have old eyes meant that one had an old soul, and was a rather experienced and spiritually elevated individual. Either that or it made a great pickup line when one wanted to compliment a female that one was interested in bedding.

  He hadn't entirely made up his mind which it was for him yet.

  There was a chime at the door. "Come," he said, leaning back in his chair.

  To his utter surprise, Zak Kebron was standing there. As always, the massive Brikar seemed to fill the doorway.

  Si Cwan's first thought was to wonder what sort of trouble he was in. He and Kebron had had a mutual antipathy, underscored by a sort of grudging respect for each other's personality and accomplishments. The closest they had come to a true understanding was the realization that they would both far rather have each other as allies than enemies. Consequently they endeavored to minimize their conversation, limiting it to missions at hand, missions in the past, and missions in the near future. It made for fairly succinct discussions that consisted mainly of the imparting of specific data. This was a relationship that worked fine for both of them.

  So it was with great surprise that Si Cwan saw Kebron standing at his door. "Is there a problem, Kebron?" he asked without hesitation.

  "There is," Kebron said slowly. Kebron was the mortal enemy of the term "gregarious," likely to try and eliminate it from any dictionary in any language. When he spoke it was with short, spartan sentences, although he was occasionally capable of a fairly morbid wit that even Si Cwan had to admit that he admired. "A problem that has to be addressed."

  "A problem with me?" asked Si Cwan.

  Kebron nodded. Since Kebron had virtually no neck, one of his nods more or less consisted of a slight bow.

  "All right," said Si Cwan, slowly rising from behind his desk. "What is the nature of the problem? If there is anything I can do—"

  "There is. When I point, say 'You're welcome.' "

  "What?" Si Cwan stared at him. "I don't understand."

  "I don't need your understanding. Just your cooperation." Kebron hadn't moved from the doorway.

  "Can you do it?"

  "Well, yes, of course, a child could do it,"

  "Very well." Kebron paused as if steeling himself and then said, "Thank you." And he pointed.

  "You're welcome," said a bemused Si Cwan on cue.

  Kebron turned and walked away, the door sliding shut behind him.

  "Now hold on a moment!" called Cwan, not about to let it go at that. He followed Kebron out into the hallway. He didn't walk right next to him, because Kebron's size, stride, and general swing of his arms as he walked usually precluded that. So Cwan hung about a foot or so back and to the right. "What was that all about? You can't just come in, say Thank you,' and leave."

  "I just did." As was not unusual when he was walking with a purpose, the floor under Kebron rumbled slightly under his footfall.

  "You didn't say why you were thanking me,"

  "Unnecessary."

  "Not to me it's not," and he grabbed Kebron by the arm.

  The massive Brikar stopped and, without looking at Si Cwan, rumbled, "You so very much do not want to do that."

  Si Cwan released Kebron's arm like a fiery briquette, but he took the opportunity to step around Kebron and stand squarely in his path. This could, of course, have backfired somewhat since Kebron could had walked right over him without too much difficulty, but he was hoping that wouldn't happen. "Kebron—Zak—what's going on?"

  Kebron made a sound in his chest that came across like rocks tumbling around in a clothes drier (although neither of them had ever seen, or even heard of, a clothes drier, so the comparison would have been lost on them). "I feel constrained to thank you…for your help."

  "My help?" Si Cwan said blankly.

  "You prevented Morgan Primus from escaping the ship. That was not your job. It was
my job. Mine, and my people. We fumbled it. You recovered it. So I am thanking you because I feel it is the right thing to do." It was rare that Kebron ever uttered that many sentences together, and the significance of it was not lost on Si Cwan.

  "No one blames your security force for losing track of Morgan. The ship was going haywire at that moment. It was—"

  "Inexcusable. I owe you, Cwan. And I do not forget my debts. So thank you."

  "You're welcome," said Si Cwan. "And who knows, Kebron. I've made mistakes in the past, I admit that. I don't pretend to be perfect. Perhaps we've gotten off on the wrong foot, you and I. Perhaps this is the beginning of a new and improved relationship between us. Perhaps we can put aside our differences and genuinely build a basis for a true and lasting friendship." And he stuck out a hand for Kebron to shake.

  Kebron stared at the open, outstretched hand, and then he looked Si Cwan squarely in the eyes. "I don't owe you that much," he said, and walked away, leaving Si Cwan shaking his head in amusement.

  * * *

  Dr. Selar glanced across sickbay and saw someone unexpected. Mark McHenry was there, talking to Dr. Maxwell and touching his back with a pained expression. Maxwell actually seemed to be smiling as McHenry spoke, then nodded and indicated that McHenry should get up on a med table. McHenry did so and proceeded to remove his shirt while sitting up, as Maxwell stepped over to a rack of instruments. As Selar approached the two of them, while McHenry was sitting with his back to her, she could see that Maxwell had taken the neodermic applicator off the wall. The applicator was designed to create a graft of new skin, and was primarily used for quick and easy repair of abrasions. In short, it was a high-tech Band-Aid.

  Maxwell saw her coming and looked at her questioningly. Selar, for her part, was looking at McHenry's back. There were scratches across it, as if he'd been clawed. She casually gestured for Maxwell to hand her the applicator, which he promptly did.