Long Shot Page 5

  It wasn’t the worst plan Terrell had ever heard. “Not bad. That should obviate any risk of direct observation. But will it be enough? How advanced a culture are we dealing with?”

  Theriault deflected the question to Hesh with a glance. The science officer pondered the query. “It’s hard to say, Captain. They have fusion power, but their space station seems to lack faster-than-light sensors. Nonetheless, it won’t be possible to gauge their full capabilities from a distance. They might possess orbital telescopes we have yet to note, and there might be any number of stellar observatories on the surface with sufficient resolution to see us already. Consequently, even concealed by their moons, we might be at risk of detection.”

  “I’ll never be able to accuse you of fostering false hope, Lieutenant.”

  “Most assuredly not, sir.”

  Terrell turned toward his pilot. “Ensign Nizsk? Can you plot a safe approach heading?”

  “Yes, sir. I have one ready to execute on your command.”

  “Then it’s time we rolled the dice.” He returned to his command chair. “Hesh, Sorak, keep your eyes on those sensors.” He lifted his arm and pointed for dramatic effect as he gave his next order. “Helm, take us in.”

  • • •

  There had to be a more productive way for Taryl to use her downtime, but she wasn’t interested in finding it. Alone in the quarters she shared with Doctor Babitz and Petty Officer Cahow, she was content to lie in her rack and stew in her petty resentments.

  Deep down, she felt ashamed of herself. Sulking was the refuge of a child, not the proper response of a grown woman, and even less that of a Starfleet officer. But so much of her time on the Sagittarius was spent on the kind of drudgery she had come to despise during her youth and adolescence of indentured servitude. Her days now were filled with the kind of mind-numbing chores she would still be mired in had she not made the effort to secretly educate herself when her masters and the other servants were all asleep. She had risked beatings and the repeated loss of food privileges to teach herself languages, mathematics, sciences, and even a bit of music theory, despite her ongoing struggle to carry a tune.

  I thought I’d left that life behind when I got into the Academy. But it followed me here. She tried to calm herself with a deep breath, but her chest felt packed to bursting with swallowed anger. It’s not fair. I spent four years training to be the best field scout in Starfleet. So what do I spend most of my time doing? I man a sensor console. I watch wave forms go flat on the comm panel. Everything except the job I was trained for.

  She thought about turning on some music, or slipping aft to the mess hall—“culinary triage,” she’d heard her shipmates call it recently—for a snack or maybe just a cup of hot chai. The more she pondered those options, the less either one appealed. So she went on staring at the underside of Cahow’s rack, less than an arm’s length above her own.

  On the bright side, at least my bunkmates don’t snore. But if the doc tries to sterilize the compartment again before we make port, I might have to jam her hypospray right up her—

  The door signal buzzed.

  Great. It’s not as if I can pretend I’m not here.

  Vexed, she looked toward the door. “Come in.”

  The portal slid open to reveal Crewman Torvin. The thin, gawky Tiburonian man stood off-kilter in the open doorway, with one hand behind his back. He cast a nervous look inside, as if he feared an ambush. “Um, I hope I’m not, you know, interrupting anything. Am I?”

  Taryl sat up on the edge of her bunk. “What do you need, Tor?”

  Her glum manner seemed to flummox him. “Need? I didn’t—I mean, I don’t, um . . .” He spent a moment chasing down his runaway train of thought. “I don’t need anything, per se. I just know that you were, y’know, kind of bummed out about having your patrol cut short.”

  She knew the young engineer’s mate meant well, but his inability to come to the point exhausted her. “And? What can I do for you?”

  Torvin revealed the hand he’d hidden behind his back. Clutched in his bony fist was a rainbow bouquet of wildflowers from the planet they’d just left. “I thought you might need some cheering up, so I, uh, picked these for you.” He fidgeted and looked at everything in the compartment except her. “As decoration for your quarters. A memento, I guess.”

  Was he serious? She shook her head. “Why would I want that in here?”

  “Huh?” A dumbfounded look at the flowers, then back at her. “You don’t like them?”

  She got up and stood in front of him and his handful of dead plants. “I liked them very much when they were growing in the soil, converting carbon dioxide to oxygen and filling the natural world with beauty. What baffles me is why you’d think I’d appreciate your killing these beautiful plants just to make a gift of them. I mean, am I supposed to enjoy watching them rot?”

  His anxiety transformed into contrition. “I’m sorry. It was just a custom on—well, not on my world, but on some planets, and, um, I—”

  “Who told you it was a good idea?”

  A hard swallow. He seemed reluctant to name names. Then: “The Master Chief.”

  “That makes sense.” She eyed the half-wilted blooms with disappointment. It was clear that Torvin was smitten with her; it took no special insight or Orion powers of pheromone-based control to make that deduction. But what was she supposed to do with him and his fumbling, tongue-tied infatuation? She had fended off more than her fair share of overzealous suitors at the Academy, but most of those had been other cadets, peers she had felt no qualms about abusing. Torvin was young and had a sheen of innocence that she was loath to tarnish with heartbreak.

  She crossed her arms. “I understand you meant well, Tor. But I should probably tell you, I’m not worth this kind of effort.”

  His thick eyebrows knit in confusion. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean . . . how do I say this? I’m not your typical Orion gal.”

  “Hey, I know! I didn’t mean to imply that you were, you know, like, a—”

  “Tor, I’m not naïve. I know why men chase after Orion women. You hear the tales of animal women, harem dancers, veiled courtesans with mysterious ways of seducing men—but I’m not them, and they aren’t me. Matter of fact, I don’t even like most people. To be frank, I tend to prefer the company of animals.”

  He waved his hands, as if fending off an attack. “I get that! I like animals, too.”

  What’s it gonna take to get through to this kid? A phaser set on “educate”?

  “I’m glad you like animals, Tor. Maybe you could get a pet or something. But whatever you’re hoping for here”—she gestured back and forth between the two of them—“it’s not gonna happen. I mean, even if I wasn’t trying to spend a few years celibate, there’s also the fact that Starfleet still frowns on fraternization between officers and enlisted personnel.”

  His chin drooped, and he stared at his feet. “Yeah, I understand.” He turned away, took a few steps aft, then paused as if he had some witty bon mot with which to save face. After a silent beat, he second-guessed himself and kept on walking. A few seconds after he was out of sight around the curve of the corridor’s interior bulkhead, Taryl heard a garbage reclamation chute creak open and then shut, heralding the undignified disposal of the dead flowers.

  Poor guy, she thought, feeling a moment of sympathy for his crushed hopes. But she pushed her pity aside in the name of self-preservation. She had spent too much of her life railing against the stereotype that seemed indelibly attached to her as an Orion to indulge even one misguided young man’s notion of who she was under her masks of profession, rank, and race.

  She was still trying to solve the riddle of her own identity; the last thing she needed was the distraction of someone else’s illusions—however flattering that false portrait might be.

  • • •

  The moons of
Cavino IV filled the bridge’s viewscreen. As far as Terrell could see, the rocky, airless satellites were all but identical. Similar in mass, both had crater-pocked, pale gray surfaces. Because their orbits were about to place them on the same bearing between Cavino IV and its parent star, both blazed with reflected light, though the first sign of an eclipse shadow was edging its way across the surface of the one that orbited closer to the planet.

  Terrell looked to Hesh for an update. “Any new intel on the dark energy readings?”

  “Nothing conclusive,” Hesh said, his eyes fixed upon the sensor readout. “All I can determine so far is that the phenomenon appears to be ongoing, rather than an isolated event.”

  That intrigued Terrell. “Why would anyone want to sustain such a reaction?”

  “Unknown, sir.”

  Theriault stared at the main screen. “Why risk tapping into dark energy at all?”

  Hesh finally looked up from the sensor hood. “Free energy, Commander. Although the Federation’s early experiments with harnessing dark energy were no more successful than those of the Vulcans several centuries earlier, it remains a theoretically viable source of power—one that will continue to be readily available even hundreds of billions of years from now, when much of this universe’s matter has degenerated due to entropic heat death.”

  “Great—tech that’ll be useful long after our galaxy burns out.” The executive officer aimed a crooked half-smile at Terrell. “I guess some folks like getting in on the ground floor.”

  “That’s where the money is, Number One.”

  “So they keep telling me, sir.”

  Terrell looked over his shoulder as a prelude to asking Sorak for an update on the ship’s tactical status when he heard a soft feedback tone from the communications panel, a sound he recognized as the alert for an incoming signal. He watched Razka work the controls and inspect the readouts. After several seconds without a report, Terrell grew impatient. “What is it, Chief?”

  Razka swiveled toward Terrell. His large reptilian eyes blinked slowly, from the sides in, and his voice was a guttural rasp. “Captain, we’re being hailed on a primitive radio frequency.”

  Dreading the answer, Terrell asked, “Hailed by whom?”

  “The planetary head of state from Cavino IV.”

  No matter how hard Terrell tried, he couldn’t stop himself from shooting a sour glare at his helm officer. “Ensign Nizsk? I thought we were on a stealth-approach heading.”

  Her flurry of clicks was parsed by her universal translator module into a halting reply. “We were—I mean, we are, sir. None of their observation facilities should be able to see us.”

  Lieutenant Hesh stepped away from his post to get Terrell’s attention. “Sir? I think I know what happened. I’ve detected what appear to be passive sensors on the surface of the fourth planet’s outer moon. Preliminary scans indicate the inner moon might also harbor a similar early-detection grid.”

  “Why didn’t we note them earlier?”

  “As I said, Captain, they appear to be passive systems. They emitted no signals for us to detect. Unless I’d run a scan specifically to find them, I don’t think we would have seen them.”

  Razka silenced another incoming-signal alert. “They’re hailing us again, sir.”

  It wasn’t the scenario he’d intended, but Terrell knew better than to waste time wishing for what was already impossible. “It seems we underestimated the residents of the fourth planet. Mister Hesh, update our stealth-approach protocols to look for passive sensor networks, even when we don’t think the native population is capable of creating them.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  He turned back toward Razka. “Chief, let me hear their message.”

  “It’s audio only, sir.” Razka routed the greeting to the bridge’s overhead speakers.

  “Attention, unidentified vessel behind our moons. This is Tribune Tiras Saranda, head of government for the planet Anura. Please identify yourself on this frequency.”

  Terrell considered the message. “Ensign Nizsk, update our star charts to indicate the native name for the fourth planet. If we get more details about their name for their star and other worlds, we’ll fill them in later.”

  Razka adjusted some settings on his panel. “The second message was different, sir.”

  “All right. On speakers, Chief.”

  “Attention, alien vessel. This is Tribune Tiras Saranda of Anura. If you can hear this message, please respond. We are experiencing a global emergency and require assistance. I repeat, if you can understand this message, please reply at once on this frequency.”

  “So much for the Prime Directive,” Theriault said.

  Terrell nodded. The Prime Directive prohibited Starfleet from interfering in the affairs of most pre-warp cultures, as much for their protection as for its own. But in a case such as this, where a head of state made an unprompted appeal for aid, the Prime Directive all but ceased to apply. Regardless, caution was called for, and Terrell meant to tread with care.

  “Chief, open a reply channel.”

  “Ready, sir.”

  “Tribune Tiras Saranda, this is Captain Clark Terrell of the Starship Sagittarius. We have received your message and stand ready to render aid, if possible. Can you describe the nature of your planetary emergency?”

  Silence. Chief Razka interjected, “We’re dealing with light-speed signals, sir. We’ll experience brief delays.”

  “Understood.”

  A scratchy response filtered down from the overhead speakers. “Captain Terrell, we welcome you in the spirit of friendship. We have recently experienced an accident related to our research into a new form of energy production. The consequences of our malfunction are proving extremely chaotic. Can you or your ship help us contain and negate these effects?”

  So far, so good, Terrell thought. The tribune’s explanation comported with the facts he and his crew already had. Still, he wanted to confirm what he was dealing with. “Tribune, is your new form of power generation related to the harnessing of cosmic dark energy?”

  He and the rest of the bridge crew waited while their message traveled through hard-wired relays on the moon’s surface and then through vacuum.

  “Yes, Captain. My advisors say that’s what we’re developing. Can you help us?”

  This time, he had his answer ready. “Yes, Tribune. I think we can. With your permission, I’d like to land my ship on the surface of your planet and come ashore with a few of my crew.”

  He felt the anxious stares of his bridge crew while they awaited the tribune’s answer.

  “Permission granted. Send us your ship’s landing requirements, and we’ll send back coordinates for a landing in our capital city. And, Captain? Thank you.”

  Terrell stood. “Chief, send them our landing specs, then relay the touchdown coordinates to Ensign Nizsk.” He faced Theriault. “Number One, I’ll be leading the landing party. You’ll be staying behind to command the ship.”

  She nodded. “Aye, sir.”

  He turned toward the science station. “Mister Hesh, you’re with me.” He used the controls on one arm of his command chair to open the ship’s PA channel. “Ensign Taryl and Master Chief, meet me in the hold in ten minutes.” He couldn’t help but break out a smile. “We’re going on a first-contact mission.”

  5

  Thunder rolled across the capital’s overcast sky. Saranda looked upward at black bellies of cloud that threatened rain. A steady gust from the west, humid and unseasonably warm, fluttered her turquoise dress and emerald shawl. At her side stood Doctor Kavalas, his gaze also turned toward the sky. In front of them was the empty landing pad behind the capital’s Executive Complex, which served as Saranda’s residence and office during her tenure. Far behind them, standing at attention near the complex’s rear entrance, was a trio of Saranda’s bodyguards.

  K
avalas inflated his vocal sac, then let it contract with a soft croak.

  Saranda rotated her right eye in his direction. “Nervous, Doctor?”

  “With good reason, Madam Tribune. Asking the aliens for help was dangerous.”

  “More dangerous than powering up a—what did you call it?”

  A deadpan reply: “Quantum fluctuation generator.”

  “Whatever. If you can’t bring it under control, I need to reach out to anyone who can.”

  His protest took on a new urgency. “Madam Tribune, it might not be a coincidence that we’re being approached by another alien vessel at exactly the moment when our experiment went wrong. For all we know, they might have caused this calamity!”

  “I’m not a fool, Doctor. I considered that possibility. But I don’t think it makes any sense. How would sabotaging your project benefit them? And if they were responsible for unleashing this storm of improbability, why would they agree to bring their ship down into it?”

  Her questions left the scientist drumming his steepled fingertips, a curious affectation she had seen him resort to when he needed to stall for time. “Interesting queries,” he said.

  Flashes of lightning set towering banks of clouds aglow for an instant. The sky rumbled and shook the ground. It promised to be a night of torrents and clamors.

  Saranda felt the truth weigh on her conscience. “I admit, it might have been rash to ask the aliens for help. We have no knowledge of their species, their culture, their agenda. For all we know, their aid might come at a terrible cost.” Fear tainted her dwindling reservoir of hope. “But what price wouldn’t we pay for salvation?”

  Kavalas pointed upward. “I think we’ll have our answer soon enough.”

  She followed his outstretched arm and saw a dim spot of light appear in the clouds. It grew larger and brighter by the moment, as if a star were plummeting through the stormhead.

  The misty curtain tattered as a tiny vessel shot through it. Its forward section was a thin, elliptical saucer, narrower at its bow than at its stern. Mounted at the forefront of its underside was a circular dish that resembled an antenna. A short, semi-cylindrical fuselage extended back from the middle of the saucer. Connected to it by a pair of short pylons were two long, narrow cylinders whose forward ends were capped with spinning, reddish-orange domes.