Just as Vinx got those words out, Rennan Konya walked in behind him. “Ma’am,” Konya said, “Commander Corsi wanted us to get the evacuation in order.”
Sarjenka’s eyes darted between them. “All right. Make sure Lieutenant Vale is evacuated as well. I’ll examine her when we all get to the shuttles.”
Konya gave a curt not. “Is there anything we can do here?”
“Have you tried the phase discriminators? Can we transport back to the da Vinci?”
“Tried them, and negative, ma’am,” Konya said. “No luck.”
Sarjenka sighed. Time to start being a chief medical officer. “All right, then. Commander Data, could you please help me get Captain Picard to our shuttles? Makk, Rennan, anyone else who’s had memory hallucinations needs to be transported as well. I can’t treat them properly down here. Get Dantas to help you. We need to make sure they’re kept calm and relaxed the whole trip.”
When Konya and Vinx went to help Picard out of his cot, they were treated to another round of viewing the captain’s stomach contents.
Sarjenka took a deep breath while she thought. The continued vomiting wasn’t a good sign. He needed fluids, and not of the tea variety. There had to be a way to get him to the shuttle without invoking the nausea.
“Makk, Rennan, please work with Dantas to make sure the others are taken to the shuttles. Commander Data and I will tend to Captain Picard.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Rennan said, almost dragging Makk out before he could make the inevitable Iotian comment that she knew would get him into trouble. Sarjenka had contemplated hooking up a canister of anesthezine gas to the vent in his quarters just to make him a bit more tolerable to the female members of the crew.
That was when the idea struck. Sedation, it couldn’t be that simple, could it? Rustling through the medkit, she came up with a hypospray of melorazine. It wasn’t perfect, Traiaka knew, but it would work—for a while. It was also standard enough a medication that interactions shouldn’t be a concern. “Okay, Captain, I’m going to give you a sedative. Transporters aren’t working in this area of the planet. We have two shuttles a kilometer from here. We’re going to carry you there. This sedative shouldn’t interact with what I’ve already given you, but moving you shouldn’t be an issue, either.”
Picard nodded. “Do…you must.”
She put the hypospray to Picard’s neck, and then stood up, waiting on the medication to take effect.
When they reached the tent that housed the dig team’s finds to date, Sonya Gomez was soaked from head to toe. “Maybe we could leave this place with a nice weather control satellite before we go,” she mused aloud, wringing some of the rainwater out of her hair as she ducked inside. Sonya peeled off the wet uniform jacket, hanging it on the back of a chair as she walked past. Her shirt was still damp, but one light layer of wet fabric was far preferable to two in the warmth of the forest.
“Hey,” Cunningham said, a slight smile on his face, “I know we wouldn’t say no. This is the fifth down-pour this week. Makes working a dig a total pain in the ass.”
Gomez was surprised to find herself returning that look. “I can imagine. What makes you do this?”
“Do what?”
Sonya gestured to the artifacts that surrounded them. “This. Come out to some planet in the middle of nowhere and look for the past? Living in the past isn’t always the healthiest thing. Why not explore the future?”
Cunningham chuckled. “You never studied Santayana?”
Gomez searched her memory. Shaking her head, she said, “If I did, I don’t remember it.”
“‘Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it’? Doesn’t Starfleet Academy teach philosophy classes anymore?”
Sonya wanted to cover her face in embarrassment as the memory surfaced. “Yes, they do. I guess I didn’t pay that much attention.”
“Too anxious to explore the future?” he chided.
“Maybe.” Turning toward a large table full of what looked like oddly shaped bits of pottery, she said, “What are these?”
Fortunately, he got the hint and allowed her to change the subject. “These? Just bits of pottery and statues from the lowest levels of the dig so far. They predate the Gretharan occupation of this territory by at least a century. At least, I think they do. Without the equipment, it’s difficult to be sure.”
One piece piqued Sonya’s interest. It was a small, carved sculpture, the color of jade, if jade came in a dark teal green. There was something intriguing about the shape. It looked almost humanoid, but the length of the neck suggested the lighter gravity of a planet like Icaria Prime. “What’s this?”
Paul looked at the sculpture for a moment. “Oh, that. Jean-Luc found it. He thought it was High Gretharan, but we’re not so sure. It was found in a layer of artifacts that date back to before the Gretharans were known to live here. If it’s Icarian, like I suspect, it’s possible it dates back to before humanity even had spaceflight. Gabe and I have gotten a request in for a grant to conduct a further dig just to follow up on it.”
“So these weren’t the Gretharans? Who were they?” Sonya asked. If they looked anything like the sculpture, they were certainly impressive: a swan-like neck, a skull that looked to be proportionally larger than a human’s, long, elegant arms and fingers. They looked like a fascinating race, fragile, yet still formidable if they thrived in this kind of weather. “Have you found any biological evidence they were here, or is it just this sculpture?”
Paul’s lips pursed. “Just that and a few shards of pottery so far. We don’t even have a name for them.”
“And if we cobbled together a weather control system?”
Cunningham’s cheeks reddened. “We might be able to find more.”
“Well,” she said, “we’d have to check with the Icarian government, of course.” Sonya looked around at the artifacts that were on every available surface. While nothing grabbed her attention quite as intently as the sculpture had, there was one piece that did intrigue her. A stone sphere roughly the size of her fist rested in the middle of one of the tables. It was covered in what looked like glyphs, but she couldn’t make heads or tails of what they were. She reached out and picked it up, but nearly doubled over when the full weight of the thing was in her hands. “What’s this?” she asked, surprised.
“Heavy, ain’t it?” Paul deadpanned. “Gabe found three of those in an obelisk near what he thinks is a temple. We checked the place out, and it doesn’t look like anything any of us have seen before. When Jean-Luc and Data got here, they took a look, too. What the hell, we’ve got a walking, talking computer, might as well see if it knows anything, right? The best any of us can figure is it’s some sort of ceremonial location. Gabe said the glyphs looked Gretharan, but they don’t correspond to any dialect we know of.”
Sonya hefted the piece back onto the table, amazed it could handle the weight. “The density readings on that must be amazing.”
“They’re not. Davis, our geologist, thinks it’s an iron-core meteorite with some burned quartz on the outside. Whoever carved those glyphs handled a lot of radiation, though.”
That got Sonya’s tricorder in her hand in a quick second.
“Don’t worry,” Paul said. “We got good scans on it before the equipment went belly up. The radiation levels fell off centuries ago. We’re safe.”
Even though she knew it would probably be useless, Sonya still stubbornly ran her tricorder over the stone, just to be safe. All of the readings were within a safe range. She ran several scans, covering everything from radiation output to electromagnetic influence to about fifteen other things she could think of, and everything was within the safety zone.
Which, alone, was enough to set off her mental alarms.
“Commander Gomez?” Cunningham began. “Are you all right?”
Sonya shook her head. “I don’t know. Something’s not right here. I mean, we’ve had iron-core meteorites like this on Earth for centuries, so they can’t be the c
ause of what’s going on with the people here.”
“What is going on?”
She couldn’t hide the concern in her expression as she turned to face him. “Something here is emitting a field similar to thoron radiation. It forced us to come down in a shuttle instead of beaming down. And the field is expanding unevenly, making it impossible to get an exact focal point. On top of that, even our scanners are becoming useless in this. Has one of your artifacts done anything—strange—since you discovered it?”
“Strange as in how?”
Sonya looked around, pursing her lips as she thought. Finally, she said, “I don’t know, acted as though it had suddenly been turned on? Best we could tell from orbit, this field isn’t naturally occurring. It has to be generated by something. And it has to be something here or nearby. The dig site is the closest thing we can determine to a focal point. Maybe something in this temple Gabriel thinks he found?”
Cunningham shrugged. “Nothing that I’ve seen. Trust me, if something started acting weird and we’d seen it, you’d be the first to know.”
“Can you take me there?” Sonya asked. “I’d like to take a look around for myself.”
“Of course. We’ll get Gabriel and your friends on the way.”
Sonya put a hand on Paul’s arm. “If there’s something coming from inside the temple, I’d prefer to put as few people at risk as possible right now. Especially with what little ammunition we have. Who knows more about the temple, you or Gabriel?”
“Gabe, definitely.”
“Then let’s get him and Domenica. No offense, but I’d much rather have my security chief watching our backs in case any more looters show up.”
Still imprisoned in her own hallucination, Christine rang the door chime to the room that housed Lenmar, the sole Aquan member of the O’Keefe’s crew. First contact with the Aquan home planet of Argo had been almost a century before, after a cycle of earthquakes had caused the habitable landmasses on the planet to collapse beneath the water’s surface.
Fortunately for the Aquans, they were also a species that had acquired a tremendous knowledge of genetic manipulation. Within two generations, they had managed something they called a “surgo-op,” which, when boiled down, was nothing more than adding a chromosome or two to allow them to develop gills for their new underwater life.
When another cycle of quakes had given them back some of the habitable landmasses, a group of Aquans chose to engineer their own genetic structure to allow them to live an amphibious lifestyle. Lenmar was one of those Aquans.
When Christine rang the door chime to his quarters, she was never sure whether she’d be greeted by a soaking wet, half-naked Lenmar who’d just been in his tank, or a fully dressed Lenmar in his specially designed uniform and boots. One was just as likely as the other.
Fortunately for her sense of decorum, she was greeted by the fully dressed Lenmar, who raised his brow—if she could call the crest of multicolored scales that ran over his eyes a brow—and asked, “Yes, Lieutenant?”
Christine pulled the medkit from her shoulder. “Lenmar, I’m sorry to disturb you, but we’ve been asked to check for changelings across the ship. Do you have a moment?”
She saw herself making all of the same moves, each one just upping the ante on her mistake. A memory in Christine’s mind screamed for her to stop, turn around, and let Dr. Kyril take this one. But Kyril couldn’t take Lenmar; he was still too busy dealing with the testing on the senior staff. All she could do was step inside the Aquan’s quarters as he gestured for her to have a seat in one of the few chairs that hadn’t been specially designed for his species. “Of course, Lieutenant,” Lenmar said. “We need to find the changelings and make sure they don’t get too close to the President or the Council. If I may ask, what’s involved in the test?”
“It’s a blood test,” she heard herself saying. “All I need to do is take a small sample of your blood.”
“Huh,” the Aquan replied. “Do you really think that I could be a changeling?”
Christine’s eyes shot wide open. “Oh, of course not, Lenmar,” she began, her voice a bit more rushed than she’d have liked. A part of her wanted to wince at her own naïveté. “It’s just a new security protocol. Every ship in the fleet is being asked to make sure their crews are who they’re supposed to be.”
“And you would doubt the identity of the second son of Domar?” he asked, his voice reaching an officiousness that Vale had only ever before associated with royalty. She knew Lenmar’s record. He might have been the grandson of High Tribune Domar himself, but she knew that his title meant nothing in Starfleet. They’d had the children of the royalty of other planets serving over the years. She’d even encountered a couple of upperclassmen back at the Academy who’d bonded over their perceived elite status.
“Lenmar,” she said, choosing her words as carefully as a gourmet chef might pick the right spice. “No one doubts your identity at all. We all know that you are Lenmar, second son of High Tribune Domar, heir to the land-kingdom of Humus, and one of the first dual-breathers in Aquan history.”
“Yet, you would test my word?”
“We all have to be tested, Lenmar,” she said. “Directive from Starfleet Command.” She tried her best don’t-shoot-the-messenger tone, but Vale knew the hairs on the back of her neck were prickling. “I’m only following the orders I was given.”
“And how many others who’ve gone on—what is it you call them, oh yes—witch hunts have said the same thing?”
Christine Vale simply stood there, realizing that what Lenmar had said was the absolute truth. This wasn’t security, not the way she knew it. Sure, she knew that it was always best to know that the people on your ship were all the people who were supposed to be there, but this? “Witch hunt” was exactly what she’d been set on. But you have to do it, Christine, she tried to tell herself. If you don’t, he’ll just get Kyril instead when he finally gets around to it. And Kyril won’t be strong enough.
“Please, Lenmar. All I’m asking is a simple blood sample. Nothing more. I won’t trouble you for a moment after that.”
The Aquan took a deep breath, and then headed toward the back portion of his quarters. “Let me get in the tank,” he said, sounding defeated, “It’ll soften up my skin so you can get your sample.” A small privacy door closed between the two rooms, and reopened on Lenmar’s command. “You may enter, Lieutenant.”
Vale took two steps forward, a part of her screaming to stop. But nothing worked. She reached into the medkit for the sharper of her hyposprays, loaded it with an empty sample vial, and walked toward Lenmar’s tank. Tank? Looks like a giant hot tub to me.
As she took a step closer, she noticed the steam begin to rise from the water’s surface. Yeah, hot tub. She knew that some Aquans preferred warmer waters, but she didn’t think they liked them quite that warm.
He allowed her to take a small blood sample from an area of scaled skin that had been underwater. When she looked at the vial, it was a dark red, precisely as it should have been.
Until it slowly turned gold.
Before she could register the change, Lenmar had her in the boiling-hot water. His hand was firmly pressed to her chest, holding her under. Christine tried twisting and turning in every way she could imagine, until finally she got an idea. Her backside was at an angle to the specially designed reclining area for the Aquan, leaving her legs pointing straight up.
Her vision blurred by the combination of lack of oxygen, buildup of carbon dioxide, and having to see through the water, it took her a moment to get the thought together. When she did, she reached her legs around Lenmar’s neck, using a scissor motion to pull him off-balance. It was just enough to get the fist off of her chest.
When she surfaced, it was the best breath of air she had ever inhaled.
Lenmar—or the changeling who had been posing as Lenmar—sat at the other end of the tub, staring at her with a gleam of conquest in his eyes. “You’re dead, human. All of you.”
She reached for her phaser, but it wasn’t at her belt clip. Christine caught sight of it across the room, sitting on top of the medkit where she’d stupidly placed it. Moving as quickly as she could, she grabbed it, flipped it to the highest setting, and turned on Lenmar.
But the changeling was nowhere to be found.
“Damn it!”
Christine was drenched, and she still felt as though the weight of five planets had been pressing on her chest. “Vale to bridge, he got away. The changeling was posing as Lenmar.”
With a fleeting wonder of when Lenmar had been replaced, Vale stumbled toward the door. Once back in the relatively safer sanctuary of the ship’s corridors, she made her way to the turbolift. Best get checked out, make sure he didn’t do anything more than wind me.
Oh, she knew he had cracked a couple of ribs with that attempt to kill her, but still, she stood before the turbolift doors, waiting…
Carol leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms back over her head and enjoying the sound of the rain falling on the tent’s roof. She’d been hunched over the High Gretharan research materials that Gabe’s team had been using for far too long, and could have sworn she heard a couple of vertebrae pop back into place. It probably should have hurt, but it really felt good. She almost wished Vance were there to give her a good backrub.
Bart, to his credit, simply sipped at what she thought was his third or fourth coffee of the day, and went back to studying the rubbing.
“I wonder where the coffee came from?” Carol asked. “If the food replicators aren’t working properly, how’d they get the beans?”
Almost on cue, Inana ducked inside the office tent. “I brought them along,” she said, her voice softer than usual. Carol couldn’t help but notice that it looked as though she’d been crying. “I had to trade one of the seedlings I had in stasis to Captain Idises after a poker game on the way out here, though. But the rest? They’re out in a little garden by our tent.”
Star Trek™ Corps of Engineers: Remembrance of Things Past Book One Page 7