by Dayton Ward
“Precisely, Lieutenant,” Spock said, nodding in approval. “There doubtless will be other systems which will cycle through periods of activity and dormancy, the longer we remain here.”
Kirk cleared his throat and waved once more toward the suspended cube with its illuminated, rotating light color display. “Speaking of Kalandan technology reacting to our presence, you’re sure there’s no Losira lurking about, right? Or any of her brothers or sisters, for that matter?”
“Our initial scans have shown no mechanism comparable to the internal defense system we found on the Kalandan outpost,” Spock said. “Nor have we found any indications of any device like the one which transported the Enterprise away from the outpost during our initial encounter with that planet. Based on our studies of that facility, I believe that the equipment powering and controlling its defense system is more advanced than anything we’ve so far discovered here. I suspect that any internal security systems will be as comparably primitive as the other mechanisms here.”
Kirk asked, “And no mysterious portals that let you leap entire galaxies in a single bound?”
“We have found no indications of any such technology, Captain,” Spock replied, his expression, as always, unreadable.
“I suppose that’s a relief,” Kirk said. Then, eyeing the cube again, he sighed. “All we need right now is this place doing its damnedest to kill us.” No sooner did the words leave his mouth than he regretted the casual air of his statement. He glanced to Sortino, though the ambassador seemed not to have heard the comment. Despite Spock’s assurances—such as they were—Kirk still was troubled by the possibility of having to face off against some ancient Kalandan security system, particularly given the current situation.
Commander Scott’s report about the infiltration of a Romulan ship into the Kondaii system and its apparent traversing of the conduit had placed him on edge. He had already asked Sortino to alert the Kondaii government and mining colony leaders about the new development, and also had apprised all Enterprise personnel here on the planetoid, and concurred with Scott’s recommendation that shuttle missions to and from the ship be suspended until further notice. If the Romulans decided to push a confrontation with him or his people here and now, there would be precious little Kirk could do about it unless and until he ordered the Enterprise into the rift. On the other hand, it had been nearly two hours since Scotty’s report and the last verified sensor scans of the Romulan ship, which the chief engineer believed to have been damaged during its transit of the rift. For all anyone knew, the Romulan ship was disabled, drifting somewhere in space near Gralafi, and in no condition to present any sort of threat.
Wishful thinking, Kirk mused, rebuking himself.
Turning from the console she had been studying, Sortino asked, “Mister Spock, you’re able to operate this equipment?”
The first officer replied, “Only to a point, Ambassador. Some of the Kalandan text is similar if not identical to script we found on the other outpost, whereas other samples are unfamiliar to me.” To Kirk, he said, “Captain, I have scanned those marked surfaces we have encountered since entering the complex. I will require a link to the Enterprise main computer in order to proceed with my analysis, though due to interference from the energy field, such a connection is not reliable at the present time.”
Kirk nodded at the report. “The next time we check in with Scotty, we’ll ask him to figure out a way to link one of the shuttlecraft onboard computers to the Enterprise. In the meantime, keep doing what you can with what we have here.”
From behind him, he heard Uhura say, “Maybe Kyle’s team at the Huang Zhong site can find a portable computer we can use. We could at least bring that down here.”
“An excellent suggestion, Lieutenant,” Spock replied. He started to say something else, but his words were cut off by a new sound in the chamber rising above the omnipresent hum of the central cube. All around the room, control stations were coming to life, their flat black panels illuminating from within to display an array of blinking, shifting graphics and scrolling alien script.
“What’s that about?” Sortino asked.
Without replying, Spock indicated for Boma to come with him toward one set of control banks, and Kirk watched as the two men began working in concert. Spock’s fingers moved across the surface of one console as though the Vulcan had been operating the equipment for years, whereas Boma’s efforts were more hesitant.
“Whatever it is,” Boma said, pointing to one large, detailed graphic displayed on the wall panel between them, “it’s activating systems throughout the network.”
Spock nodded. “Agreed.” As his right hand continued to work the controls, he used his left hand to activate his tricorder and raise the device so that he could observe its miniaturized display. “If I am correctly interpreting these readings, it appears to be the very defense system we have been seeking.”
“An internal system, Spock?” Kirk asked, already feeling the first tinge of anxiety as he recalled the guardian Losira from the other Kalandan outpost. He felt his hand moving to the phaser at his waist and forced himself to arrest that motion before he could retrieve the weapon.
After a moment, Spock turned from the control console. “No, Captain. I believe the complex’s central computer has enabled the planetary defense network responsible for attacking the Huang Zhong. It appears to have reactivated in response to a new threat it has detected in orbit above this planetoid.”
“The Romulans,” Uhura said. “It has to be.”
Spock’s eyebrow rose once more. “That, Lieutenant, would appear to be an accurate assessment.”
FOURTEEN
Vathrael reclined on the small, narrow bed in her private quarters, leaning back against the headrest so that she could see the computer monitor sitting atop the desk at the room’s far wall. The back of her head rested against the cool metal of the bulkhead, and she was able to feel the slight reverberation in the plating as generated by the Nevathu’s impulse drive. Experience told her that the sound and the feel of the engines were not quite correct; the pitch was lower than it should be. Mylas, the ship’s engineer as well as one of her oldest friends, had made rapid progress repairing the damage inflicted upon the propulsion system by the odd energy field, but his work, so far as Vathrael was concerned, was not yet complete. Repairs to the cloaking generator were still under way, leaving the Navathu visible, and vulnerable.
And Mylas will tend to it, Vathrael thought as the inclination to request an update from the engineer presented itself, even though she had received a status report at the beginning of this duty period. He will finish with greater speed if he is allowed to work.
Opting to leave the engineer to his duties without further interruptions, Vathrael instead returned her attention to the image of the planetoid now displayed on the computer monitor. It was small, yet it presented the appearance of a lush, fertile world. Continents and oceans were visible beneath a thin cloud cover, and for a moment her eyes were drawn to what looked to be a fierce storm over one of the oceans in the planet’s southern hemisphere. The storm seemed to be moving toward one of the major land masses, but Vathrael knew from preliminary sensor reports that, with the exception of lower-order indigenous life-forms, the affected region of the planetoid was uninhabited.
Take caution in your thoughts, Commander, she chided herself. Wylenn would have your head if he heard you being so dismissive of such things. The thought of her husband berating her on this topic brought Vathrael no small amount of amusement. On Romulus, Wylenn was an outspoken proponent of environmental and wildlife conservation initiatives. He was always lending his time and energy to a number of efforts aimed at raising awareness of the plight of endangered plant and animal species, and the need for industrialized and expanding populations to be mindful and caring of the world that was their home. As he often argued when facing down government officials on this or related topics, the Romulan Empire might be comprised of many planets, but there was only one
Romulus, and it needed to be nurtured, not pillaged until it was drained of every last natural resource.
This was not a cause Wylenn had adopted on his own, of course; such activism had been a hallmark of his family for generations. His paternal grandmother was one of the first advocates for preventing the dangerous process of dilithium refining from being moved to Romulus, and instead keeping it on the planet’s sister world, Remus, from the center of which the ore was extracted in massive quantities. The refining process carried with it significant risks and resulted in the creation of hazardous by-products that were better kept away from the lush, fertile Romulan homeworld and contained upon the otherwise useless planet from which the mineral came in the first place.
As for Wylenn and his family, they had from time to time run afoul of aggrieved Romulan officials, though their particular brand of advocacy had always remained within the scope of legal protest. Still, Wylenn’s efforts often rankled the sort of stuffy bureaucrats for whom Vathrael had little use, and it was but one of her husband’s many qualities that had made her fall in love with him in the first place.
“Oh, do I miss you,” she said to no one, her eyes moving from the computer monitor to the holographic image of Wylenn sitting next to it on the desk. The image showed him in repose, sitting on the low wall of the garden he had planted behind their home in Dartha, the capital city on Romulus. She had captured him in a moment of spontaneity while his attention was focused on his work, a wistful smile on his face as he tended to one of the garden’s exotic plants. Vathrael had never been able to explain, to him or herself or anyone else, what it was she had found so alluring about him on that occasion, and she had long ago given up such futile efforts. It was enough that he had captivated her that day, just as he had from the moment they had first met.
A sharp, low-pitched tone sounded from her desk, signifying the activation of the Nevathu’s internal communications system. “Commander Vathrael,” a voice said, sounding tiny and distant and swathed in a blanket of static buzzing from the receiver, “your presence is requested on the bridge.” The disruption in the connection told Vathrael that the damage inflicted upon the communications systems during the ship’s travel through the peculiar energy field had not yet been repaired.
Sighing in resignation, Vathrael moved to the edge of the bed and retrieved her boots before donning her uniform tunic and sash. “Duty calls, my husband,” she said, her eyes lingering on Wylenn’s image for an additional moment as she dressed herself. After verifying that everything was where it was supposed to be and that she once again presented the proper appearance of a Romulan ship commander, she exited her quarters and began the brief transit to the bridge. The first thing she noticed upon stepping into the corridor was the smell of something burning, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of a plasma torch in operation. As she came abreast of a junction, Vathrael saw a team of two centurions working before an open bulkhead paneling, behind which she knew were components of the ventilation and communications systems. It took her a moment to recall the chief engineer’s report about various communications relays scattered throughout the ship requiring replacement.
She did not approach her subordinates to inquire about their status, knowing they would only stop their work in order to observe proper military protocol. Unlike some of her peers, who never seemed to grow weary of exploiting the positions they occupied and the power they commanded, Vathrael had no use for such ceremonial tripe even when formality was appropriate. There were times when it was necessary and even desirable, but the fewer and more infrequent they were, the happier it made her. Aboard ship, she preferred to dispense with it when the crew was engaged in carrying out their duties. As a consequence, those under her command demonstrated their loyalty as a natural outgrowth of their respect for her, rather than simply obeying orders.
Besides, she reminded herself, I have Sirad to enforce all of that ritualistic nonsense.
Stepping onto the bridge, the first thing to catch Vathrael’s attention was the subcommander standing next to Centurion Betria, with the young officer focused on the controls, displays, and indicators of the sensor station at the room’s control hub.
“Commander,” Sirad said as he noted her arrival, and stepped away from the station in order to afford Vathrael an unencumbered view of the console’s displays. “Betria has found something interesting.”
Given his cue, the centurion turned to face Vathrael. “Commander, our sensors have detected faint power readings coming from beneath the surface of the planet.”
The report caused Vathrael to turn toward the room’s main viewing screen, upon which was displayed the image of the small, seemingly insignificant world that nevertheless was of great value to the system’s indigenous population. “I assume you’re about to tell me that these power readings are inconsistent with whatever technology the Dolysians have at their disposal?”
“It would seem so,” Sirad said. “In fact, the sensors only detected a minor fluctuation during our scans of the surface, but attempts to localize and identify it were inconclusive.” He nodded toward Betria. “It was only after the centurion retuned the sensors that the readings became clear enough to track with any degree of accuracy.”
Vathrael said, “I’m afraid I don’t understand. Are you saying the power reading was somehow masked from normal detection?”
“Yes, Commander,” Betria replied. “If what we know of Dolysian technology is true, they would not possess anything capable of detecting the power readings in any form.”
Crossing her arms, Vathrael frowned. “If that’s the case, then it’s likely the Starfleet ship and its people have detected these readings, as well. They’re nothing if not resourceful.”
“We’ve already located two of their transport craft on the surface near one location where the readings were detected,” Sirad said.
What could they have found? The question teased Vathrael. Might it be some kind of ancient technology, from a long-dead civilization? Though her adult life had been spent in service to the military, Vathrael had as a child been interested in a number of topics that held no place in such an organization. Among those intellectual pursuits was archeology, which had begun as a simple exploration into the history of the Romulan people and how they had come to form their own society after long ago separating from their Vulcan brothers and sisters. That fascination soon extended to other cultures, starting with worlds that had been folded into the Romulan Empire and later those with which her people had interacted. She had even come to learn during her studies that Earthers in particular harbored an intriguing past, something she had discovered after forcing herself to look past the propaganda and even outright lies disseminated about them. From what she had read, the humans’ own planet was home to ruins and artifacts from primordial civilizations about which almost nothing was known. Perhaps it was this lack of information, this inability to trace with absolute certainty the origins of their species, that pulled Earthers to the stars in search of knowledge and even answers as to their own heritage?
You’re a romantic, Vathrael.
“Commander,” Betria said, having returned to his station and resumed overseeing his instruments, “I’m detecting new power sources, from locations all across the planet.” He paused, and Vathrael watched as he frowned, his fingers tapping a series of controls, which had the effect of altering the data being displayed. “Seventy-six different sites, all of them subterranean.”
Stepping closer, Vathrael peered at the sensor displays. “This is the first time this has happened?”
Terius nodded. “So far as I’m aware, Commander. I’ve only just been able to conduct a full sensor sweep after the modifications which were required to better discern the power readings.” He frowned, shaking his head. “It’s almost as though something has reacted to our sensor probes.”
Something about that troubled Vathrael. “Raise our alert status,” she snapped, looking to Sirad. “Activate our defensive screens.”
&nbs
p; “Commander?” he said, his expression turning to one of concern. “What are you—?”
The question was cut off by a new alarm echoing throughout the bridge, accompanied by the momentary flickering of overhead illumination and the sound of the Nevathu’s engines increasing in pitch as new demands were placed upon them. Glancing to the weapons station, Vathrael saw that the defense systems had activated on their own, which only happened in response to a threat detected by the ship’s sensors.
“We are being scanned,” shouted Centurion Terius over the alarms. The weapons officer did not turn from his console as he reported, “It’s a high-intensity beam, directed at us from the surface.”
After signaling to another centurion to extinguish the alert sirens, Sirad said, “It could be a targeting scanner.”
Nodding in agreement with the report as well as at the validation of her own instincts, Vathrael pointed to the centurion at the helm station. “Janotra, stand by for evasive maneuvers, and prepare to leave orbit.” She was not yet ready to retreat, at least not until she could learn more about whatever might now be curious about her ship, but that did not mean she wanted to take any undue risks.
“What about our weapons, Commander?”
Vathrael studied the information streaming across the monitors at Betria’s station. “From this distance, only the main plasma weapon has sufficient force to penetrate through the planet’s surface to where these power readings appear to be originating.” Using the weapon would tax the vessel’s already strained power systems, particularly with the warp engines still inactive following the Nevathu’s passing through the energy field. Still, if they were being targeted, she did not wish to be caught unprepared to respond to any hazard posed by the planet’s still-unknown technology. After a moment, she nodded. “Weapons officer, route power to the plasma cannon.”
To her left, Centurion Odera turned from the communications station. “Commander, I am detecting an outgoing message from the planet. It appears to be someone from the Starfleet ship.”