by Peter David
The being behind the desk nodded. “I am Planetary Governor Es’sca G’ullho.” Like all Damiani, the governor had silver eyes, spiky black hair, and pointed ears. Es’sca also had a pair of silver-gray horns, each several inches long and angled upward at the tips into sharp points.
The horns protruded from either side of Es’sca’s head and looked like they could do some damage in a fight; Burgoyne knew that they also served as evidence of the governor’s gender. A single forehead horn signified what was known to offworlders as a “he” (though the word “he” was only used for the sake of convenience, and a Damiano “he” did not correspond anatomically to a human male). Three horns signified a “she” (not quite corresponding to a human female), and two horns were the mark of a third gender, referred to as “it.”
“This is General Cu’lan T’ullhy,” said Es’sca, motioning toward a single-horned Damiano standing with arms folded alongside the desk. “He’s the head of our planetary defense forces.”
Cu’lan snorted. “This is all Starfleet could send us?” he said sharply. “Five people to stop a menace that has stood against the combined might of our armed forces for days?”
“We have a plan,” said Dovan.
“Thank Ho’nig,” Cu’lan said sarcastically. “I feel better already.”
“We have several plans, actually,” said Burgoyne, “plus an entire starship that won’t leave orbit until the job is done.”
Cu’lan started to say something, but Es’sca cut him off. “You’ll have to excuse us,” said the governor. “We don’t mean to seem ungrateful…”
“Yes we do,” muttered Cu’lan.
“…but this is, after all, Starfleet’s fault. We want the matter resolved before any more lives are lost.”
“Coincidentally,” said Burgoyne, “those are our exact orders.”
Es’sca cleared its throat and trained an especially meaningful stare on Burgoyne. “I don’t suppose I have to remind you that a sizable anti-Federation faction exists on Damiano? And that the longer this situation lasts, the stronger that faction becomes?”
Burgoyne smiled graciously. “No reminder necessary,” s/he said.
“Fifty-two Damiani have died,” Es’sca said coldly. “That we know of. Much of Iaron is in ruins. This must end immediately.”
“I assure you,” said Dovan. “Our plan will work.”
“We’ll see,” Cu’lan said with a scowl. “We’ve been throwing everything we’ve got at the thing for days, and we haven’t even slowed it down.”
“There’s a reason Starfleet sent us,” said Burgoyne.
“Your ship is the only one in the sector?” Cu’lan said scornfully.
“We’re the best team for the job,” said Burgoyne. “We’ve never failed. Now let’s get to work, shall we?”
Cu’lan snorted and shook his head. “Follow me,” he said, marching across the office and out the door.
The team fell in step behind the general, who led them out of the building and onto the street. As Cu’lan moved off for a moment to confer with an aide, Dovan whispered to Burgoyne.
“We’ve never failed,” said the J’naii, “because we’ve never worked together before.”
“Same difference.” Burgoyne smirked. “What’s the matter, Dovan? Getting nervous about screwing up in front of these inferior trigendered types?”
Dovan glared at the Hermat, then looked away. “Gender has nothing to do with inferiority,” said the J’naii.
Burgoyne was not convinced of Dovan’s sincerity. The memory of the J’naii’s earlier remarks about hir “kind” and how they lacked “morality” and “conscience” still stung. “Just think,” said Burgoyne. “A species with three different genders, and you with none. It really blows your mind, doesn’t it?”
“The quality of a person relies on other factors,” Dovan said tightly, “which, unfortunately, seem to have been in short supply when your creator fashioned you.”
Just then, General Cu’lan returned, ending the conversation…but Burgoyne continued to stare at Dovan. For someone who seemed to hate dual-gendered Hermats, the J’naii had voiced some enlightened opinions on gender differences.
Which was why, as the away team boarded a Damiano transport vehicle with Cu’lan, Burgoyne was more preoccupied thinking about Dovan than the mission that lay ahead.
“You’re just in time for the fireworks,” said General Cu’lan as the team got out of the transport. “We’re about to hit that thing hard.”
Cu’lan stomped up to a makeshift barricade erected in the street, a wall of thick metal plating with ports through which weapons could be fired. Uniformed Damiani hustled back and forth behind the barricade, setting up gun emplacements and making final adjustments to phaser rifles.
On the other side of the barricade, a wall of armored tanks trained their phaser cannons down the street, humming with power. Airborne fighter pods bobbed in a semicircle overhead, gleaming obsidian bubbles spiked with gun turrets and rocket launchers.
Burgoyne squinted through one of the barricade ports. Light flared from around a corner three blocks away, and a cloud of black smoke rolled out onto the street a second later.
As Burgoyne watched, five uniformed Damiani ran full-tilt around the corner, guns and elbows pumping. “Looks like the battle’s already in progress,” s/he said as bursts of phaser fire streaked after the fleeing soldiers.
“We’re just drawing it in,” said Cu’lan from the next port down, peering at the action through a set of binoculars. “Driving it into an ambush.”
“Tell your troops to stand down,” said Dovan, watching alongside Burgoyne. “We’ll take it from here.”
Cu’lan lowered his binoculars and glared at the J’naii. “Say again?” said the general.
“The use of firepower will interfere with our plan,” Dovan said stiffly. “Now order your forces to stand down.”
“And what, exactly, is your plan, Mr. Scientist, sir?” said Cu’lan.
“I will approach the probe and attach these,” said Dovan, patting one of the six silver cylinders suspended from the bandolier belts strapped cross-ways over its chest. “They contain techno-organic parasites that will infiltrate and deactivate the device.”
“You’ll just waltz right up to it, huh?” said Cu’lan.
“The probe’s biomatrix was derived from my genetic material,” said Dovan. “Starfly will recognize my genetic makeup as its own and won’t attack me.”
“ ‘Starfly’?” said Burgoyne.
Dovan nodded. “The probe’s designation. Starfly One Bioprobe.”
Burgoyne sighed. “If you were planning to refer to it by its acronym,” s/he said, “don’t.”
Dovan thought for a moment, didn’t seem to understand, and shrugged.
Clearing his throat, Cu’lan raised a handheld radio transmitter and spoke into it. “All hands, stand down,” he said. “Do not engage.”
“Thank you,” said Dovan. “This shouldn’t take long.” Turning, it started to walk off, heading for the end of the barricade.
“Hold on,” said Burgoyne, grabbing the J’naii’s arm. “You aren’t going anywhere.”
“What?” Dovan said indignantly. “I have work to do.”
“The radio,” said Burgoyne, shaking hir head. “It wasn’t on.”
Cu’lan smirked. “We ask for help, and this is what Starfleet sends,” he said derisively. “A J’naii who wants to take this thing on single-handedly. Why in the name of Ho’nig should we take you any more seriously than you take us?”
“You don’t understand!” said Dovan. “My plan will work!”
“Let us handle this, Mr. Scientist,” Cu’lan said derisively. “You can pick up the pieces when we’re done.”
Dovan tried to pull away from Burgoyne, but s/he held fast to the J’naii. “General,” s/he said. “What makes you think this attack will have any more impact than all the others?”
“We’ve been hammering it for days,” said Cu’lan. “I’
m betting we’ve worn it down.”
“And has it shown any sign of being worn down?” said Burgoyne. “Shield fluctuations? Power loss? Anything?”
“Here it comes!” shouted a Damiano soldier along the barricade.
Cu’lan switched on the radio and spoke into it. “All hands, prepare to engage! On my mark!”
Through the barricade port, Burgoyne glimpsed flashes of silver in the black smoke billowing at the far end of the street. Gradually, more of the probe’s silver skin became visible, pushing through the cloud…until finally, the device emerged fully into daylight, cruising several meters above the pavement.
“Ready!” Cu’lan shouted into the radio.
“Don’t do it!” said Dovan, straining against Burgoyne’s grip.
Starfly floated toward them, a gleaming sphere studded with weapons mounted on spidery mechanical arms. The sphere was suspended by equatorial spokes in a circular harness with short wings on either side; below the wings, struts descended from the harness to the familiar flattened cylinders of the warp-engine nacelles.
As Burgoyne stared at the deadly construct, s/he was amazed that its designer had managed to pack so much power into such a compact form. Though it was hard to judge exact dimensions from a distance, s/he didn’t think Starfly was bigger than twelve feet in diameter.
Twelve feet in diameter, and the probe was equipped with shields, phasers, and warp drive. Just thinking about it, Burgoyne felt new respect for the J’naii who had created it…not affection, what with Dovan’s bigoted behavior toward the Hermat…but definitely respect. And a little professional jealousy, to boot.
“All right!” Cu’lan barked into his radio. “Let’s show this thing what we’re made of!”
Burgoyne turned to hir own security team. They had already drawn their phasers and were standing in positions of watchful readiness. “If the probe breaks through,” s/he said, “protect Dovan at all costs.”
Turning back to the barricade port, Burgoyne saw that Starfly was now less than a block away. The probe glided smoothly forward, weapons arms twitching, surface lights blinking.
“All units, fire!” shouted Cu’lan. “Fire!”
Suddenly, the street erupted with the blinding light and piercing whines of concentrated phaser blasts. Every Damiano rifle and fighting machine poured out streams of destructive energy at once, and every single one of them came to bear on the probe.
As focused energy rained upon it from every direction, Starfly flared and seemed to disappear in the heart of a brilliant nimbus of light. Still, the tanks and troops and airborne fighter pods continued to hammer away, maintaining a steady flow of deadly force.
Shielding hir eyes with an arm, Burgoyne squinted into the glare, trying to see if the probe had disintegrated under the barrage. All that s/he could make out was the blaze of light, ever expanding and intensifying…until it became so unbearably bright that s/he had to shut hir eyes against it.
Less than five minutes later, it was all over.
The street was heaped with wreckage and bodies. Not a single tank or fighter remained intact. Most of the barricade had been atomized.
And Starfly just hovered amid the debris without a scratch on it.
Burgoyne and hir team watched it now from behind a pile of rubble where they had taken refuge. If s/he had not seen it with hir own eyes, s/he would not have believed that anything could move so fast and apply so much power with such precision.
“Ho’nig help us,” said General Cu’lan, who had also taken shelter behind the rubble. “It’s all yours, Starfleet. We’ve got nothing left.”
Burgoyne thought of mentioning how many lives could have been spared if Cu’lan had delayed the attack…but s/he knew it wouldn’t accomplish anything. “You tried your best, General,” s/he said instead. “That was some real heroism we just saw.”
“I’m ready,” said Dovan, shifting the bandolier straps on which the parasite cylinders were clipped. “Remember, no sudden moves while I’m out there. Don’t interfere unless I call for it.”
“Got it,” said Burgoyne. “Good luck.”
Dovan touched each of the silver cylinders on its chest, counting under its breath. “Six,” said the J’naii. “Six here, and two in reserve.”
“Ten-four,” said Burgoyne, tapping the pair of cylinders suspended from the belt at hir waist. One cylinder hung from each hip, like revolvers on a gunslinger.
“Ten and four?” said Dovan, looking puzzled. “But I have six and you have two.”
Burgoyne chuckled and shook hir head. “You’re right, you’re right,” s/he said. “Six and two…and my two have the nanobot colonies.”
“Which we won’t need, of course,” said Dovan.
“Of course,” said Burgoyne.
Dovan took a deep breath, held it for an instant, and released it. “Here we go,” said the J’naii, and then it stepped out from behind the rubble in full view of the probe.
Burgoyne clambered far enough up the pile to have an unobstructed view of Starfly, then activated hir communicator badge with a touch. “Burgoyne to Livingston,” s/he said softly. “Prepare for emergency beam-up of Dr. Dovan.”
When Burgoyne received no reply, s/he touched the communicator again. “Burgoyne to Livingston,” s/he said, a little louder. “Come in, Livingston.”
Still nothing. Grabbing the tricorder from hir belt, s/he scanned the area…and quickly determined that the probe was broadcasting a jamming field that blocked the communicator’s frequencies. For the moment, the away team was on its own, completely cut off from the orbiting starship.
As Burgoyne cursed, movement in the street below caught hir eye. Slowly, arms hanging loosely at its sides, Dovan picked its way through the field of debris, approaching the probe.
Starfly, for its part, remained still, hanging less than a meter above the street, every multijointed weapons arm pointed toward the J’naii. The only visible movement from the probe was the rapid blinking of lights on its silver skin.
Ever so slowly, Dovan proceeded. It was less than twenty meters from the probe now. To Burgoyne’s amazement, the J’naii’s plan seemed to be working; just minutes after wiping out an entire military strike force, Starfly was letting an unarmed scientist approach without a single hostile twitch.
Dovan moved closer. Burgoyne alternated between watching the J’naii’s progress and checking the tricorder for spikes in the probe’s power levels. An energy surge would tip hir off that Starfly was preparing to fire its weapons.
As the J’naii drew to within a few meters of the probe, Burgoyne held hir breath. From that point on, if Starfly’s power levels spiked, no one could cross the debris field fast enough to haul Dovan out of the way before an attack; even responding to a shouted warning, the J’naii would never be able to run for cover in time to avoid being cut down by phaser fire.
With the Livingston’s transporters out of play thanks to the communications jamming, Dovan was truly isolated in the danger zone. The fact that it kept walking toward the probe brought Dovan up another notch in Burgoyne’s estimation.
The J’naii took a few more steps forward, moving to within arm’s reach of Starfly. Burgoyne took it as a good sign that the probe’s weapons did not reposition themselves to keep Dovan in the crosshairs.
Still moving in slow motion, Dovan pulled one of the parasite cylinders from its bandolier. With great care, the J’naii extended the cylinder toward the probe’s spherical body…then deposited it on Starfly’s silver skin. With the same slow, smooth movement, Dovan withdrew its hand and reached for another cylinder on its chest.
Burgoyne nodded, feeling increasingly confident that hir teammate would at least manage to plant all the cylinders. As risky as the plan had seemed to hir, s/he was starting to think that it had a chance of success.
Then s/he glanced at the tricorder readout and immediately changed hir mind.
“Dovan!” s/he shouted as loud as s/he could. “Get out of there now!”
Acco
rding to the tricorder, Starfly’s power levels were surging.
Dovan was placing the second parasite on the probe and tried to pull away, but it was too late. Suddenly, silver tendrils sprang from the skin of the sphere and wrapped themselves around the J’naii’s arm.
Burgoyne jumped up, ready to dive from the pile of rubble and charge across the debris field…then froze as the tricorder chimed for attention. As s/he stared at the tricorder’s display, s/he realized that hir teammate was out of reach.
Starfly’s shields were up.
As Burgoyne watched helplessly, the probe pulled Dovan into itself. The J’naii was already submerged up to its shoulder in the gleaming sphere and sinking deeper.
And screaming as if subjected to the most excruciating pain imaginable.
“Let’s spread out,” Lieutenant Carlsbad said urgently. “Fire at its shields from multiple points and rotate frequencies rapidly. Maybe we can punch through.”
“Dream on,” said General Cu’lan. “Did you see how much firepower we hit it with before, and nothing got through?”
“The general’s right,” said Burgoyne, scrambling down from hir vantage point atop the rubble. “We need an alternative.”
Down the street, Dovan screamed louder than ever…loud enough to make the hairs stand up on the back of Burgoyne’s neck.
“That thing’s eating him alive!” Ensign Snell, an Andorian, was so agitated that the antennae on his forehead fluttered like blades of grass in a stiff breeze.
“Not for long,” said Burgoyne, placing the tricorder on a block of rubble and detaching one of the two silver cylinders suspended from hir waist. “It just so happens I have an alternative right here.”
“One of the parasites?” said Carlsbad. “But how can we get through the probe’s shields to plant it?”
“Not a parasite,” said Burgoyne. When s/he gave one end of the cylinder a twist, it slid open, revealing a single red button. “A trigger.”
“A trigger for what?” said Carlsbad.
Burgoyne depressed the button with hir thumb. “I just activated the nanobot colonies inside the probe and signaled them to attack its systems.”