Star Trek Prometheus - in the Heart of Chaos

by Christian Humberg

  He hesitated briefly, pressing his lips together as if he was trying to fight back some more drastic reproaches that were on the tip of his tongue. When he continued, his voice was quiet but determined. “Listen to me. There must be a solution. I am not only talking about saving my people but also about saving your boy.” He paused, apparently searching for words. “You say that he is ill. The truth is, he has completely succumbed to madness. His mind is destroyed. What he used to be doesn’t exist anymore. He’s merely craving hatred and violence while being stuck on an alien world far away from his home sphere. I don’t know how old the likes of you can grow to be, but do you want to condemn him to that kind of existence? Shouldn’t he be… released?”

  The energy being stared at the young Renao for quite a while. Adams began to wonder whether it was conferring with the other Old Ones—who apparently existed within the chaos zone—or whether it was simply stunned at the suggestion.

  “You are talking about terminating the boy.”

  Ak Namur straightened. “Yes. It would be… the compassionate thing to do. The boy wouldn’t have to suffer any longer. And the Renao would regain their freedom.”

  Their visitor fell silent again. This time it took so long that Adams glanced quizzically at Spock.

  “I sense upheaval,” the ambassador answered the unspoken question. “I believe the Old Ones are debating the issue.”

  “So there are really several of them?”

  “It would appear so. I am not able to ascertain how many presences are participating, but there are at least half a dozen of them.”

  The captain looked at ak Namur. “That was an unusual attempt, Lieutenant.”

  “Forgive me, Captain. But it had to be done.”

  Adams shook his head. “There’s no need to apologize. As awkward as this subject might be, it was the right decision to consider the death of the being as an option. I would have preferred to lock it up with the help of the Old Ones; however, your suggestion may well be the more compassionate one. To be perfectly honest, I hadn’t even considered the way this being must feel in its eternal prison. And we have learned that rescuing it is out of the question.”

  “IT CAN BE DONE.” Trik’s voice abruptly rejoined the conversation.

  Adams turned back to him, hope budding. “You can help us?”

  “WE BELIEVE SO.”

  “How?”

  “WE CAN FILL A VESSEL WITH ENERGY FROM WITHIN US. THE VESSEL NEEDS TO DISCHARGE THAT ENERGY JUST AS SOON AS IT IS FACED WITH THE BOY. THE DISCHARGE WILL LET THE BOY WITHER.”

  “This vessel,” Spock said. “Am I right in assuming that you are referring to one of the small people… someone among us?”

  “YES. THE VESSEL MUST BE ALIVE. OTHERWISE IT CANNOT CONTAIN OUR ENERGY.”

  A very bad feeling spread in Adams’s stomach. “And how difficult is it for this vessel to discharge the energy on Iad? Will it also wither, like the boy?”

  Trik’s eyes fixed those of the captain. Sadness reverberated in his voice. “Yes.”

  * * *

  Jassat ak Namur felt an excitement he hadn’t felt since his return to the Lembatta Cluster. Once the Son—the boy—was gone, the Renao all over the cluster would return to their old selves. Soon after, the Purifying Flame would be no more than an embarrassing memory.

  Unfortunately, this hope came at a price. Someone had to accept their death willingly. Who, if not me, could carry this burden? went through Jassat’s mind. The Renao were his people. He could hardly ask anyone else to sacrifice their life for him.

  He didn’t want to die. If there had been any way to avoid it, he would have been all too happy. But since he had joined Starfleet he had vowed to help those in need, even if it cost him his life. The crisis in the Lembatta Cluster was his very personal Kobayashi Maru test, he suddenly realized. His only choices were thousands of deaths… or his own death.

  There was no way to win this scenario. This was all about him handling death as an officer. And how much he was willing to sacrifice in order to make the galaxy a little better.

  Jassat made his decision, took a step forward, and addressed his captain. “Sir, with your permission I would like to volunteer to take in the energy of the Old Ones. I am offering to be the vessel that will overcome the being on Iad.”

  Adams raised one hand. “I’m not ready to have one of my officers walk to his certain death.” He looked at Trik, still possessed by the white glittering energy being. “Death is inevitable for the vessel? There’s no other option?”

  “WE CANNOT SPEAK WITH ABSOLUTE CERTAINTY,” the being replied patiently. “NEVER HAS ANYTHING LIKE THIS BEEN ATTEMPTED. BUT WE HAVE EXAMINED YOUR BODIES AND OUR MINDS, AND WE HAVE DETERMINED WHAT IS NEEDED IN ORDER TO TERMINATE THE BOY. ALL INDICATIONS ARE THAT THE VESSEL WILL WITHER AS WELL.”

  “I’m ready for it,” Jassat said intently.

  Adams ignored him. “Give us a little time to think about it. I need to confer with my officers.” Turning around, he touched a button on the armrest of his command chair. “Bridge to engine room.”

  “Kirk here,” the chief engineer replied.

  “Commander, please come to my ready room.”

  “On my way, Captain.”

  “Lieutenant Commander Mendon, Lieutenant ak Namur, you’re with me also. Commander Roaas, you’ve got the bridge.”

  With determined steps, Adams marched toward the door to his ready room. Jassat followed him dutifully.

  Even in the captain’s small office, the energy being’s white light aura emanated from every surface. It was a strangely dreamlike sight, as if they weren’t on the plane of reality any longer.

  When Kirk arrived at the ready room, she found Adams leaning against the edge of his desk. Mendon and ak Namur stood at parade rest facing the captain.

  In a few words, Adams described the encounter with the energy being on the bridge to Kirk. He told her about the possible solution for the crisis within the Lembatta Cluster, including the catch. “Mr. ak Namur is willing to act as the vessel. This decision is to his credit; however, I have no intention of agreeing to it unless we have explored and dismissed all other options. Jenna, Mendon, I require your input.”

  The Benzite put his arms behind his back. “I’m afraid, Captain, the problem that we’re facing is that we know next to nothing about the life form on Iad, and we also don’t know much about the life form we have encountered here. The energy this being consists of defies all analysis. Just like the chaos zone, it does not seem to correlate with the laws of nature existing in this dimension. Now, undeniably, both exist, therefore it is we who are lacking the capability to understand what we call reality.”

  Adams sighed. “In other words, we have to trust the word of this Old One because we simply don’t have the means to verify any of it.”

  “That is… erm, more or less correct, sir.” The Benzite looked uncomfortable.

  Kirk ran her fingers through her hair, shaking her head. “I can’t really contribute anything from the technical side of things, Captain. An analysis of the white energy is impossible, so I could only offer some basic advice on how to store and transport energy. If you want, I’ll ask our host to run a few trials with various energy storage devices. But there’s a strong psychoactive aspect where these beings are concerned—mind and energy seem to be connected somehow. So I doubt that a purely technological approach would do us any good. What’s more, it would still leave the question of how we should manage the intended discharge. Also, we shouldn’t overextend the duration of our stay in this zone. You might not notice it on the bridge but we’re in a cold sweat trying to keep the ship systems afloat. The Prometheus is not designed for this place. The longer we remain within the chaos zone, the more we risk some spontaneous radiation damaging or destroying important systems. The slipstream drive in particular is a delicate piece of experimental technology. If we lose it, it will take three or four months for us to return to the Lembatta Cluster.”

  Jassat saw Adams frown
. He obviously didn’t like what he was hearing. The captain turned his head, staring out of the window, which showed only glittering white energy.

  Finally he sighed, turning back to his officers. “All right then. The way things look, we don’t have any other choice but to accept the Old One’s offer. Lieutenant ak Namur, you will not be the vessel. Since I am the captain of this ship, I will sacrifice myself.”

  Surprised, Jassat’s eyes widened. “Captain, no! I mean… please, sir, don’t do that. I have already volunteered to carry this burden.”

  “I know, but I can’t allow it. I’m the captain of the Prometheus. It’s my duty to protect my crew. If a life is required to resolve the Lembatta crisis, it should be mine. It’s my duty.”

  “With all due respect, sir, I must disagree,” Jassat said. “Your duty lies with your ship. The Prometheus and her crew need you more than they need me. My duty, on the other hand, lies with my people.”

  “Mr. ak Namur… Jassat—” Adams began, but Jassat dared to interrupt him.

  “No, please, sir, let me explain.”

  The captain bit his lip, looking as if he intended to reprimand him. Instead, he nodded tersely.

  Jassat composed himself, choosing his words carefully. “Captain, I know that I always gave the impression of being different from most Renao, and that I’m an outsider in that society. That is basically true. Most Renao just look inward to their community. I always wanted to look outside, and get to know the wonders that exist between the stars. But despite them thinking differently from me, we’re all Renao—and I feel connected to them.”

  He made eye contact with Jenna and Mendon. “Imagine your homeworld was ravaged by a major disaster that resulted in thousands of deaths. It might even be millions if the Son’s power keeps increasing, driving all Renao mad. Wouldn’t you voluntarily give your life in order to save your people?”

  Jassat turned back to Adams. “Besides, this is also about the Federation, my second home. If we don’t stop the Purifying Flame, it will continue to commit atrocities. And there’s only one way to stop them—stop the source of their madness. How much death and pain could be avoided for the price of just one life? I willingly give it if I can save both worlds I belong to.”

  He was expecting further argument, but after a moment of silence, deep in thought, Adams nodded slowly. He pushed himself off the desk’s edge, straightening himself. “Very well, Lieutenant. For the benefit of the Renao and the Federation I give you my permission to act as the vessel for the energy of the Old Ones. I just hope these beings know what they’re doing.”

  Jassat fervently hoped so too.

  22

  NOVEMBER 30, 2385

  Mining colony Kobheni, Yssab Shaool system, Lembatta Cluster

  The factory siren relieved Jonah ak Seresh from his ordeal. Comparing inventory lists for ten hours was a task that could drive a person mad. He finished inputing the last entries into the table on the monitor of his terminal before switching the device off. With a long sigh, he leaned back in his work chair. White dots danced before his eyes, and his neck muscles felt so hard that a freight transport could have driven over them without breaking his neck.

  Three more days, he said to himself. And then it’s done. Jonah was a logistics expert in the metal processing plant in Kobheni, and the tables were his everyday business. But the biannual stocktaking was not only boring, it also took up valuable time that he would have preferred to spend on his usual daily chores. If his assistant Shamar had been here, everything would have been much easier. But Shamar had had an argument with the new owner of the factory and had been fired two weeks ago. Jonah didn’t know what the argument had been about. In any case, the atmosphere had been very hostile. Strictly speaking, the atmosphere had been very tense for a while now, which had ruined the enjoyment he usually got from doing his work.

  Just as well that I’m done for today, Jonah thought. Grunting, he got up, grabbed his shoulder bag, and left his office above one of the factory halls. He heard agitated voices down in the hall. Two people were having an argument. Jonah walked faster. He didn’t want to get involved.

  Hear no evil, see no evil; that was his motto.

  That way he also managed to ignore some of the stock losses that he kept noticing on the cargo lists. Initially he had alerted the new owner to them, who had told him with friendly but firm words that he shouldn’t bother him a second time with this matter.

  “If you don’t like the numbers, change them,” he had said. “Just do your work, ak Seresh. And don’t concern yourself with matters that are none of your business.”

  Yet another reason why he didn’t enjoy his work any longer.

  With a lowered head and swift strides Jonah left the factory complex. A cold wind blew—as it did so often—through Kobheni, bringing dust from the adjacent strip mine. Jonah coughed, pulling his hood over his head.

  Another scribbling from the Purifying Flame had been scrawled on one of the outside walls. You could find them everywhere in town by now—in the arcologies as well as in the industrial area around them.

  The graffiti was not as bad as the recruiters, though. They appeared everywhere—in the taverns, the assembly halls, the markets. Aggressively, they attempted to convince people to participate in the battle against all sphere defilers. Sometimes they just distributed flyers, sometimes they gave rousing speeches. Rumor had it that they sometimes even abducted Renao and forced them to fight. Such things only happened at night, though, in abandoned arcology corridors.

  Jonah snorted. Life here is getting worse. He had to admit that he was frightened; not just for himself but also for Laali, his female companion. If they came one day to get him, what should he do? They would threaten Laali, and he would follow the fanatics on their ill-fated raid against the rest of the galaxy. No one could stop the Purifying Flame anymore. Even the sphere custodians of Kobheni were powerless against the spreading blight, unless they made a pact with the fanatics.

  He heard muffled thuds and clanks on his side of the road. Someone laughed maliciously. Jonah turned his head inside his hood and caught a glimpse of three men, about fifty meters away. Two of them were hitting a vehicle that was parked by the roadside with metal tubes, while the third one was finishing a fresh batch of graffiti that said Outworld lover!

  Jonah quickly averted his eyes and hurried on. It has come to that already. Jonah loved Kobheni, his home sphere, the same as every Renao loved theirs. But recently, he kept wishing that he could leave the arcology, and all this idiocy that was happening here, behind.

  I need something to drink. In his agitated mood, he would only scare Laali. She knew as well as he did that Kobheni’s society was increasingly deteriorating. But even more than him, she closed her eyes before that fact and covered her ears, singing loud songs that reminded her of better times. We’re also going mad, Jonah thought. Just in a different way.

  His favorite tavern was at the base of the arcology. The windows were small, and the view out onto the ore mines south of Kobheni was only beautiful when the full and red evening sun sent her last beams across the landscape. But the bri was good, and the guests, tired from their day’s work, left each other alone while they were staring at viewscreens where generally some dancing or singing shows with young, popular local artists were broadcast.

  Today was no different. When Jonah came into the bar, only a handful of other guests sat in there. Judging by their clothing, they were all laborers from the metal processing plant or the adjacent smelter. Two colorfully dressed women danced on the three screens to driving rhythms. The sets’ volume was turned down to avoid disturbing people. Those who wanted to watch could look at them; those who didn’t simply stared into their glasses of bri.

  Jonah waved at Banuk, the bartender, to order his drink. The men knew each other and not many words were needed. He sat down by the counter, nodded politely at the man next to him, and waited for his bri.

  Banuk placed the glass in front of Jonah, who grunted
in return.

  “Work?” the bartender asked.

  Jonah nodded. “Work. The Flame. It’s getting worse.”

  This time it was Banuk’s turn to grunt in agreement.

  The image on the television sets abruptly changed. The dancers vanished and a sinister alien face appeared. His hair was black and came down to his shoulders, his eyes were glowing menacingly, and he had a ridged forehead with numerous bony humps.

  Jonah’s hair stood on end. “Banuk, what is that? Isn’t that one of these strangers from the worlds beyond our home spheres?”

  Confused, the bartender turned around. “You’re right. What in Bharatrum’s name is he doing in that broadcast?” He grabbed the remote control and changed channels, but the stranger was also on the next channel. And on the next.

  “Citizens of Yssab,” the man began speaking with a booming voice. “This is Captain Kromm from the Klingon battle cruiser Bortas.”

  “Turn the volume up,” one of the customers shouted. “I want to hear what the Klingon has got to say.”

  Reluctantly, Banuk obliged.

  “I come with a call to arms against the Purifying Flame. They are a malicious group who have made dozens of honorless attacks on several worlds and bases within the Klingon Empire and the United Federation of Planets. Thus, they have challenged us, and our answer of choice would be to crush them.” He raised the index finger of his gloved hand. “But… that is not our goal. During our search for the Purifying Flame, we have learned that the madness that is spreading across all worlds within the cluster is not yours! The hatred the Purifying Flame is displaying toward us is nothing but deception. You’re all being manipulated by a demonic being from the depths of space that has settled on Iad.” He leaned forward, staring imploringly at his audience. “The elders among you might recall the legends of the Son of the Ancient Reds, the White Guardian, the transfer. All that is true. Everything! But the Son, who had been imprisoned for millennia, has awakened again. He intends to lead the Renao into disaster. He feeds you with his poisonous thoughts, because the hatred and the violence he incites are his food. The Purifying Flame is just the beginning.” His voice lowered and took on a menacing tone. “Do you not feel the fury and desperation within you? Do you not observe the violence in the streets of your very cities? This will only get worse—much worse, because the Son is greedy for murder, and destruction, and hatred. We are the only ones who can save you. We are warriors, and we fight against this being with all our considerable might. But we need time; time which the cowards of the Flame might use to attack more of our worlds in their rage. That must not happen! Therefore we need to find their headquarters, their secret shipyard where they are constructing the weapons of war to be used against us. We need to destroy this shipyard and take the Purifying Flame’s weapons away from them. Only then can we concentrate on the final battle against the being that intends to throw your worlds into an era of darkness. So, by the hand of Kahless, help us, if you don’t want to face your doom. Save your damn spheres, which are so important to you, before they perish during the war!”