Star Trek: Enterprise - 016 - Rise of the Federation: Tower of Babel

by Christopher L. Bennett

  Charles “Trip” Tucker, on the other hand, was currently lurking in the undergrowth behind the medical clinic where he—or rather, Albert Sims—had been volunteering until just days before. Said clinic was now under the control of the M’Tezir Expeditionary Medical Corps, who had turned it into an armed and guarded camp, nominally to protect the vital plague treatments within from theft or offworlder sabotage.

  Tucker wondered if that included offworlder theft as well. The only way to find out, he supposed, was to get past the guards and alarms so he could try it for himself. With his training, that was unlikely to be too difficult.

  But then he caught a glimpse of movement near the rear entrance. Setting his night-vision visor to magnify, Tucker grimaced when he realized that Antonio Ruiz was attempting the same thing he was. And likely to get both of them caught and expelled, at best, for he seemed oblivious to the guard turning the corner and heading his way.

  Tucker moved toward Ruiz as quickly as he could without rustling the undergrowth too noticeably. Finding a suitable rock, he hurled it into the deeper growth. Once the guard moved to investigate the sound, Trip broke cover, grabbed Ruiz from behind, and dragged him back into concealment with a hand over his mouth. The wiry young Cuban struggled and swung, his fists flying with little technique but considerable force, so Tucker hissed in his ear. “Calm down, Antonio! It’s me! Albert!”

  Ruiz settled down and tried to turn his head. Tucker let him, and flipped up the night visor so Ruiz could see both his eyes. “Al!”

  “Shh!”

  “Al,” Ruiz went on in a whisper. “It is you. What are you doing here, man?”

  “I was gonna ask you the same question. Why weren’t you evacuated?”

  Ruiz gave him a knowing look. “I wouldn’t be much of a mining engineer if I didn’t know my geology. I know a couple of good hidey-holes up in the hills.”

  “Okay, next question. Why did you hide? Why are you trying to break into the clinic?”

  “Same reason you are, I reckon. Those lavender ladrones are hoarding medicine that could help Saurians in other countries. Using it as a bribe for—”

  “Yeah, I know. We had this conversation.”

  “Right, and I know you’re as angry about it as I am. So you couldn’t pass up a chance to get your hands on an actual dose of that medicine any more than I could.”

  Tucker conceded with a tilt of his head. “Great minds think alike. And so do ours, apparently.”

  “Hey, watch it.”

  “So how were you planning on getting inside?”

  “I have the security code.”

  “Which they would’ve reprogrammed the moment they took over the building.”

  Ruiz stared for a moment. “Oh. ‘Great minds’ . . .” He rolled his eyes in self-deprecation. “So I take it you have a better idea?”

  “I’m pretty good with machines,” Tucker said.

  “I await a demonstration with bated breath.”

  Tucker looked at him sidelong, holding the engineer back until the returned guard went past. They must have been undermanned, since the disruption to the patrol pattern left a gap of a full thirty-two seconds for the humans to get to the rear entrance and crack the code. No surprise that a force supposedly on hand to guard the medicine seemed to be devoting the lion’s share of its attention to other things—probably solidifying their control over Veranith.

  “So how’d you learn to do things like this?” Ruiz whispered as they made their way through the clinic’s corridors to the lab.

  “I told you, I’ve trained in engineering.”

  “Not just that. The way you manhandled me back there. The way you sneak around without a sound and know how to avoid armed guards. And you have been asking a lot of questions since we met, y’know.”

  “I’m just naturally inquisitive. Which sometimes gets me into trouble, so I need to keep a low profile.”

  “Right. Like that trouble with the freighter captain’s wife?”

  “It was the first mate.” He caught Ruiz’s eye for a moment. “Nice try.”

  “Fine. Forget it. Just tell me, Mister Bond, how we find the medicine.”

  “First, we find a computer. We can get an inventory listing from there.”

  “Now, that I can do.”

  Ruiz led him to an office whose lock Tucker overcame almost unthinkingly. Telling Ruiz to keep watch at the door, he accessed the computer and hacked his way into the recently installed M’Tezir database. While tracking down the medicine was on his agenda, he also searched for data that might reveal something about what the M’Tezir were really doing and how—and with whose help—they were pulling it off. Yet the search was futile, as he had expected; such sensitive information was unlikely to be stored in a place like this. He had to settle for the location of the medicine. “I got it,” he told Ruiz. “Let’s go.”

  The storage room containing the medicine was guarded, but Tucker had scouted out the maintenance passages in the clinic’s drop ceilings days before, so he was able to get himself and Ruiz inside without the guard noticing. Moments later, they pried a container open and beheld the hundreds of vials arrayed before them. “And there we are,” Ruiz breathed. He reached in and pulled out a vial—then hesitated.

  “What is it?” Tucker asked.

  “Any medicine we take out of here,” the other man said slowly, “is a dose one of the Veranith patients won’t be getting. What if someone dies because we took this?”

  “Think of how many people will die if M’Tezir keeps hoarding this treatment. You need to get this to Doctor Lucas and his team so they can reproduce it, get it out planetwide with no strings attached.”

  “I know, but . . . the big picture’s still made up of little pictures. How do we have the right to choose one life over another?”

  “It’s Maltuvis that’s forced that choice, not you, Tony. He’s the one to blame for this mess.” As Ruiz continued to think it over, Tucker added, “Look at it this way. Taking too long to act could cost lives, too.” Including ours.

  Ruiz sighed. “You’re right. Let’s get out of here.” He pocketed the vial.

  Tucker took a second one. “Just in case,” he explained. “If there’s trouble, we split up. One of us has to get back to Doctor Lucas.”

  As they worked their way out of the building, Tucker resolved that if only one of them could get away, it had to be Ruiz. This wasn’t just selflessness; Tucker had met Doctor Lucas before, following the Augment attack on Cold Station 12. It had been a decade since then, and he had changed somewhat, but an observant physician like Lucas could probably recognize him if given a good look. Besides, if Tucker got the M’Tezir troops to chase him, he’d have a better chance of eluding them—or surviving interrogation if captured—than Ruiz.

  Reaching the rear exit, they bided their time until the next gap in the patrol. “You know,” Ruiz observed in a whisper, “if I were, oh, the troublesomely inquisitive sort, I think my next move would be to get into one of the countries M’Tezir’s been occupying for a while, so I could discover how they were treating their people, bring back evidence to the League. If people could see what Maltuvis was really doing, then maybe that whole ‘angel of mercy’ image might get tarnished.”

  Tucker pursed his lips, nodding. “Maybe.”

  “So if I were that kind of person, I’d need some connections to get me into such a country without being noticed. Which I imagine would be harder than just lying low in the country you were already in.”

  “I imagine so.” Tucker studied him. “You have a suggestion?”

  Ruiz grinned. “I have a connection. An old friend who’s been smuggling Narpran rum out of the country since the occupation. He knows where to go to avoid notice, and who’ll look the other way if they do spot his boat. He could get us inside.”

  Tucker turned his head sharply. “ ‘Us’?”

  “Well, he won’t trust just anyone. Now, I’d be happy to let you go alone if it were up to me.” He rubbed his nec
k. “Rocks are amazing things, but pillows they’re not, so I’d be happy to go catch up on my sleep. But my contact probably wouldn’t be willing to help if I didn’t come along to vouch for you.”

  Tucker nodded sarcastically. “Right. Of course.”

  Still, he admired the man’s resourcefulness and determination. And in his own way, Ruiz was good company. That was something Tucker appreciated right now more than he cared to admit. He hadn’t achieved a telepathic link with T’Pol in weeks, and he wasn’t sure if it was simply because they were on opposite sides of explored space or because they still hadn’t worked their way past their dispute. Either way, it had gotten lonelier in his head, and he could use some companionship, a friend he had common ground with, even if he couldn’t admit how common.

  He wondered if Narpran rum was as good as Saurian brandy. . . .

  Hainali Basin, Rigel III

  “Are we lost?” Rey Sangupta peered out the windscreen of the hoverskiff, searching in vain for any sign of the Hainali River’s coastline. They had arrived during the flood season, and portions of the river were so wide at this time of year that to an observer in midriver, both shores could be below the horizon. Aside from the occasional tussocks of floating vegetation, there was nothing in Sangupta’s field of view but water. “It’s conceivable we could be lost.”

  “We’re not lost, Rey,” Commander Mayweather replied with studied patience. “This thing has satellite navigation.” The first officer chuckled. “I thought you colonials were supposed to be hardy frontier types.”

  “Frontiers of science, sure. My parents teach at the University of Alpha Centauri. I grew up in the heart of civilization. Not very close to the ocean.”

  “It’s a river, not an ocean.”

  “It’s a river doing a damn good impression of an ocean.” He glanced left, then did a double take. “I think I saw something move down there.”

  Director Sajithen, who sat beside Sangupta in the rear seat while her two escorts sat up front with Mayweather, threw the science officer an irritated look. “The river contains much life. Many things move down there.”

  “Thanks, that’s a comforting thought.”

  “What you should be watching out for,” Mayweather told him, “are First Family agents. Someone could be waiting for us besides Director Sajithen’s contacts.” The director had finally received a response from the Chelon nationalists, a group that resided deep within the rainforest that covered much of Rigel III’s northern continent. As Chelons were adapted for a semi-aquatic existence, the majority lived along the planet’s many rocky coastlines or on smaller land masses like Janxor, readily accessible to the Jelna traders who had started coming to their world more than six centuries ago and introduced them to metallurgy, writing, and other technologies that the bulk of the Chelon populace had taken to readily. But the tribes of the Hainali had remained more isolated and traditionalist, resisting the efforts of civilized Chelons and offworld traders to “develop” their lands and harvest their natural resources. It was no surprise that the nationalist movement had its heart here.

  But while Sangupta had enough doubts about getting the Hainalians to cooperate, he dismissed Mayweather’s concern. “How would they even know we’re here? You said it yourself, sir, they have no idea we know about the Rigel III connection.”

  “They had no idea,” Sajithen replied. “But as I have noted, they had one agent inside the Commission, so they could still have another. By now they may know we discovered the hypnoids’ involvement and are coming here.”

  “Oh. Wonderful.” Sangupta resumed scanning the horizon. “Then the sooner we can find these old friends of yours, the better.”

  Fortunately, it was not much longer before the shoreline started to emerge on the horizon. Initially it appeared overgrown with lush rainforest vegetation, but the skiff drew nearer swiftly enough that he soon began to discern settlements along the shore. As the Chelon escort slowed the skiff and turned it to enter a tributary, Rey got a closer look at one of the villages: no mere cluster of huts, but a large community containing hundreds of single-story dwellings atop sturdily built earthen mounds connected by causeways. The earthworks were high enough that now, at the peak of the flood season, the dwellings and causeways remained a couple of meters above the waterline, making things easy for the villagers who dove into the water with empty nets and climbed out later with hauls of fish. There were a few signs of outside technology—thermoconcrete reinforcements for some of the mounds and causeways, solar panels atop many of the dwellings—but they were integrated smoothly into the Hainalians’ traditional designs and construction materials. Rey reflected that some of his distant maternal ancestors in the Amazon Basin had probably lived much the same way half a millennium before. Francisco de Orellana, a member of the first group of Spanish explorers to travel that way, had described riverbanks densely populated with hundreds of such communities—communities that had all but disappeared by the time later explorers returned, their populations devastated by the imported diseases that had raced ahead of European colonization. Here, mercifully, the Chelons had been spared that fate, their exotic biology leaving them immune to the plagues that had ravaged their humanoid neighbors in the past.

  Soon they left the villages behind, though the forests along the bank were clearly well-cultivated. In these rainy climes, clearing the forest would wash away the soil, leaving traditional agriculture untenable. So like the native Amazonians, the Hainalians had turned the forest around them into a vast orchard, its trees and smaller plants bred over centuries into forms useful to the Chelons for food, textiles, dyes, building materials, medicines, and so forth.

  Still, as one got farther from the villages, the forest grew thicker and less populated. Eventually the Chelon escort settled the skiff in the water in one of these backwoods areas and retracted the canopy. Sajithen herself emitted a loud ululating cry punctuated by a rapid clicking of her beak. No doubt it was the signal to let her contacts know they’d arrived. Sangupta hoped the nationalists were prompt—if only so that his ears hadn’t suffered for nothing. Not to mention the rest of him. The heat and humidity here were stifling, a shock after the climate-controlled environment of the enclosed skiff. Even diffused by the mists that hung overhead, the radiance of Raij at this proximity was intense.

  After waiting a few moments, Sajithen made the call a second time, but then seemed content to wait. Several minutes passed, and Rey’s attempt to scan the river’s edge for any sight or sound of Chelon movement faded into a borderline fugue state of sweltering discomfort and boredom . . . only to be interrupted by a surge in the water and the emergence of an enormous head not ten meters from the skiff. Startled, Rey stumbled backward into his seat. The creature that rose from the river had a leathery, bright green head with owlish dark eyes and an elongated beak tapering to a sharp point. Its plesiosaurian neck was nearly as long as the skiff and attached to an even longer body whose scaled back barely breached the surface.

  “Do not be alarmed,” Sajithen said while Sangupta was still fumbling for his phase pistol. “The kreeyitch is harmless, an eater of plants, insects, and small fish. It was only curious.” Indeed, the creature was already darting away, if any movement by such a ponderous animal could be called “darting.” The escorts both made sounds of amusement.

  Mayweather grinned as he watched the kreeyitch undulate away, the wide paddle at the end of its meters-long tail propelling it with a sinuous up-and-down motion. “It’s like a river dolphin,” he observed.

  “That’s one big river dolphin,” Sangupta replied.

  “It’s one big river.”

  “Many of the larger villages keep tame kreeyitch to assist in fishing and warding off river predators,” the pilot-escort told them.

  That brought a double take from the science officer. “I hope that means the predators are smaller than that.”

  “The ones that travel in packs are, yes.” The escort’s Chelon features were the perfect deadpan; Rey could only h
ope he was teasing.

  The director scanned the forest. “They should have come by now. Let us move onto the ground, let them see us more clearly.”

  At her nod, the pilot moved the skiff in toward the bank. But then something huge erupted out of the water before them—a scale-armored head even larger than the kreeyitch’s, with a gaping mouth filled with sharp serrated teeth. The pilot veered off as it roared and lunged toward them.

  “You weren’t kidding about those predators, were you?” Sangupta cried.

  The Jelna escort had drawn his sidearm, but Sajithen clacked her beak thoughtfully and said, “Wait. Bring the skiff to a halt.” The escorts complied.

  “Don’t tell me that’s harmless, too,” Mayweather said to her as it roared in their direction.

  “A tukhanthik is far from harmless,” Sajithen told him. “But the kreeyitch know that. If one had been anywhere near here, the kreeyitch would be elsewhere.” She turned to the pilot. “It is a hypnoid illusion. Take us toward it.” As the Chelon complied, Sajithen turned her head back toward the humans. “The nationalists are here, but they try to deter us. Perhaps a test to ensure it was truly I who came.”

  “I really hope you’re right,” Sangupta murmured as the skiff drove right toward the tukhanthik’s gaping maw . . .

  . . . which flickered and faded from his view as the vehicle passed right through where he’d believed it to be. Rey blinked, impressed with the level of detail the hypnoids had been able to conjure.

  Moments later, the skiff settled onto the bank and its occupants debarked. Sajithen repeated her ululating, clacking call. “You see it is Sajithen who comes to you!” she called. “Despite my high obligations elsewhere, my purpose is urgent enough to come in my own flesh to meet with you! Let us play no more games!” She moved forward. Mayweather kept pace with her, and Sangupta followed, but he could see no one. “I have seen through one hypnoid trick! If you stand before us, then let us see the truth of it so we may parley!” Startled, Rey looked around, narrowing his gaze, trying to will himself to see through the illusion or spot some motion in the corner of his eye.