DOOMSDAY WORLD

by CARMEN CARTER, PETER DAVID, MICHAEL JAN FRIEDMAN

  “It’s gone!” said Dean incredulously. “The wormhole has closed completely.”

  “We’re drifting at subwarp,” Riker called out from the aft deck. “Engines are dead; power reserves are almost depleted, but recharging. Sensors will be back on line in three minutes.” He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with fresh air. “Damn, but that was close.”

  “Agreed, Number One.” Picard looked to the viewscreen, which had regained its former luminance. The K’Vin warship was still in view. It, too, was drifting in space, but lights were beginning to flicker across its hull. So they had both survived after all.

  A shadow whisked across the screen.

  “Raise shields!” he yelled instinctively, but it was too late. The deck rocked under the impact of a phaser blast.

  Seconds later, red alert sirens sounded and the newly restored lights blinked wildly as power was diverted to the defense systems. A second phaser blast was blunted by the shields, but the Enterprise trembled at the blow. The fighter ships that were crisscrossing the viewscreen were no match for a starship—under normal circumstances. They had chosen their moment well and caught the ship when it was most vulnerable.

  “Do we have phasers yet?” demanded Picard.

  “Power levels are too low,” replied Riker. “We can’t fight back without losing shields. And each time they hit us, the defense systems drain our new reserves.”

  Another blow rocked the ship.

  “Aft shield weakening, Captain,” said Burke, frowning at the readings on his console. “Emergency power diversion can’t compensate without affecting life support systems.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Picard saw new movement on the viewscreen. The K’Vin ship had moved much closer. The red glow of its shields was dimmed, but the photon torpedo it launched from its hull was all too bright.

  “Dammit, we saved their lives!” cried Riker angrily. “We should have let them—”

  The detonation of the torpedo bathed the bridge with a searing white light. And reduced the number of fighters by one. The others scattered, abandoning their attack on the Enterprise.

  “You seem to have misjudged the K’Vin,” said Picard with a smile. Though, for a moment, he, too, had assumed the warship was aiming at his ship.

  “Captain,” said Burke. “We’re receiving a message from Captain Shagrat of the K’Vin Throatripper.”

  “Courage, Captain Picard! Together we will bring death to the Ariantu!”

  “The Ariantu?” asked Picard, bewildered by the reference to that ancient culture. Then the pieces of the puzzle finally fell into place. “But of course!”

  “I recognize the ships of those bloodsucking vermin! They haven’t changed their design in five thousand years. The disturbance on Kirlos is sure to be some of their mischief-making.”

  Shagrat’s crew fired another torpedo blast and vaporized an Ariantu fighter that had ventured too close to their warship. The viewscreen tracked the movements of the remainder of the fleet; they were approaching the Enterprise again. Picard wondered if they were so foolish, or suicidal, as to keep fighting.

  “Captain, we’re being hailed by the Ariantu.”

  “So,” said Picard. “Now that they’re overpowered, they’ve decided surrender is the better part of valor.”

  “I am Lektor, paac leader of the Ariantu!”

  To Picard’s human ears the voice sounded arrogant, but he tried to dispel that impression and listen impartially.

  “Kirlos belongs to the Ariantu,” Lektor continued, “and we invoke our rights as an indigenous people to resist colonization. We demand Federation protectorate status and your immediate assistance in defending ourselves from the K’Vin Hegemony’s imperialism.”

  “What! You’ve just attacked my ship and yet—”

  “That is of no importance,” said Lektor. And this time Picard had no doubt of the arrogance behind the words. “You must honor our request for aid; that is Federation policy.”

  The Throatripper unleashed a third photon torpedo, which rocked the Enterprise with its close passage, grazing the shields and ultimately missing its fighter target. Seconds later, the K’Vin reopened communications.

  “My apologies, Captain Picard. My weapons officer is overeager to make another kill. He has been reprimanded.”

  “Thank you, Captain Shagrat,” said Picard, careful to keep any sign of anger out of his voice. “Your continued restraint is greatly appreciated.”

  “Captain, we’re being hailed by another of the—”

  “This is Matat, paac mother of the Ariantu! I have heard the claims of the impostor known as Lektor. He is a male and has no standing in our family. Ignore him. All negotiations for a protectorate status will be directed to my heartship—”

  Communications were briefly disrupted by the exchange of phaser fire between two of the Ariantu ships. Then Matat’s voice resumed, though with greater static interference.

  “And I demand that the traitor Lektor be taken into Federation custody!”

  “Incoming call, Captain.”

  “Let me guess,” sighed Picard. “Lektor requests a rebuttal.”

  “This is Keriat, true paac leader of the Ariantu! I demand—”

  Picard ordered an end to the communications with a throat-cutting motion. Silence settled over the bridge as he took his place at the captain’s chair. He tugged the hem of his tunic into place.

  “Hail the Federation embassy on Kirlos. I believe this matter is better left to Ambassador Stephaleh.”

  The world had not ended. Stephaleh looked out her window and watched people scurrying in the streets—not in panic, as before, but in ecstasy that their lives had somehow been spared.

  It seemed that the Starfleet officers had saved an entire world—though Stephaleh had no idea how. Of course, they were still far from safe. The Ariantu were still hovering overhead, ready to unleash who knew what else on them.

  Nor would the invaders agree to speak with her, any more than they had before the crisis. Communications with them were absolutely dead.

  However, she could use this time wisely—to restore some order to her half of Kirlosia. Focusing on that purpose, she turned to address Zamorh—and noted his absence again with a sharp pang.

  When was it that he had disappeared? She still couldn’t put her finger on it. But it had to have been before the Enterprise trio informed her that Zamorh had been conspiring with Gregach’s aide and that he’d been involved in the attack that led to their imprisonment.

  Of course the accusation had faded in the flurry of events that followed—the appearance of the Ariantu, the onset of the world-threatening tremors. Nor was this the first time she had turned, out of habit, to give Zamorh some order—only to realize he was nowhere to be found.

  With a shrug, she touched a plate on her desk.

  “Chief Powell, this is the ambassador. What is our situation out there?”

  Seconds passed before Powell’s deep voice came on, with a great deal of noise in the background. “For the moment, everyone seems relieved—very relieved. And the bars have just reopened, so that’ll keep them busy for a while. But it’s only a matter of time before they remember those ships up there, and the panic starts all over again.”

  Stephaleh sighed softly. “Have you seen Zamorh?”

  “No, Ambassador, I haven’t. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen any of the Sullurh in quite some time. Not in the embassy, not in the streets . . .”

  How strange, she thought. No Sullurh to be seen anywhere. Then she recalled how the Starfleet officers had been taken—by a group of Sullurh. At the time, she’d dismissed it as the action of a radical faction. But if all the Sullurh seemed now to have vanished . . .

  The magnitude of it was like a physical blow to her.

  “Chief, I want the streets cleared so I can make an announcement in, say, thirty minutes. But in the meantime, I want you to watch out for the Sullurh. If you find any, bring them here to me.” She had to pause; the words j
ust didn’t sound right, even now. “I have reason to believe that they may be behind some of what’s happening to us. Don’t ask me how—just watch out for them, all right?”

  The silence on the other end told her that Powell was having a hard time believing it, too. “Well,” he said at last, “if you say so, Ambassador.”

  “Thirty minutes, Chief.”

  “Thirty minutes,” agreed the human.

  Stephaleh sat back in her chair. What to do next? If her suspicions were correct . . .

  Suddenly, surprising herself, she opened a channel to the K’Vin embassy. With unexpected speed, she was relayed through to Gregach, who seemed to be busy putting disks back on a shelf. He hadn’t noticed yet that his screen was active.

  “Ambassador Gregach,” she said.

  He turned at the sound of her voice, swallowed whatever shock he felt at the intrusion. “You are well,” he observed. “That is good.”

  “Yes,” she said. “I am well. And you?”

  He shrugged. “My office was rearranged by the tremors, as you can see. But nothing worse.” He restored the last of an armful of disks to their proper places on the shelf. “I gather Worf and the others had some hand in circumventing our destruction.”

  “So it would seem.” She resisted the temptation to remind him that if he’d had his way, the trio would still have been incarcerated and Kirlosia might have become rubble by now. “But I have called you for a reason.”

  He scowled, nodded. “I know. The Sullurh.”

  The remark set her back a bit. “You’ve come to the same conclusion, then?”

  “Yes. Gezor has been gone since the tremors started. In fact, all my Sullurh are gone. And Ilugh tells me there are no Sullurh on the streets, either. When I couple those two facts with Worf’s accusation . . .” He shook his head. “Obviously there is a connection between the Sullurh and . . . what? The tremors or the arrival of the Ariantu? Or both?”

  “Good questions,” remarked the Andorian. She was pleased to be exchanging civil and productive words again with her old friend. There was still a stiffness to the conversation, but it was progress—more than she had expected, at any rate.

  “I have instructed Ilugh to bring in any Sullurh he finds,” said Gregach. “Perhaps you should do the same.”

  “I already have,” noted Stephaleh.

  For a moment they were forced to acknowledge their respect for each other. Great minds think alike, she observed—but only to herself.

  “Feel free to call again if you have any information you think might be valuable,” said the K’Vin. “I will do likewise.”

  “Agreed,” said Stephaleh. Then she terminated the contact.

  It was a pity about her relationship with Gregach. More than a pity. But she couldn’t allow herself to dwell on it. Ordering her thoughts, she began to mentally compose the message that she hoped would maintain calm among the citizenry and reestablish her authority at the same time.

  She made sure that the Enterprise officers would get the credit they deserved for having saved Kirlos. Far too many suspicions had been cast on them—all unfairly.

  She had finished no more than a couple of sentences, however, when her communicator beeped and a light flashed red. Recognizing what that meant, she combed back a stray lock of hair that had fallen out of place and prepared herself.

  Picard’s countenance appeared on her monitor. “Greetings, Ambassador.”

  “Greetings yourself,” she told him. “I have been trying to contact you for some time.”

  “How are my people—the ones you borrowed?”

  “I had hoped to hear from them by now,” she said, “but you will be glad to know that it was they who closed the wormhole—and kept Kirlos from being destroyed.” And she went on to tell him the details. “You should be proud of them, Captain.”

  Picard nodded. “Yes. I’ll tell them when I see them—which I trust will be soon.”

  “In the meantime,” said Stephaleh, “what’s the situation up there?”

  “Educational, Ambassador. To say the least. Do you have any idea with whom we are dealing?”

  “Yes,” she answered. “The Ariantu.”

  That took the wind out of his sails a little, but he recovered nicely. “Of course,” he said. “You would know that. You have no doubt been in communication with them.”

  “But not lately,” she told him. “They won’t respond to my hails.”

  Picard grunted. “They seem only too happy to communicate with me, on the other hand. It appears that three of the Ariantu vessels, including that of their leader, were swallowed up by the wormhole effect. And each of the surviving ships is now claiming leadership of the paac. Furthermore,” he related, a little wearily, it seemed to the ambassador, “each also insists that Kirlos still belongs to the Ariantu, and that we must evacuate our own people immediately.”

  “They have been insisting on our evacuation since they arrived,” said Stephaleh. “But the rest is very interesting. It seems that the prospects for our survival have improved dramatically. Along with our bargaining position.”

  Picard shrugged. “Well, there are fewer Ariantu to deal with, if that’s what you mean. But I would not discount them as a threat. What’s more, the presence of the K’Vin warship is complicating matters. As you know, the K’Vin and the ancient Ariantu had a blood feud that lasted for some time—and neither side is willing to let it go, even now.”

  “A fine mess,” she commented, seeing what was coming.

  “And one that cries out for your expertise, Ambassador.”

  Aha! I thought so.

  “The Ariantu have not been eager to listen to me up until now,” she told him. “Why would they change their minds?”

  “If I indicate that you are the appropriate authority,” said the captain, “I am sure they can be convinced.”

  Stephaleh nodded. “Very well. I accept the responsibility.”

  “Thank you,” said Picard. “I will inform all parties involved. Picard out.”

  The Andorian took a deep breath, let it out. She placed her hands flat on the desk before her, took a moment to notice the increased number of lines and wrinkles that had formed in the past few months. Or was it days?

  The Ariantu. Yes, indeed, the Ariantu.

  She wanted very much to do this well. After all, it was the end of her career, and people were always remembered for what they did at the end, not at the beginning.

  Stephaleh would have felt better if she’d had some idea how the Sullurh were connected to all that had happened. For more and more, it appeared that there was a connection. After all, the tremors had begun soon after the appearance of the Ariantu, and the Sullurh had vanished soon after that. How could there not be a connection?

  Suddenly the need to find a Sullurh to provide an explanation loomed larger than ever.

  Thul entered the house where his sister lived, followed by the three Starfleet officers. It was dark inside, but they could see well enough to notice that the furniture was in disarray.

  “Little bit of a mess here,” commented Geordi. Data and Worf were silent, but their expressions reflected the same sentiment.

  Thul admitted to himself that his actions had caused much damage and strife. Grief filled him; he knew he had to cleanse his soul before he entered the afterlife. As he had told the Enterprise officers, he would do his best to set everything right again in Kirlosia—with the help of the other Sullurh.

  On the way up to the city level, Thul had explained to Geordi how this house had been chosen for a meeting place in times of trouble. It was likely that Gezor and Zamorh, among others, would be here.

  Worf watched every move Thul made; he was more than ready to use his phaser to keep the Sullurh in line. His patience had grown thin throughout the wormhole incident, and only the satisfaction of being proved right earlier had kept his mood from darkening. He disliked the Sullurh. He wanted to be done with the mission and return to the Enterprise.

  “My friend
s, it is Thul. Are you here?” His voice sounded weak, and Data boosted his sensors to detect movement or sound. In moments he noted people coming from some back room. A crowd of ten Sullurh moved forward. There was a young girl, some women, one of whom was pregnant, and several men, including Gezor and Zamorh.

  “Why have you brought them here, Master Thul?” demanded Gezor. Everyone seemed to cower a bit behind the brash Sullurh. His natural instincts were to be efficient but bellicose, and people were more than happy to let him lead.

  “Because the time for hiding has ended. Our Ariantu brethren have abandoned us; we must make a stand for what we are and what we want. They have declared us unfit, and we must now make our own way. These representatives of the Federation saved our world, and we—no, I—owe it to them to make amends for what we have done.”

  Thul looked around. His people looked back with mixed emotions.

  “Did you really go under the ground, Master Thul?” the little girl asked.

  “Yes, Glora. And I unleashed a horrible weapon. The one that this world was designed to be.”

  “Then the legend was true,” Thul’s sister said slowly. The truth of those words spread among the group and they began chattering quietly among themselves.

  “Silence!” cried out Worf. Suddenly, the group became quiet.

  Data stepped forward and said, “We must understand who the Sullurh really are and what your connection is with the Ariantu. Only then can we begin to investigate the options available.”

  Zamorh glanced at Gezor, whose look was stern and hard, betraying no emotion. Apparently Gregach’s aide wanted no part of the off-worlders, nor did he feel like helping Thul redeem himself.

  But Zamorh felt otherwise. “You can hold your own counsel,” he told Gezor. “I believe we have done enough damage to ourselves and our world. If the Federation officers can help, we should allow them to do so. I say speak, Master Thul.”

  Thul nodded his gratitude. Then he turned back to the trio from the Enterprise. “The best place to begin,” he said, “is no doubt at the beginning. With the departure of the Ariantu.”