by Dayton Ward
“We’ve used asteroids as the foundation for starbases and observation outposts for centuries,” he said, “and there have been several instances where a space vessel was fashioned within the hollowed-out interior of an asteroid, but the sheer audacity it must have taken to realize a project like this is amazing.” Even though he was not skilled or knowledgeable in any of the technical disciplines required to create such a structure, Picard found himself anticipating the opportunity to inspect the colony habitat and to see just how these people had managed such a staggering feat of engineering.
Already envisioning how this development would look in his next report to Starfleet, the captain could not help being amused at the questions it likely would raise. Would there be second-guessing over the decision made two centuries ago not to send a ship to investigate the origin of that first Dokaalan probe, the one discovered by the Vulcan vessel? Picard figured the question was all too easy to answer. The assorted bickering and other minutiae that composed the livelihood of politicians and others constantly working to remain in power would overshadow the true story worth telling here: that of the Dokaalan people and their valiant struggle against the tremendous adversity Fate had seen fit to pit against them.
Just one more reason, he reminded himself, to avoid politics altogether.
The Dokaalan wasted no time transmitting boarding procedures to the Enterprise, after which Picard, accompanied by Data and Troi, transferred to the central habitat via shuttlecraft. While there had been assurances that the starship itself could safely link up with one of the complex’s external docking ports, the captain had opted to keep the vessel mobile for the time being. His conversation with Troi following the first meeting with Hjatyn and his people was not forgotten, after all.
“Welcome to our home, Captain,” Hjatyn said as Picard and his team stepped through the airlock. In the chamber beyond, the first minister waited with a contingent of eight Dokaalan, each dressed in robes similar to his own. “I present to you the Zahanzei Council, the duly elected ruling body of our society and named after the first minister who oversaw our people up until the time of our world’s destruction.”
After introducing the eight council members, Hjatyn indicated the chamber with outspread arms. “As you can see, we possess little, but everything we have we offer to you, our distinguished guests.”
Like everything else Picard had seen of the mining colonies to this point, this facility appeared to be constructed in the same sparse manner and without any embellishments. Even though this was supposed to be the area of the station where the colony’s government was headquartered, the chamber offered no decorative or frivolous accoutrements whatsoever. The bulkheads appeared to be of the same material as those used throughout the other mining outposts, with cylindrical tubing running near the ceiling that presumably protected wiring as well as water and coolant transferal. Everything in the room, from the furniture and computer workstations to the various storage containers arrayed around the perimeter of the room, spoke to the no-frills nature of Dokaalan existence.
“The pleasure is ours, First Minister,” Picard replied before introducing Data to the Dokaalan delegation. “This is a most impressive facility.” He opted not to make mention of the definite stale tang lacing the air, no doubt a by-product of the colony’s life-support recycling process.
Nodding, the Dokaalan leader said. “It is the result of many years of joint effort on the part of my people.”
“Minister Hjatyn,” Data began, “I have spent some time with one of your medical specialists, Nentafa. He told me about the construction of this habitat, but was unable to offer any information about the technical aspects of the project. According to our analysis, such a venture would have proven quite a challenge, given your present level of technology. I am therefore very curious as to how you went about it.”
Picard thought the android’s request, phrased in his usual straightforward manner and without any conscious attempt to insult, might still be interpreted as offensive by the Dokaalan. He was relieved when Hjatyn smiled warmly in response.
“It was indeed a test of our resolve, Commander Data. Building this new home pushed us to the limits of our resources and technical acumen, to say nothing of our resolve. I admit to being skeptical about the concept when it was first proposed, but the project turned out to be a defining moment for our people. It gave us a singular goal, a unified purpose if you will, of making life better for all of us. The costs were great, both in matériel and in the number of people who lost their lives during the course of construction, but the completed habitat is itself a memorial to everyone who sacrificed for the greater good.”
“It is a marvelous accomplishment,” Picard replied, “my engineers are most eager to learn more about it. I have to confess to being drawn in somewhat by their enthusiasm.”
Hjatyn smiled again. “Of course, Captain. We will do our best to accommodate that curiosity, but something tells me your engineering staff will have no trouble comprehending our work. As it happens, our most learned minds have envisioned a future for us that is even grander in its scope.” Gesturing for the Enterprise officers to follow him, he said, “Come, my friends, and be the first outsiders to see what awaits the Dokaalan people.”
Data followed as the first minister shuffled his way across the room and toward one of three doors set into the chamber’s rearmost bulkhead, but as Picard started after them he felt a gentle touch on his arm. He turned to see Troi glancing toward the Dokaalan delegation, obviously waiting for them to move out of earshot before speaking.
“What is it, Counselor?” he asked, continuing to walk slowly so as not to attract too much attention from their hosts.
“Something I sensed from Hjatyn,” Troi replied. “He doesn’t appear as guarded as before, but I still get the feeling he’s hiding something. It’s almost as though he’s aware that we’re suspicious and he’s trying to overcompensate. He wants to appear more hospitable than he’s comfortable with, hoping to put us at ease. Some of the council members have similar feelings, as well as the expected mix of hesitation and excitement provoked by a first-contact situation.”
“But you’re still not sensing any sort of threat or danger from them?” Picard asked.
“No, sir. As I said before, I think some of them, Hjatyn included, feel we are more a threat to them than the other way around.”
“Very well, Counselor. Continue your observations.”
Hastening their pace to catch up with the others, Picard and Troi entered the room beyond the reception chamber, which the captain recognized as some form of command center. Computer consoles and maps lined the walls, and workstations were situated in such a way that they faced a central large screen at the room’s far end. The image on the screen was divided into two sections. One of the sections displayed a view of a planet as seen from low orbit, while the other showed scrolling series of computer code, including what the captain took to be complex mathematical equations.
Hjatyn pointed to the divided display. “What you are seeing is Ijuuka, the fifth planet of our system and one-time neighbor to Dokaal. While it is approximately the same size as our former planet, like the other worlds in our system its atmosphere is unable to sustain our people and possesses poisonous vegetation and no animal life. We learned all of this in the early days of our space-exploration program, long before Dokaal was destroyed, when we sent unmanned reconnaissance probes to the other planets.”
“First Minister,” Data said, “have you considered constructing habitats similar to those you have here on one or more of the other planets?”
The Dokaalan leader nodded. “For a time after the loss of our world, we considered building such facilities and transplanting our community to one of the planets, but to what end? We would still be living within a contained environment, relying on an artificial world to protect us from the dangers that lay beyond the metal walls.”
Turning from the screen to face the Enterprise officers, Hjatyn spread
his arms. “While we have been successful at carving out a serviceable existence for ourselves, what my people lack is a true home, a world where they can roam freely, secure in the knowledge that the air they breathe is not the product of a machine requiring constant maintenance and repair.” He indicated the image on the central screen once more. “We have decided that if such a world is not readily available to us, then we will make one.”
The enormity of what he thought the minister was proposing actually made Picard’s jaw drop. “Are you suggesting that…?”
“Yes, Captain,” Hjatyn said, cutting Picard off. “Ijuuka is the one planet in our system with the potential to provide that home to my people. We are therefore recreating it in Dokaal’s image.”
Chapter Twenty-one
Translated from the personal journal of Hjatyn:
THERE WAS ANOTHER accident yesterday.
Of all the duties I have had to perform since being elected first minister, notifying a family that a loved one has been lost remains the most painful. That I will have to carry out such a heartrending obligation fifteen times before the day is out weighs even heavier on my soul.
It is a responsibility I could entrust to one of my aides or perhaps one of the other council members, but I have never been one for delegating the unpleasant aspects of my position. I have always felt it important to remain in close contact with the people of our community, whether we are rejoicing in joint celebration or grieving in shared sorrow.
The number of accidental deaths during construction and repair operations around the colonies has been on the rise. This time it was due to a ruptured bulkhead while a maintenance crew was working inside one of our factory complexes. The explosive decompression caused by the structural failure also inflicted extensive damage to the delicate equipment housed in that section.
It feels wrong to even contemplate the harm to machinery, mere equipment that can be replaced, at the same time I am mourning the dreadful loss of life, but that way of thinking is also a necessary responsibility I bear. In addition to lamenting those who have been taken from us, I must also consider the well-being of those left behind. It is my duty to find out what happened and apply that knowledge in such a manner that it reduces the likelihood of such an incident happening again. To do anything less is to insure that those who sacrificed their lives did so in vain.
My engineering consultants have told me repeatedly that as our facilities age, despite our best efforts to maintain them, the likelihood of breakdowns or structural failures will continue to increase. It was based on their recommendations that I approved plans to construct new outpost buildings for use as habitation areas as well as for maintenance and support services.
There is no shortage of raw materials, thanks to the vast asteroid belt, but there is always the risk of injury or death to those workers subjecting themselves to the harsh environment of space with only their hardened excursion suits to protect them. That much has proven apparent on occasions too numerous to recount here.
Additionally, there is the inescapable fact that once the work is complete, we are really no better off than we were before. We will still be living inside artificial constructs, metal containers created to keep us alive but not designed in any way that allows us to truly live. Our efforts have gone toward building better cans in which to pack ourselves, hiding from the unforgiving environs of the space that surrounds us.
However, there are those who have strived for something more. The most gifted minds among us have proposed one bold idea after another in a constant quest to improve life for the entire community. I recall listening in both astonishment and skepticism as the first plans for the central habitat were presented to the council. The very idea of using our spacecraft to push asteroids together so that they might form one larger body seemed preposterous, regardless of the confidence the engineers held for the data supporting their theory. While even my limited grasp of the sciences was enough to tell me that the idea itself was hypothetically possible, my concerns for the safety of workers and our limited fleet of spaceships gave me pause.
Despite my misgivings, I soon became aware of the effect the intrepid scheme was having on the overall morale of the community. No longer satisfied to merely exist within the confines of the mining facilities, the people were energized by the idea of crafting a grand new home from the very rocks that had been their safe haven for so long. The sustained effort would provide a focal point of united purpose that went beyond simple survival. As their leader, I had no choice but to set aside my own uncertainty and allow the project to commence.
And what a glorious achievement it was! Though to this day I do not understand very much about the inter-magnetic systems used to hold the asteroids together, I was able to appreciate the opportunities the magnificent accomplishment provided for us. The complex constructed upon this new asteroid was capable of housing nearly every member of the community, helping us to alleviate the strain on the mining outposts. This in turn gave us the opportunity to begin a more aggressive schedule of upgrading and replacing the existing facilities.
From a morale standpoint, I was finally able to relax the mandates restricting the growth in the colony’s population. Until now a prime concern as we worked to find a balance between the conservation of our resources and the need to allow families to propagate, the creation of the central habitat saw the first newborns brought into our tiny world for nearly a generation, guaranteeing that the descendants of Dokaa would continue on even through these times of adversity.
As the years have passed, however, I and others have realized that even the central habitat is not enough. At its heart it is still a box, an artificial world made of metal and composite materials obtained from the rocks. It exists merely to serve us, possessing no heart or soul of its own. My people crave still more.
Those who were born here among the asteroids feel the yearning despite lacking a frame of reference with which to compare their desires. They are unable to give voice to their longings, but I and others who are old enough to have lived on our home planet can well sympathize with such feelings. I also miss the sensation of grass beneath my feet, of sunlight on my face, and breathing rich, full air that has not been recycled through an atmospheric regenerator. For a time I believed that such joys were long behind us, lost forever along with the world I had once called home.
None of the planets in our system are capable of providing such things, however, and our attempts to re-create the technology which allowed our spacecraft to travel faster than light have met with failure. There is nowhere else for us to go. Of that I have always been certain.
That is, until today.
I am still somewhat in awe of the sheer audacity of the latest proposal offered by our science ministry during the council’s morning session. Creij, the leader of the ministry and our most revered scientific mind, has put forth the idea that one of the other planets can be transformed in such a manner that it will be capable of supporting our species. Needless to say, her presentation was at first met with stunned silence before the council chamber dissolved into a flurry of animated discussion.
I will admit freely that my first reaction to the idea was that it was preposterous at best and perhaps even an affront to Dokaa herself at worst. After all, is the creation or remaking of an entire world to suit our needs not on par with the acts performed by divine beings?
Still, Creij is confident of its chances for success. While she tried to describe her idea of designing and creating machinery that could mimic the actions of plant life, transforming the harsh, poisonous atmosphere of the target planet into one capable of sustaining us, I confess that even her simplified explanations left me confused. When she began to explain the concepts of introducing genetically engineered algae, lichens, and other chemical compounds to enrich the soil for the cultivation of vegetation including, eventually, the planting of various crops for food, my mind was hopelessly muddled.
And yet, I am fascinated by the idea.
&nb
sp; Creij, in her usual affable manner, tried to put the matter into humorous perspective by reminding us that we would not have Dokaa’s resources at our disposal. For such a feat to be accomplished by simple mortals, it is a strategy that will take generations and require the development of technology that does not yet exist. It would be an endeavor that far surpasses any other in the history of the Dokaalan.
Though I would almost certainly not live long enough to see the completion of such a mammoth undertaking, I am inspired by its potential. Later today I intend to put before the council a proposition that will allow Creij to perform the range of experiments she has requested to determine the viability of this concept. Even those will take years to conduct and, if they are successful, at that time we will be faced with an even larger choice.
I am sure that there are those who will doubt the feasibility of such a bold scheme and condemn it as a foolhardy waste of resources, but I am equally confident that it is an idea that will stir renewed hope and purpose in the majority of my people. I have no illusions that it will be an easy choice to make. Offering uncertainty in the face of that which is familiar has always been laced with risk.
Still, for the first time in generations we have been given a chance for real, lasting change that will give us new life. This project, if completed successfully, would usher in the rebirth of Dokaalan society on a level never before envisioned. How will such a choice weigh on our convictions?
Are we committed to a better life for ourselves and our progeny, or have we resigned ourselves to the existence we have shared these many years, content to remain occupants in a prison we created?