A Time to Harvest

by Dayton Ward

  Taurik, having not moved from the same sitting position he had assumed nearly half an hour ago, replied, “There are a number of possibilities, Commander. First, there is the perceived value they might place on our engineering skills. We may have also been taken captive for use as leverage should a disagreement develop between Captain Picard and First Minister Hjatyn. I believe humans use the term ‘bargaining chip’ to describe prisoners placed in similar positions.”

  “That doesn’t sound right,” La Forge said. “Hjatyn has been gracious to a fault since we got here. The same for most of his staff.” He shook his head. “I don’t buy it.”

  His right eyebrow arching, Taurik said, “Two of the people who participated in our capture did reference the security minister, Nidan.”

  La Forge continued to vainly squirm for several seconds on the cot before finally giving up and rolling off the oppressive bed, deciding instead to pace the room again. If nothing else, he mused, maybe I’ll wear a hole in the deck plating.

  He was almost to his feet when he felt a tug, and looked down to see the material on the leg of his white jumpsuit snagged on the cot’s frame. Designed to protect its wearer in survival situations even after the bulkier SEWG was discarded, it was, among other things, tear-resistant, a quality that prevented it from being damaged as it became ensnared on the cot’s rough edge. It also kept La Forge from standing up until he could extricate the bit of material from its trap.

  “Using his name could have been a ruse,” he offered as he freed himself before starting to pace. “And remember, we still haven’t found out who’s behind the weapons they’re using, or that device we found at the processing station.” It had become obvious to the chief engineer back on Ijuuka that someone, an outside influence, was working behind the scenes here for some as yet unknown purpose.

  The presence of alien weapons, among them outdated Starfleet armaments as well as Klingon and Bajoran disruptors, was evidence enough, but it was Taurik’s discovery of the odd contraption connected to one of the processing plant’s enormous chemical storage tanks that was the real clincher. With its rodinium outer casing and internal components that were far too sophisticated to have been created with Dokaalan technology.

  “That’s the big question,” he continued. “Who built that thing we found, and why?”

  At first looking as though he might reply, Taurik stopped just as he opened his mouth, and La Forge saw his eyes turn toward the door to their room. “Someone is approaching,” the Vulcan said as he rose from his cot. La Forge heard nothing, but quickly remembered that his companion’s hearing was far better than his own.

  True enough, he thought. Several more seconds passed before he heard the telltale sounds of booted feet walking on metal plating, growing louder with each step.

  “They’re at the door,” Taurik said a moment later, after which there was the sound of a locking mechanism being released. The door was pulled open from the outside, revealing two Dokaalan security officers, one shorter than the other. Their pale blue skin contrasted with their single-piece green uniforms, which where highlighted by polished black boots and matching belts. La Forge noted that these were not the two individuals who had captured them on the asteroid.

  “Commander La Forge, Lieutenant Taurik,” the shorter Dokaalan said, affecting what looked to be a pleasant expression. “My name is Barmiol. I apologize for your being detained, but in time you will understand that it was a necessary action.”

  Remaining in place, La Forge said, “What I understand is that we were chased and shot at, our friend was killed, and now we’ve been locked up in this hole. I want to speak to someone in charge, and I want to contact my ship.”

  Barmiol stepped into the room, his silent companion directly behind him. The affable demeanor did not waver, but when the Dokaalan spoke, some of the geniality was gone from his voice. “That will not be possible for the time being, I’m afraid. Your being allowed to communicate with your superiors would raise many questions we are not prepared to answer just now. I have been instructed to see to it that you are made as comfortable as possible, but I also have orders to kill you should you try to escape or interfere in our operations here in any way.” As if to emphasize this last point, the Dokaalan casually rested his right hand on the butt of what looked to be a Klingon disruptor holstered at his waist.

  “And what exactly are you doing here?” La Forge challenged. “It’s obvious that you’ve been getting help from an outside source.” He pointed to Barmiol’s weapon. “Where did you get that, or the others we found?”

  Barmiol shook his head. “That is not your concern, Commander. Instead, you should concentrate on being as cooperative as possible. For example, I have been sent here to determine how much you learned about our activities on Ijuuka. What did you find during your inspections?”

  The way the question was phrased told La Forge that Barmiol probably already knew the answer. After all, it had not been until after their discovery of the mysterious device attached to the processing plant’s storage tank that they were challenged by anyone. Someone had to have been monitoring the engineers’ activities, no doubt waiting to see if they stumbled across something incriminating and then moving to seize control of the situation before either he or Taurik could make contact with the Enterprise.

  With that in mind, La Forge saw no reason to engage in deceit or some other stalling tactic that would ultimately prove fruitless and perhaps even anger their captors. Still, there was a chance that someone on the Enterprise might discover something suspicious going on with the Dokaalan. Therefore, the trick here and now, he decided, was to provide enough truth to placate Barmiol and his companion without letting on precisely how much the engineers knew.

  “We found a device down on Ijuuka,” he said. “It’s designed to interfere in the atmospheric plant’s chemical mixing process. Since we didn’t have time for a complete investigation, we don’t know exactly what it’s doing, or why.”

  Nodding, Barmiol replied, “You also detected variations in the computer systems overseeing the plant’s automated processes, yes? The conversation with your friend was overheard by one of our people in the control room.”

  So much for half-truths, La Forge thought, feeling his pulse beginning to quicken a bit. Was it his imagination, or had the room grown warmer in the last few minutes?

  “Given that the changes we detected were very subtle,” Taurik said, “almost undetectable except by someone possessing extensive software programming expertise, it is logical to assume that whatever is happening in the processing facility is taking place without the knowledge or consent of most of the Dokaalan people.”

  Barmiol actually laughed at that. It was a short, lifeless reaction that grated on La Forge’s ears, sounding to him as though the man was anything but amused.

  “Lieutenant,” the Dokaalan said, “it would be logical to assume that what we are doing is without the knowledge or consent of any of these people.”

  Clasping his hands behind his back, Barmiol began to pace the small room, an action that caused both engineers to move out of his way as he stepped forward. La Forge gave brief thought to trying to overpower the other man, but a glance toward the door showed that Barmiol’s companion had placed his hand on his own weapon, ready to draw and fire at the first sign of trouble. He had done nothing else during the entire conversation except to stand silently in the doorway and look intimidating. Definitely a subordinate, the engineer decided, an assistant or perhaps just a low-ranking soldier of some kind.

  “Make no mistake,” Barmiol continued, “the task the Dokaalan are undertaking here is nothing short of extraordinary, and the planet their efforts will eventually yield will be quite beautiful indeed. However, without several modifications their work is ultimately useless to us.”

  “Us?” La Forge asked, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Who is ‘us’?”

  Ignoring the questions, Barmiol continued, “Changes in the composition of the planet’s new atmo
sphere and ecosystem are needed before it will be able to support my people. Fortunately, the reformation processes already put into motion by the Dokaalan have proven to be compatible with our needs, and the changes we must make to complete the process are not drastic. They simply take time and patience in order to prevent detection.”

  “So, you’re not Dokaalan,” La Forge said. “You and whoever else is working with you.” He stepped closer, but halted as Barmiol’s companion started to draw his weapon. Holding his hands out away from his body, he locked eyes with the security officer, studying him but unable to discern any clue as to his real identity. “What are you, some kind of shapeshifters? Changelings?”

  During his career, the engineer had come across a handful of races possessing the ability to alter their physical form, from the allasomorphs of Daled IV to the Founders of the Dominion from the Gamma Quadrant to the omnipotent being known simply as Q. Was one of those races up to something out here in the farthest reaches of the explored galaxy? Had Q set into motion another of the maddening games or tests he had inflicted on the Enterprise crew in the years since they had first encountered him? La Forge doubted that. After all, it had been years since the annoying entity had made his unwelcome presence known, and the goings-on here did not smack of Q’s usual flights of whimsy.

  No, he decided. I’m missing something here, but what?

  “If you require stealth for your activities,” Taurik said, his hands clasped behind his back, “then it seems the Dokaalan would be most displeased to learn of your interference here.”

  Chuckling in that manner which unnerved La Forge, Barmiol replied, “Considering that the changes we are introducing will leave the planet unusable to them, you would be correct.”

  “These people have been working for generations to make a new home for themselves,” La Forge said, feeling his anger rising, “and you’re just going to take it from them? Eventually they’re going to find out what you’re doing. Do you expect them to sit by and let you ruin their hopes for a future on that planet?”

  Making his way back to the door, Barmiol shook his head. “Of course not, and we have plans to deal with that problem when the time comes.” He let the sentence hang in the air for several seconds, allowing the true meaning of the words to sink in, and La Forge felt his stomach tighten at the unspoken threat they conveyed. Who was this person, and whom did he represent?

  Apparently noting the engineer’s increasing ire, Barmiol said, “Now you understand why you must remain our guests for the time being. Cooperate and no harm will come to you.” He stepped back into the passageway outside the room along with his still silent companion. When he turned to look back at the Starfleet officers, the smile that had teased his features throughout the conversation was gone. “Any attempt to escape or to cause other disruption will be met with harsh consequences.”

  With that the door slammed shut, its echo resonating across the room’s metal surfaces but not so loud that La Forge failed to hear the sound of the door’s locking mechanism clicking back into place.

  “Nice guy,” the engineer said, listening to the fading footfalls as their visitors walked away. When he could no longer hear any sounds from the corridor beyond their cell, he turned to Taurik. “Well, they’re not Dokaalan, so who the hell are they?”

  Moving to retake his seated position at the edge of his cot, the Vulcan replied, “As you said yourself, they could be some form of shapechanging life-form, though we do not possess sufficient information to know whether they are of a race we have previously encountered. Is it possible the Dominion has launched a new offensive against the Alpha Quadrant?”

  La Forge shook his head. “We’re a long way from the wormhole near Deep Space 9.” The unique stellar phenomenon, found nearly a decade earlier in the Bajor system shortly after that planet’s liberation from the oppressive rule of the Cardassian Union, was a stable conduit that led more than seventy thousand light-years across the galaxy to the Idran system in the Gamma Quadrant.

  Starfleet exploration of this newly accessible area of the distant galaxy had begun almost immediately after the wormhole’s discovery, an initiative resulting in contact with new races both friendly and hostile. The Dominion had fallen squarely into the latter category, led by a race of shapechanging beings who called themselves the Founders. With their armies of genetically engineered soldiers, the Jem’Hadar, the Founders had nearly succeeded in conquering the Federation and its allies during the Dominion War, which had ended three years ago.

  “Even if they had found another wormhole or other method to get here from the Gamma Quadrant, which I doubt,” the chief engineer continued, “we’re weeks away from Federation space even at high warp. Why set up camp all the way out here?”

  Nodding, Taurik replied, “It makes no logical sense to do so, at least from a purely military perspective.”

  “Another thing,” La Forge added. “In their natural forms, the Founders can exist in pretty much any planetary environment. They don’t need to terraform a planet to a specific set of parameters.” He had started to walk the length of the room again as he talked, all five paces of it, with the slight metallic clank of the deck plating beneath his boots almost calming as he tried to think.

  Almost.

  “Whoever they are,” Taurik said, “they are obviously concealing their true appearance in some manner, be they shapeshifters or simply employing a form of disguise. If so, then there is a strong possibility we are dealing with a humanoid species. Their life-support requirements are obviously similar enough to the Dokaalan that they can exist in these mining colonies at least for short periods of time. They may have fashioned other facilities for extended habitation that better suit their own environmental needs.”

  Running his hand along the surface of their cell’s metal door, La Forge nodded. “It all sounds great, but it’d sound better if we could tell someone else.” He was only paying partial attention, though, as he examined the door’s lock with his ocular implants. It was a formidable mechanism, he decided, and would not be easy to overcome.

  “And the only way we’re going to do that,” he said, “is if we find a way out of here.”

  Chapter Ten

  IN THE YEARS that had passed since he had become a starship captain, Jean-Luc Picard had mastered the art of interpreting a situation by studying its effects on the body language of the men and women under his command. It was a time-tested technique upon which he had come to rely, whether he and his crew were encountering a unique stellar phenomenon for the first time, making contact with a previously unknown alien race, or even preparing for battle. Silent gestures, the way his people held their posture while manning their stations, how they spoke to one another or did not speak—all of that, along with an assortment of other telltale indicators both noticeable and intangible, had long been his guide as he sought to gauge how a given set of circumstances might play out.

  Right now, as he sat in his command chair on the bridge of the Enterprise, watching the men and women around him see to their respective duties with a vitality that seemed to have gone missing during the past weeks, all of those signs told him that his crew was hopeful. There were no overt clues this time as there had been on other occasions, but Picard was still able to sense an energy playing about the corridors of his ship that had been missing for too long, he decided.

  And much of that energy was focused here, in the nerve center of his beloved vessel.

  “Mr. Data,” he said as he swiveled his chair around to face the science station at the rear of the bridge, “are you ready to commence your experiment?”

  Still using the antigravity work sled to move about, the android turned the chair in response to the captain’s query. “Yes, sir. I have just finished entering the torpedo firing sequence into the computer and I am making my final adjustments now. Once the sequence is initiated, the computer will direct the launching of all twenty-six quantum torpedoes.”

  Picard knew that the process would take several
minutes, with the ship’s colossal computer system overseeing everything about the process, including timing the reloading of the ship’s torpedo launchers. Allowing the proper interval to elapse between volleys was just another aspect of this finely timed operation, ensuring that each of the projectiles could pursue their individually plotted courses through Ijuuka’s atmosphere to detonate almost simultaneously as the weapons reached equidistant positions around the planet.

  Satisfied with the report, Picard said, “Proceed at your discretion, Commander.”

  Data had overseen every last detail of the operation, from directing the outfitting of the suite of quantum torpedoes with their newly fashioned phylocite warheads to designing the spread pattern they would need to perform as they flew through Ijuuka’s atmosphere and even programming the firing sequence necessary to accomplish that goal. Science Minister Creij had assisted him, of course, her knowledge of the planet’s environmental composition and the progress of the Dokaalan’s own terraforming efforts proving to be nothing short of instrumental. Using information she provided, Data was, he believed, able to determine the proper quantities of phylocite needed for each torpedo in order to balance out the weapons’ combined effects as they entered the planet’s atmosphere.

  What if he’s made an error?

  The question flashed without prompting through the captain’s mind, and for the briefest of instants Picard felt his expression falter in response. It was unlike him to doubt the abilities of his second officer, but it was also unusual for the android to have suffered the type of debilitating injury from which he was still recuperating. In addition to the work he was overseeing here, Data was also devoting a significant portion of his formidable internal faculties toward repairing the damage inflicted upon him.

  He had continued to make progress, Picard knew, as he watched Data work at the science station. Though still reliant on the engineer’s work sled for mobility, he was now able to move both arms now and turn his head. The physical effects of his impairment were being dealt with, and the captain expected that his friend soon would make a full recovery.