SPARTACUS

by T. L. MANCOUR

  “Vemlans?” he supplied, and frowned. “It went well, I suppose. I just briefed the captain on it. We ran a check on what solid information we have on them, and it’s not much. Mostly second- and third-hand accounts from passing traders. Lots of rumor and hearsay, but few hard facts. Almost nothing on their culture or government.

  “At last report, they had developed simple space-flight, primitive but effective nuclear weapons, and better than average computer systems on their own. They’d still be using chemical rocket or nuclear powered drives if the Sarens hadn’t come along and sold a lot of advanced technology to them.”

  Crusher nodded. “I bet it was the influx of advanced technology that caused the eventual breakup and destruction of Vemla. Sad. Score one for the Prime Directive.”

  “We’ll know soon.” Riker wouldn’t be at all surprised if Dr. Crusher’s hypothesis was correct. Yet another vindication for Starfleet’s number one rule. Perhaps the introduction of higher technology had nothing to do with the destruction of Vemla—but he was certain it hadn’t helped. “Data requested a complete history of the planet for our records. If nothing else, it will be useful as a study of what happens when your planet gets technology beyond its means.”

  “How long will we be in contact?”

  “Not long. Repairs are coming along quickly for both ships. I just approved an order from Geordi for supplies and personnel to help them get their ship fixed. He specially requested Wesley’s help.” He smiled at the thought; Geordi had been very emphatic on the subject. Yet the matter of the alien ship still disturbed him.

  “I don’t know. Their crew seemed cordial enough, but . . .” he shrugged. “There was something that made me uneasy about the whole place. Like they were hiding something.”

  “You told the captain this?”

  “Yes. As a matter of fact, he told me that Deanna couldn’t ‘read’ them, either—which could have been due to her condition, I suppose. But she did say there was something curious about their body language. That’s one of the reasons I came down here, to discuss what she thought about them. Next time I meet Captain Jared, I want her at my side. Honestly, I felt a little strange. I mean, I expect aliens to be alien, but there was something inconsistent with the whole thing. Little things. Like I didn’t see any children or old people on board,” He shook his head, frowning. “But that’s not it. There’s something else, here, I know it. Unfortunately, I don’t have anything to base it on. Just a hunch.”

  “Trust your hunches, Will,” Crusher said, turning to face him. “A good captain has to be able to.”

  “I’m not a captain yet.”

  “You’ve had the chance. You will be, someday. If you want it.”

  “Perhaps. I like being first officer, though; I’m not sure if I’m ready to give it up. But speaking of what I want—do you have anything for an upset stomach?” he asked. “I mean, a really upset stomach?”

  “Why?”

  He patted his stomach, which was growling again, but for an entirely different reason than before.

  “Because I think the Vemlans use condorite as a spice, as well as a reactor fuel.”

  The work with engine casing number three was progressing nicely. A powerful crane had been assembled above the reactor while Geordi’s repair team, the ones he knew could be spared from the repairs on the Enterprise, beamed over. It took quite a bit of muscle to remove three solid inches of casing from the reactor core. Though Geordi would have preferred to use an antigravity lifting device, the field of such a device could cause a nasty and potentially hazardous reaction within the interior of the core. Brute force was necessary for this job; pure finesse wouldn’t cut it.

  Wesley Crusher had jumped at the chance to help, obviously not knowing what he was getting himself into. It took a little persuading on Geordi’s part, but once he explained the situation, Will thought that a stint as a grease monkey might be helpful in rounding out the young ensign’s education. Wesley had beamed over with a kit full of tools and a head full of enthusiasm, and obligingly began working under the watchful eye of the two chief engineers.

  “Well, your number four engine isn’t as bad as I expected,” Geordi said. “I didn’t see any cracks. Perhaps you should just flush out the system and restart the reaction from scratch. That may take care of a lot of the problems you have.”

  “Perhaps,” said Dren, sounding a little uncertain. “But we’ve tried that before. The problem is that the reactors are all hooked into the weapons systems as well, so the connections get complicated.”

  “That’s unusual, isn’t it?”

  “Like I said before, we’ve had to jury-rig a number of things on the Freedom,” Dren replied. “If necessary, this set-up lets us divert full power from the drive and use it for defense.”

  Geordi whistled. “Pretty big guns.”

  “I designed the system myself,” Dren said. “What we need is a way to stabilize the neutron flow. The way the charged particles come shooting out of the pipe, there’s almost no way we can control the reaction without losing power.”

  Geordi thought for a moment, then snapped his fingers. “You know, Dren, we might have the answer back on our ship. When I was back in the Academy I remember studying the first Vulcan ships, which had a similar power system. I think they used a special damper. If we have the design in the computer, and if Captain Picard approves, we can give it to you.”

  “Excuse me, sirs, I got the bolt off. What do I do now?” came a muffled voice from under the casing. Wesley had been removing the retaining bolts on the floor strut underneath the support housing. It was a difficult job, but Wesley had tackled it with enthusiasm and had the loose bolt to show for his troubles. From his voice it was clear that he was going to be glad to be finished, however.

  “If you look about twenty-one centimeters to your right,” said Dren, helpfully, “you’ll see the top of another bolt. Remove that one as well.”

  “Uh, Geordi, how many of these bolts are there?” Wes asked hesitantly.

  “I think I saw about twenty of them, Wes.”

  “Twenty-four,” supplied Dren, helpfully. Wesley couldn’t help but groan.

  “Don’t worry, though, it gets easier the more you do.”

  Wesley quietly groaned again, but went steadfastly back to work. The power crane whined as the heavy support cradle for the casing was lifted up to be attached. Geordi raised his voice to talk over it. He was about to question the need for such a massive defense system when the whine oscillated out of control and an explosive snap rang out in the large compartment.

  Geordi turned just in time to see the support cradle and its snapped line plummet ten meters to the floor where Dren’s assistant, Deski, had been standing. The heavy metal bar caught him in the hip and buried itself in his leg, ripping it from his body.

  The man fell without a sound.

  Geordi tagged his communicator instantly. “La Forge to Enterprise, we have a medical emergency on the Freedom! Trauma team to home in on my signal. Notify sickbay to prepare for emergency limb graft.”

  Vemlans from all over the engine room were rapidly converging at the side of their fallen comrade. Geordi pushed through them to get to the injured man’s side, where Dren was already examining his crew mate. “I sent for help,” he told them. “I have a med team on the way from the Enterprise. You’re gonna be okay, Deski, just hang on. Have you started first aid?”

  Nobody answered him. Two crewmen were calmly clearing away the fallen crane, and another was coiling the faulty wire out of the way. There was a singular lack of fuss about the situation, as if falling chunks of metal nearly killed people every day. Geordi ignored their lack of concern and looked at the wound.

  Instead of blood and bone and torn muscle tissue, he saw trailing wires, torn muscle actuators, and a broken metal support frame. He looked up and saw Deski calmly and painlessly staring at his injury. Then he turned to Dren, whose face was a mixture of concern and embarrassment, as if he had been caught at something
forbidden. The injured man was, obviously, something other than he seemed.

  Geordi took stock of the situation and tagged his communicator again.

  “La Forge to Enterprise. Cancel that emergency. We don’t need a med team. I think this is a job for engineering.”

  He looked back and forth from the injured man to the chief engineer, and asked quietly: “Could someone please tell me what’s going on?”

  Chapter Four

  CAPTAIN PICARD sat in the conference lounge, listening to Geordi’s report on the accident in the Freedom’s engineering lounge. His head ached—a combination of fatigue and stress caused by the storm, no doubt. Perhaps the only one who felt worse was Deanna Troi, who was still in sickbay under a sedation field. He hoped she would not be there too long. He suspected that this situation might call for her particular talents very soon.

  “Androids?” he asked tiredly. “Are you certain?”

  “Yes, sir. Every single one of them, as far as I can tell,” answered Geordi, who was lounging casually, arms crossed, against the conference table. Data and Riker were also present, seated in the two chairs.

  “The injured crewman was definitely an android, and the heat patterns of the rest of the crew matched his.”

  “Why didn’t you notice this at once, Mr. La Forge?” asked Picard.

  Geordi shrugged. “Captain, my VISOR isn’t like normal human vision. I don’t see things automatically, like you do with colors. When I use anything but my normal scanning range I have to concentrate. I wasn’t expecting them to be machines so I didn’t see much point in looking past the normal ranges. Once Deski was injured though, I had a reason to check.”

  Picard looked from his chief engineer to his science officer. Data’s face bore the impassive, vaguely interested look it usually did. Though he lacked information on this new development, he wondered what it meant to the lone android. Was he curious? Excited? No—the latter was impossible. Data was not programmed for emotion.

  “Mr. Data, do you concur with Geordi’s conclusions?”

  “Yes, Captain. From the tour given to me by the Freedom’s executive officer, there seem to be several items of a purely circumstantial nature that support Geordi’s position. First, a number of verbal clues from the crew which suggested that they were not quite what they seemed. Second, there was no evidence of children or elderly people on board. Were the Vemlans an organic life-form, and their story true, children would almost certainly have been taken along. Third, though the executive officer showed me an extensive hydroponic garden, she did not show me any food-producing plants. An organic species in the process of colonization could not help but bring along foodstuffs and materials from which to manufacture more.

  “Lastly, the design modifications to the ship’s systems and the rate at which the crew members we saw were absorbing information seem to indicate not only a machinelike method of reasoning, but would also indicate a superiority over organic life forms in several areas. I would have come to the conclusion eventually, had the accident in the engine room not happened.”

  Picard rubbed his temples. “Yes, thank you, Mr. Data. Number One, your report?”

  “Captain,” began his first officer, “I didn’t see anything that would have tipped me off. But I was suspicious about something all along, I just couldn’t put my finger on it. The Vemlans—androids—seemed just like any of a number of humanoid races with whom I’ve come in contact. But then, I’ve only met two androids, Data and Lore, and the aliens didn’t act very much like either of them. They ate, drank, told jokes, and had mannerisms that I’ve come to associate with hum—organic life-forms,” he finished, in deference to Data.

  “So, we have a ship of alien androids running around the galaxy claiming that they aren’t androids. This is true, isn’t it? They did claim that they had no androids on board?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Data. “I have the exact conversation on record. They were quite explicit with their words. They were, in essence, ‘out and out lying.’ ”

  “You concur?” Picard asked the other two. They both nodded their heads. “This raises a number of questions. How is it that these are Vemlan androids, when the Vemlan culture is—was—reportedly far too primitive to develop anything as sophisticated as an android? And why are they seeking to colonize—if that is truly what they are doing—a new planet? And the biggest question, as it always is, is why? Why lie about your origin to total strangers? Any answers, gentlemen?”

  “Could they be embarrassed about being androids?” Geordi asked.

  “I do not think so,” Data said quickly. “The Vemlans seemed quite proud of their accomplishments. Moreover, I would think it unlikely for them to be embarrassed about such a minor thing as race.”

  “I think we should table this question until we can ask those who would know best, the androids themselves. There are others that need to be answered first,” said Riker. “Such as, are their intentions hostile?”

  “I saw weapons on board, if that’s what you mean,” responded Geordi. “Nuclear missiles, laser and maser projectors, explosive solids, and a few things I didn’t have time to look at closely. And I think they’ve used some of it, too. I saw evidence of carbon scoring which I took to be weapon impact marks on the exterior of the engine section. I asked Dren about it, but he said that they were just welding marks.”

  “If they have hostile intentions directed toward this ship, Captain, one must logically wonder why,” said Data.

  “Higher technology, for one,” said Geordi, addressing his friend directly. “Dren was really interested in some of our technology. But I don’t think he’s the type to take it without asking. The whole ship felt friendly to me. A little quirky, a little paranoid, but friendly. I can’t see the Vemlans doing anything to harm us.”

  “But you don’t have Deanna’s talent. We don’t really know their intentions, do we?” asked Riker. “They have lied to us rather convincingly. That puts me on guard, right there.”

  “Their evasive conduct does require some explanation, and they are capable of doing harm to the ship. I would suggest that we proceed with caution,” said Data.

  “Have you read the information that the Vemlans gave us on their culture, Data?” asked Picard.

  “No, sir, I have not. I have yet to have the chance.”

  “Do so at once. I want to know as much about our enigmatic guests as possible. Androids,” Picard said, as if to himself. “I never would have suspected. Who built them, and for what purpose? And why are they wandering around this sector of space?”

  “What puzzles me, Captain,” said Riker, “is if they are androids, why do they go through so much trouble to act like hum—organic life-forms? They eat, exercise, engage in recreation, all very unmachinelike things.”

  “Yes, that is puzzling,” agreed Picard. “Is it all just an elaborate ruse to put us off our guard, or is there some other purpose?”

  “I think I can explain that much, Captain,” broke in Data. “Although I am a machine, I am nevertheless programmed to respond in several areas as a human would. My preferred areas of recreation are much different from most humans, I admit, but I can see no reason why an android of sufficient complexity could not find alternate means of recreation that are similar if not identical to that of an organic being. As Kurta pointed out to me, I can taste with greater clarity than a normal human, and precisely store the sensation for enjoyment at another time. It is intriguing to me,” the android continued, “that the Freedom’s crew should choose such human things as cooking and eating to enjoy, things entirely unnecessary for mechanical sustenance.”

  “Quite correct, Data. And these are, after all, alien androids, apparently created by an alien race for unknown purposes. Very good, gentlemen. I don’t think we can take any action before we know the entire story.” He thought a moment. “I think I shall invite Captain Jared and a small party over for a social call. Number One, have the holodeck prepared as a banquet hall for a small diplomatic dinner. I shall
want all three of you in attendance, dress uniforms. I believe Dr. Crusher and Mr. Worf would also be good additions. And Counselor Troi, if she is feeling well enough by that time to attend.”

  “Aye, sir,” said Riker.

  “Data, after the meal I think you should give the executive officer a tour of the Enterprise in reciprocation. Give your inquisitive nature free rein.”

  “I shall try, Captain,” the android replied, “but I am not very adept at the subtle nuances of social behavior.”

  “Just act nonchalant, Data,” said Riker.

  “Yes, quite. While Mr. Data is conducting the tour, I shall invite Captain Jared to my quarters for a drink and a chat. Hopefully, between the two of us, we can ferret out the reason for their deceit.” Another thought struck him. “Geordi, how long until repairs are complete on the Enterprise?”

  “Six hours, Captain, give or take a few. The main computer is working at sixty percent of optimum, and most subsystems are on-line.”

  “Very good. And how are the repairs coming to the Freedom?”

  “Pretty well. We could be done with the reactors in about eight hours, if we rushed it. Other systems will take more time.”

  “Don’t rush it. Continue working on the Freedom, but make sure that you keep in touch with each repair crew. We don’t have any reason not to help them, yet, but if it comes to that, I might want the ship not to be able to move. Strategically, it covers our bases.” He nodded at his officers. “Very well, gentlemen—dismissed.”

  “Force Commander, recon team six reports possible evidence of the objective,” the technician on the desk console before him said. “A piece of debris which appears to be a remnant of the objective has been found.”

  “Was it destroyed? What was the volume of the debris? Where was it located?” Sawliru demanded. He was seated in the enlisted men’s lounge, one of the few safe havens from the mission commander. Alkirg would never bring herself to enter the meager space allowed for mere enlisted personnel . . . and, hopefully, wouldn’t think that he would, either. He was, after all, an officer.