Текст книги "Summon the Thunder"

Автор книги: Dayton Ward

Соавторы: Kevin Dilmore
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Текущая страница: 20 (всего у книги 30 страниц)

32

At some point during the initial period of his formal education—he could not exactly remember when—Ambassador Jetanien received a piece of advice that had remained with him to this day: Whenever you schedule a meeting, ensure you are the last to arrive.

For most of his early career and while his normal duties required him to be at the beck and call of more senior diplomats, Jetanien had disliked that notion. It always had irritated him to be kept waiting by someone else, a vexation for which his tolerance all but evaporated upon earning the title of ambassador. As part of his daily routine aboard Starbase 47, he made it an inviolable directive that all meetings start and end on schedule, and that all participants—himself included—were present at the appointed time. Leadership was best employed if demonstrated by example, after all. To the Chelon, whether tardiness was as a result of laziness, forgetfulness, or arrogance mattered not. Regardless of the cause, he always addressed such lapses as well as the responsible party without mercy. The harshness of his redress increased in direct proportion to the rank and position of the person committing the blunder.

Despite his well-known feelings on the subject, however, Jetanien knew that there were rare occasions when employing such a loathsome tactic had its advantages.

Now, for instance.

Moving with no undue haste toward the conference chambers which were the centerpiece of the offices and other facilities designated for use by the station’s diplomatic contingents, Jetanien glanced toward a chronometer mounted high along one bulkhead near the entrance to the section’s formal dining hall. Its digital display told him that he was arriving slightly less than eleven standard minutes after the summit’s scheduled start time. Just enough of an interval, he surmised, to inform those already seated inside the meeting room just who was running the show today.

A pair of bright red doors marked the entrance to the conference chamber, their vivid hue part of the standard Starfleet color scheme and which Jetanien had forgotten to order replaced with something more soothing. The doors were flanked by a pair of Starfleet security officers, one a human female and the other an Andorian thaan. Both were dressed in red uniform tunics and dark trousers—a practical choice on the part of the woman, he decided—and their sleeves each sported the gold braid denoting their respective ranks of lieutenant. The guards came to attention at his approach, the woman nodding to him as he stepped closer.

“Good morning, Your Excellency. The other parties have been seated and are awaiting your arrival.”

“Of that I am certain, Lieutenant,” Jetanien replied, offering a knowing laugh. The officers apparently understood his meaning, as he noted each attempting to hide their own smiles of approval. “What is it you humans are fond of saying? Let’s get this show on the road.”

The doors parted and he strolled into the room, noting with satisfaction that—as he had requested—both the Klingon and Tholian ambassadors as well as their respective attachés already were at their places on opposite sides of the polished black conference table. The Tholians, of course, being even less suited anatomically to sitting than Jetanien was, eschewed the chairs on their side of the table. At the far end of the room sat his own envoys, Sovik and Akeylah Karumé, flanking the as-yet-unoccupied space at the head of the table. Everyone in the chamber turned at his arrival, their expressions ranging from expectation to confusion and even to utter disdain.

Once more unto the breach,Jetanien mused.

“Good afternoon, gentlebeings,” the ambassador offered by way of greeting as he made his way toward the table. Behind him, the doors slid closed and locked in accordance with his prearranged instructions. Now they were able to be opened only by use of the keypad set into the wall next to the entrance or by command from one of the security officers stationed just outside.

“On behalf of the United Federation of Planets,” he continued, “I extend to you greetings and our sincere thanks at your decision to gather here today, particularly in light of current events.” Stopping before his glenget, he turned to face the assembled audience. “Simply coming here is a gesture of faith and hope, my friends. Let us all do our best to ensure your efforts are not wasted.”

“ tojo’Qa,”spat Ambassador Lugok, a response mirrored by his attaché, Kulor. “How dare you force me to sit here with nothing better to do than stare at these taHqeq.” The Klingon waved a large, gloved hand across the table, indicating the Tholian delegation.

Well,Jetanien thought, that didn’t take long.

“Please excuse my tardiness, Ambassadors,” he said, extending his hands in a gesture of supplication. “I was unavoidably detained.” With that, he lowered himself down upon the perch that had been constructed to accommodate his ungainly physique.

“ You present no excuse,”replied the voice of the room’s universal translator, offering a clipped rendering of Ambassador Sesrene’s words amid the muted but still audible screeches issuing from within the Tholian’s silken envirosuit. “ Such disrespectful behavior is unacceptable.”

Knowing that his tactics played against the Tholians’ near-obsessive penchant for punctuality, Jetanien chose his next words with care. “Not an excuse, Ambassador, but instead a reason that I hope you both will find satisfactory. I have been meeting with Commodore Reyes to review the latest information regarding the destruction of the planet we know as Palgrenax.” What he did not mention was that the meeting had concluded several hours earlier, and that he had spent the interim secreted in his private office, refining his strategy.

Besides, the longer you two sit in silence and allow your anger to fester, the more likely you are to forget any rehearsed stories and react honestly to what I have to say.

“Bah!” Lugok barked. “What can you tell me that I do not already know? That planet was claimed by the empire, in the same way that we have established ourselves on other worlds in the Gonmog Sector. The Tholians take issue with our actions and attack us without honor!”

“Cowardly toDSaH.”

Though Kulor had uttered the words under his breath, Jetanien nevertheless had heard him. Grunting loud enough to catch the assistant’s attention, the Chelon hoped the glare he leveled at the Klingon was enough to forestall any such further comments.

“And now,” Lugok continued, his voice louder and more intense now, “they have created a weapon capable of destroying a planet and have unleashed it against us!”

“Unfounded accusations do not become you, Ambassador,” Jetanien said, almost besting the Klingon in tone and volume. “Do you have evidence to substantiate these claims?”

Lugok glared at the Chelon, his eyes seething. “I challenge the Tholians to offer evidence to the contrary,” he said, the words hissed from between gritted teeth.

Occupying the position at the table opposite the Klingon diplomat, Ambassador Sesrene reached out with silk-sheathed appendages toward both of his attachés, his gesture mirrored by his companions in what Jetanien knew was the precursor to the activation of their habitual touch-telepathy link.

As he witnessed the communing, Jetanien once more wished for a better understanding of the Tholians not merely as politicians but as individuals. Not even the Federation’s leading xenobiologists and sociologists could lay claim to any real insight into the acutely secretive race, their very nature isolating them from introspection by other species. He had known upon taking the assignment to Starbase 47 that doing so would provide him with an unequaled opportunity to study what he considered to be one of the most fascinating societies he ever had encountered.

If I can’t find a Tholian expert, I’ll simply become one myself.Jetanien was certain that someone somewhere would find such a distinction useful. After that, who knew where such unparalleled knowledge and expertise might lead?

Sesrene folded his arms back against his body, turning his oversized head until Jetanien could make out the yellow slits cut into the helmet of the Tholian’s envirosuit.

“ We do not have any offensive weapon such as the Klingon describes. It isthey who destroyed the planet, likely as an example to other worlds that do not bow down before them. If left unchecked, the Klingons will continue to unleash havoc upon all who oppose them. Their reign of violence and terror must be halted immediately.”

“Ambassador,” Jetanien began as he looked at the Tholian.

Rising from his seat, Lugok stabbed a finger in Sesrene’s direction. “The empire has made no moves against any world inhabited by your kind, and yet your vessels attack ours without provocation. It is obvious you seek to do battle.”

“ We have acted only in self-defense,”Sesrene replied. “ We are well aware of the Klingon Empire’s thirst for power and conquest. It will not be tolerated. Go back from whence you came and war can be avoided.”

Both hands placed flat atop the conference table, his lips pulling back to reveal uneven rows of sharpened teeth, Lugok glowered at the Tholian diplomat. “Are you claiming the Gonmog Sector as your own? By what right do you assert that authority?”

“Fellow sentients,” Jetanien called out, acutely aware that he was in danger of losing control of the meeting, “this is hardly the sort of constructive dialogue which will lead us to mutual understanding of the issues and how they affect us all. Might I…”

“He is like the rest of his kind,” Kulor said, pointing at Sesrene. “Liars, all of them. The galaxy would do well to see itself rid of their…infestation.”

Before Jetanien could react, Karumé rose from her seat at the ambassador’s left hand and strode with undeniable purpose toward the Klingon attaché. Kulor looked up and offered a wolfish grin, but Karumé ignored it, instead stepping forward until she was able to deliver a vicious punch to his face that almost made Jetanien flinch.

“Still your profane tongue, tu’HomIraH,”she growled even as Kulor’s right hand moved toward the d’k tahgknife at his side. The action did not go unnoticed, as Sesrene’s attachés each reacted by maneuvering back from the conference table, their rear legs tapping in frenzied rhythms loud enough to be heard even on the room’s thick carpeting.

“That is enough!”

The words exploded from Jetanien’s mouth, accompanied by the slamming of his hand against the top of the conference table. Everyone in the room fell silent, all eyes now locked once more upon him, each person now regarding him with an expression of unqualified shock.

Of those surprised by the outburst, none were more so than Jetanien himself.

“This bickering is pointless,” he said, the words delivered in a measured cadence designed to convey that he would tolerate no interruptions. “It is obvious that we have much work ahead of us if we are to forge any sort of understanding here. Lies, half-truths, exaggerations, and hyperbole serve only to undermine our efforts, and they cannot be tolerated.”

Turning to face the Chelon, Kulor began, “You accuse us…”

“I accuse no one,” Jetanien said, cutting off what he sensed was another imminent diatribe. “The simple facts are enough to illustrate the issues we face. Even while your governments send envoys here to meet in peace, acts of aggression continue in the Taurus Reach. Tholians attack Klingons, Klingons attack Tholians, and Tholians attack the Federation.” As he uttered those last words, his gaze fell upon Ambassador Sesrene. He knew a reminder of the tragedy that had befallen the U.S.S. Bombaywas necessary, but still he drew satisfaction from seeing the Tholian diplomat shift his stance as if discomfited by the remarks.

Yes,he decided, now is the time to act.

With a confidence he had not felt even at the start of the proceedings, Jetanien rose from his glenget. “The only way we will succeed,” he continued, beginning to pace toward the front of the room, “is if we all commit ourselves to the notion that there are other, better alternatives than aggression to solve these issues. We must resist the temptation to fall back upon the timeworn distraction of partisan brinksmanship.” As he reached the doors leading from the conference room, he turned once more to face the delegation. “In order to serve that end, I propose we remove those things which lend themselves to such diversion.”

With that, he turned to the door and pressed a control on the wall-mounted keypad. The doors slid aside to reveal the pair of security guards still standing at their assigned posts.

“Lieutenant Beyer,” Jetanien said to the female officer, “kindly step in.” To the rest of his assemblage, he leveled a stern gaze. “Mr. Sovik, Ms. Karumé, please resume your normal duties. I will call on you if I have need of your assistance.”

Sovik’s immediate reaction was to raise his right eyebrow. “I beg your pardon, Your Excellency?”

“You heard me, Mr. Sovik. I have the situation well in hand. Surely there are other matters requiring your attention?”

Karumé could only stare at him in openmouthed shock for several seconds. Then, with everyone facing Jetanien and thus unable to see her expression, she offered him a knowing smile. “As you wish.”

Excellent,the Chelon thought. She understands. Though Sovik’s expression was of course as implacable as ever, Jetanien imagined he saw comprehension in the Vulcan’s eyes, as well.

“As for the Klingon and Tholian delegations,” he continued, “with the exception of Ambassadors Lugok and Sesrene, the rest of you may return to your respective embassies. Lieutenant Beyer and her staff will provide escort, to ensure you encounter no trouble along the way.”

“What is the meaning of this?” Kulor asked.

Jetanien shrugged. “I should think my meaning is plain. Get out.” He nodded to Beyer. “Lieutenant, if you please.”

The process of removing the ambassadors’ envoys from the room took nearly a full minute, during which both Kulor and the Tholians made every effort to protest short of physically resisting overtures from the Starfleet security officers to direct them from the meeting chambers. As the doors slid closed behind Beyer, Jetanien turned once more to the keypad and tapped out a sequence.

“Computer, this is Ambassador Jetanien. On voice command, you will engage security protocols for this room until further notice. No one is to be allowed access or exit without my personal authorization. Voice command: Initiate security protocol.”

“What are you doing?” Lugok shouted, rising once more from his chair.

“ Working,”the monotone, female voice of the station’s computer said. “ Voice command verified. Security protocol is now in effect.”

Nodding in satisfaction, Jetanien turned back to Lugok, who by now was all but apoplectic. “This is an outrage,” the Klingon said, his hands tightening into fists, though he remained where he stood.

“ Unacceptable,”added Sesrene, his leg tapping against the floor once again as though offering a visible demonstration of his disapproval.

Jetanien nodded. “It is indeed an outrage, and it may well be unacceptable. You are free to lodge a formal complaint to the Federation Council once our business here is complete.”

“You’re kidnappingus?” Lugok asked, his expression one of disbelief.

“ ‘Kidnapping’is such an ugly word, Ambassador,” the Chelon replied as he made his way back to his seat at the head of the table. “I prefer to think of this as a unilateral yet temporary rearrangement of your calendar. I’ve always felt that it’s best to pursue a single goal at any one time, lest one’s focus and attention be diluted to the point where effort is wasted. The more imperative the objective—such as the one confronting all of us here and now—the more important it is to observe such deliberation.”

“What are you blathering about, Chelon?” Lugok asked, making no effort to hide or soften his evident disgust at the turn the meeting had taken.

Moving his shrouded body about in agitation, Sesrene added, “ What exactly are you proposing, Ambassador Jetanien?”

As he lowered himself into his glenget, Jetanien eased into the curved cushion designed to support his barrel chest and clasped his hands together on the edge of the conference table, effecting what he hoped conveyed the relaxed posture of one who was in total control of the situation. “My proposal is simple: We cannot afford to part company without first reaching a consensus on how to address our respective issues regarding the Taurus Reach, preferably without dissolving into full-scale war. To that end, none of us will leave this room until such an accord is forged.”

He delivered the words with practiced conviction, having rehearsed the oratory a dozen times prior to arriving at the meeting chamber. Looking back and forth across the table to his fellow diplomats, Jetanien could tell that his words had invoked their intended effect. His fellow ambassadors glowered at him, but they remained at the table.

It was a start.

Even as he regarded his colleagues, Jetanien could not help considering the promise this room now held. In centuries to come, history might well cast a favorable eye on the events of this day, to say nothing of their architect.

Or, it may well damn me.

33

If hell ever does freeze over, it’ll look a lot like this,Xiong decided, watching his breath fog before his face as he entered the subterranean control room that until a week ago had been the focal point of his research on the planet Erilon—the subterranean chamber ensconced within the alien structure which he hoped would at last begin to provide answers to his many questions.

Thankfully, a landing party from the Endeavourhad been sent in ahead of him, tasked with removing from the scene the remains of his former comrades, all of whom obviously had been killed by the nightmarish creature which had attacked them—and which also had been responsible for the deaths of Captain Zhao and members of his security detail. With that grisly duty completed, the control room was on its way toward being as he remembered it, though of course there were many new elements.

Instead of his research team, a contingent of engineering specialists from the U.S.S. Lovellnow moved about the chamber, though their attention was not focused on studying and appreciating the structure’s design and potential, or attempting to discern the motivations of those who had built it. Instead, they simply were concentrating on functionality alone. The air of discovery and delight which once had permeated this place was gone, wiped away and replaced with one of efficiency and purpose.

Other repair crews, both from the Endeavourand the Lovell,were at this moment working overtime to bring the research outpost back to full operational capability so that Xiong and a new team might continue the work he had been forced to leave behind. Given the earlier incident here, to say nothing of the mind-numbing events that had transpired in the Palgrenax system, the artifacts and structures discovered on Erilon remained Starfleet’s first and best hope of gaining some measure of understanding about the mysteries that seemed to define the Taurus Reach.

That included Xiong’s current mission: acquiring some means of accessing the ancient technology buried beneath Erilon’s surface—primarily in order to ensure that whatever destroyed Palgrenax did not happen here. The engineering team from the Lovellwas also bringing their exceptional range of talents to the table, working from the premise that the creature that had attacked the research team had to have been in some form of contact with the ancient weapons technology brought to bear against the Endeavour. With that in mind, the engineers were attempting to develop a means of counteracting or at least interfering with that link.

It was an assignment Xiong had accepted with no small measure of uncertainty, given the need to return to the scene of so much wanton violence and death. Shouted orders and cries for help, phaser fire, and the strange tingling that irritated his exposed skin every time he looked up in muted horror to see the approach of the…

“Ming?” A calm voice intruded on his tortured thoughts. “Ming? Anybody home in there?”

Blinking rapidly as his mind returned to the present and the matter at hand, Xiong looked up from his tabletop scanner to see Lieutenant Mahmud al-Khaled, wearing a Starfleet-issue dark blue parka with the hood pushed back and regarding him with an expression of confusion and concern.

“Yes, of course,” Xiong replied, offering what he hoped would appear as a nod of reassurance to the other man.

An engineer and leader of the Corps of Engineers team assigned to the Lovell,al-Khaled already had proven himself months ago, when he and his crew of engineers had visited Vanguard with the task of resolving the rash of unexplained technical issues plaguing Starbase 47’s onboard systems in the weeks leading up to its coming into service. Indeed, it was al-Khaled who led the effort to identify the source of the problems, and now the young engineer was assisting here in the control chamber, where his skill and talents hopefully would aid Xiong in carrying out their latest demanding assignment.

“This place is incredible,” al-Khaled said, running a hand through his dark, unkempt hair, which Xiong noted appeared to be slightly longer than Starfleet regulations typically allowed. With a wave of his right hand the engineer indicated one wall with its banks of consoles that according to Xiong’s tests had lain idle for millennia. “No metal or plastic composites, just polycrystalline lattices fused together in specific configurations. What did you make of this during your initial investigations?”

Xiong said, “My first theory is that it must be organic. I’ve found no other means of explaining the construction method used here.”

Unzipping his parka, al-Khaled shrugged. “I’m no geologist, but it seems to me that the only way this sort of crystalline configuration could route power is in a manner similar to the way light is channeled through a prism; refracting across the various interior surfaces from its origin point until it reaches its destination.”

“Or perhaps something akin to electrical impulses moving through our brains,” Xiong offered.

Al-Khaled frowned. “You’re suggesting this material is sentient?”

“Not at all,” Xiong replied. “Only that it possesses some degree of biological components, though of course it would have to be a form of life we’ve not yet encountered. Perhaps a biomechanical combination? Living cells fused within a crystalline structure?” Releasing a frustrated sigh, the lieutenant added, “Of course, it’s just a theory.”

“Well,” al-Khaled said as he shook his head, “it’s not like anything I’ve ever seen before, believe me.”

Of course you haven’t,Xiong thought, just as you’ve probably never taken a xenobiology course to study Tholians. If you only knew what I knew…

Once again, Xiong felt the weight of secrecy pressing down upon his shoulders, the supposed need for security preventing him from sharing all of his knowledge with al-Khaled. As always, he was baffled by Starfleet’s reluctance to engage its brightest minds—such as those belonging to al-Khaled here as well as to any number of scientists and engineers scattered throughout the Federation—in a bid to piece together the puzzle harbored by this region of the galaxy.

Instead, he could only sit and hold his tongue, listening as al-Khaled spoke aloud many of the same thoughts, ideas, and theories Xiong himself had put forth during the first days of his investigation, hoping that even without the assistance and information Starfleet already had accumulated here, the engineer might through his own skill and perspective provide some fresh avenue of insight, a new way of approaching the seemingly inexhaustible list of questions Xiong’s own efforts continued to accumulate.

“So,” Xiong said after a moment, “any ideas on how to interface our equipment?” He suspected he might be able to anticipate al-Khaled’s answer, given his team’s previous attempts.

Confirming his suspicions, the engineer replied, “We might try fitting a portable generator with a dynamic mode converter. Adjusting the converter’s polarity to account for the lack of a physical conduit with which to connect might give us an idea of how power flows through these circuits.” Frowning, he added, “If that’s what you want to call them, that is.”

Xiong nodded, pretending he was hearing the notion for the first time instead of already having seen the idea tested and proven successful several times. “Worth a shot, I suppose, though I have to wonder how effective it would be. We might be able to stimulate some of these…circuits…but I can’t see how that would give us any real interface to the technology.”

“It won’t,” al-Khaled replied as he moved back to the table where he had been working alongside Xiong. “It’d be like pressing our foreheads to a console aboard ship and trying to access the library computer through the electrical impulses in our minds. We’re not compatible.” He tapped his fingers atop the table, considering the problem for a moment. “What we’re missing is a piece of connective technology to bridge the gap between equipment and user.”

Xiong found himself impressed with the engineer’s capacity for deductive reasoning. For the past several days he had deliberated the theory that a form of biometric “key” might be required in order to gain access to the storehouse of ancient technology. Considering the sensor readings recorded by the Endeavourduring the previous incident here and factoring those readings in with the remarkable discovery made by Dr. Fisher during his examination of Xiong’s ill-fated friend Bohanon, the lieutenant now believed that the meta-genome almost certainly had to be a crucial component of such an interface.

Bioneural impulses channeled through a complex polycrystalline lattice,he mused. Makes the Tholian connection all that much more interesting, doesn’t it?

The discovery by Dr. Gek and his team that the subterranean power signatures detected both on Erilon and Palgrenax bore a distant and all-but-indistinguishable similarity to Tholian technology had thrown a spanner into the research data collected by Xiong and the Erilon research team. Such a parallel, no matter how superficial, brought with it the potential for a staggering change in the way he—and Starfleet—viewed their approach to learning the truth about the Taurus Reach.

That the enigma of the genome might somehow play a part in acquiring the means to understand this place and all it harbored was a hypothesis Xiong had shared with no one. Listening to al-Khaled begin to formulate a similar theory—a task he could never complete without possession of the knowledge he was denied thanks to the secrecy enveloping the meta-genome’s very existence—only added credence to his belief that there must be some substance to his own conjecture.

“Mahmud,” Xiong said, choosing his words with care, “we know it’s possible for a living organism to generate neural impulses that an artificial construct can interpret and react to. We have prosthetic limbs, devices to aid with visual impairments, and so on.” He indicated the row of inert control consoles along the chamber’s far wall. “What kind of connection would be required in order to tie into equipment like this?”

Al-Khaled rubbed his chin as he pondered the question. “Something akin to a keypad or even a fingerprint or retinal scan. A bioneural interface of some sort.”

“What if the artificial and biological components were bonded at the genetic level?” Xiong suggested.

“That’d be a neat trick,” al-Khaled replied. “Biology was one of those subjects I skipped in order to spend more time taking things apart and figuring out why they work. I’m an engineer, though, so that means I’m not above the occasional juicy rationalization.” Moving from the worktable, he crossed the chamber until he was able to run his hand across the surface of the dormant control consoles. “Still, it’s not hard to figure out that if we’re really looking at the kind of biomechanical fusion you’re talking about, it would be genetic engineering on a scale that’s way, way beyond anything we understand. Forget all about bionic prosthetics and the Eugenics Wars and cloning. This is a whole new ball game, Ming.”

Xiong nodded in approval at the engineer’s reasoning. Everything they had discussed fit with his theory as well as matched up with what he knew must have happened here during the incident with the Endeavour. According to what he and his team had learned to this point and in order for the power generators and other systems tied into the weapons unleashed against the starship to have been activated, an interface such as the one he and al-Khaled were theorizing would have to be involved.

The thing that attacked us– it must have contained the meta-genome. Thathas to be the answer.The more Xiong thought about it, the more excited he became at the notion. He was here, on the cusp of grasping a fundamental thread that weaved through the very fabric of the Taurus Reach mystery.

All that was needed was a substantive sample of the creature’s DNA.

Not the easiest task to complete,he mused with no small amount of frustration.

Feeling confined inside his insulated parka, Xiong unzipped the garment and allowed some of the chilled air permeating the chamber to cool him. “So,” he said, fighting to keep his mounting excitement in check, “how do we rig an interface for us, without subjecting ourselves to some bizarre and as yet incomprehensible form of genetic manipulation?”

Al-Khaled chuckled. “Off the top of my head? Develop something like a universal translator, though one capable of transmitting signals or impulses through an organic means.” Frowning, he added, “We’d have to devise a method to regulate the power flow—enough to communicate basic commands until we get a better grasp of whatever it uses for software, and not so much that we overload the control panel’s lattice the first time we use it.”