The Joy Machine 08 - First Contact
Title: The Joy Machine
Author: Soledad
For disclaimer, rating, etc. see the secondary index page
Author’s notes:
Sorry for the slow pace, but these are more novels than short stories, therefore they take a lot of time to be written. The data about the Carboniferous period are taken from Wikipedia.
The whole Denebian background is made up by me. The different warp-speed scales were an intent to explain why ships in the Original series could fly faster than warp 10, while in the 24th century-based series, they could not. A detailed explanation can be found in The Next Generation Technical Manual.
Don’t be shocked by the spelling of Chekov’s speech. I’ve tried to reproduce his accent as I’ve seen in various Star Trek-novels. *g*
CHAPTER 8 - FIRST CONTACT
Although wearing the same name, the Antares, wasn’t identical with the small destroyer aboard which Colonel Tigh had fought his last great battle against the Cylons(1). That ship had suffered too heavy damage to be worth putting together again; besides, in the long run, the impromptu warp drive would have overstressed its structural integrity. No, the Antares was one of the new warp-shuttles(2) - a brand new design, of which so far only had been built six in the Utopia Planitia shipyards.
This new ship class had been developed for diplomatic purposes - as a courier ship, it had to be able to travel longer stretches independently. Its maximum travelling velocity was warp 4.5 - according to the new scale - but could accelerate as far as 6 in case of an emergency, and it had the same weaponry as a border patrol ship.
All this would have required a much larger rump than the average shuttlecraft - which, in exchange, would have cut back booth speed and maneuverability at impulse power. So the constructors, with typical Vulcan practicality, had chosen a simple but elegant solution: they hadn’t integrated the warp drive into the hull to begin with. Instead, they’d constructed a warp platform, with two massive, horizontal nacelles; this platform carried the actual shuttlepod, which had room for twelve passengers (including the crew) and could be separated from the platform at impulse power, to dock in to a starship or a Starbase - or to land on a planet.
When Tigh reached the hangar deck, his staff was already waiting for him. Boomer, who’d been specifically trained for this task before start, took over the small engine room of the warp platform. Tigh flew the ship personally, with Rigel as his co-pilot. Cassiopeia, now wearing a blue and silver Colonial uniform, too, sat at the comm station. Krsna, in full diplomatic attire, was shepherded into the passenger compartment with two security officers used to hot climates: Mohammed Jahma and Keiko Tamura. K’rta 2, like the Denebian homeworld, was a subtropical planet.
“Courier ship Antares ready for launch,” Rigel said, her fingers dancing on the control panel.
“Acknowledged, Antares,” Meade Martin, the duty officer of the hangar deck, replied. “Hangar deck secured. Forcefields activated. Start in minus 120 seconds. “
Tigh’s eyes raked along his own control panel. Everything checked out just fine. The control light shone in reassuring green, and the engines were warmed up already. Boomer hadn’t been idle in the engine room.
“Are you clear for launch, Rigel?”
“Yes, Colonel. All instruments read normal. Cabin pressure stable. Manual launch in 80 microns… I mean seconds. Countdown is running steadily. “
“Good,” Tigh switched to the engine room. “Communications test, Captain Boomer. Do you read me?”
“With signal strength six, Colonel. All systems are functioning flawlessly. We’re ready.”
“Good,” Tigh switched frequencies again. “Antares to bridge. Do you read me, Commander Uhura?”
“Loudly and clearly, Colonel,” came Uhura’s warm voice through the loudspeaker. “Have a nice trip, sir.”
“Thank you, Enterprise. Tigh out.”
“Hangar deck depressurized,” Meade Martin reported. “Hatch is opening. Begin launch sequence.”
“Launch when ready,” Tigh murmured, more to himself than to Rigel.
The humming of the engines increased a little as the Antares lifted off to float about a metre above the hangar floor. Switching the monitor to heck view, Tigh could see the shuttlecraft Copernicus lifting off and float some five metres behind them, waiting for them to clear the way.
The colonel looked forward through the Antares’ large transparent aluminium front window, and felt a strange pressure in his chest as the large outer hatch slowly opened. Through the still narrow slot, the stars were shining in the endless, black depths of space like tiny flames. It was a sight that made the heart of ever space traveller ache with longing.
This is real, Tigh thought. Most of the time we only see the pictures of a viewscreen. But facing space directly, without the interference of technology, makes one realize the exalted beauty of it. This endless void between the stars has been my home, ever since I climbed into a cockpit for the first time as a fourteen-yahren-old cadet. I won’t be able to become earthbound again, I think. Just as Uhura couldn’t get rooted in the sacred ground of Munguroo, I, too, will be travelling on the river of stars as long as I have the strength to it.
“Five microns to launch, Colonel,” Rigel warned him quietly.
The hatch doors had been fully retracted into the double-layered duranium hull. A rectangular opening yawned before them: a gate, opening directly to the cosmos. Tigh felt the same tickling tension as in his youth, before he’d taken off with one of those old, clumsy fighters. Flying had not only been a dangerous occupation for the pilots of the war-torn Colonies; it had also been their delight, joy and passion for ten centuries - above and beyond duty or any other pleasure.
Now that the war and the long flight were over, the Colonial warriors tried to calm down a little, too. They settled in, trying to devote their struggles and talents to the rebuilding. And yet Tigh couldn’t help but feel the old urge in his heart to leave the safety of the hangar deck and brave the challenges of deep space with the fragile nutshell of his little ship.
He was certain that down in the engine room Boomer was feeling the same.
He switched frequencies again. “Antares to hangar officer. Requesting permission to launch.”
“Permission granted,” came the answer promptly. “Have a good flight, Colonel. Hangar deck out.”
Tigh hit the intercom button twice, in rapid succession; comm officers signalled their thanks that way - he’d learned it from Uhura.
“Are you ready, Rigel?”
“Yes, sir; course set and engaged.”
Another switch. “Copernicus, we engage now. Stay at safe distance.”
“Aye, Colonel,” came the calm voice of Lt. Rhada. “I’ll do my best to avoid collision on my way out.”
Mohammed Jahma chuckled. Lt. Rhada belonged to the tribe of the Ojibwa, and her calm was unshakable like the Rocky Mountains. If anyone, she was certainly without a tendency to hasty reactions.
The two shuttles rose a little higher, then they slid through the open hatch in a straight line.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“Switch to heck view,” Kirk ordered, and Sulu changed the direction of the main viewer.
The image warbled for a moment, but barely any chance could be seen; it still showed the stars that seemed to be sitting in the deep folds of the black velvet space. Soon enough, though, the elegant courier ship with its protruding warp nacelles swam into the picture, followed by the more streamlined shape of the new Copernicus. It wasn’t the old, Typ-12B shuttlecraft, either, but a brand new design, capable to almost the same velocity as a warp-shuttle. The refitted Enterprise was the first heavy cruiser that got all her shuttles replaced with these new constructions - Kirk was very proud of the little ships. They might not been warp-capable, but at full impulse they certainly were a marvel.
“The Antares is on our backboard, sir,” Sulu reported. “Excellent navigation, if I may make the remark. Colonel Tigh must have been an ace pilot in his prime.”
“Lieutenant Rhada does a good job, too,” Kirk said, as if not liking to hear the praise of the concurrence. Tigh had become very popular among the crew, without actually doing anything for it, and in his honest moments the captain had to admit that it bothered him a bit… or more than a bit. “Readjust the focus, Mr. Sulu. I want to keep an eye on those shuttles as long as possible.”
Sulu nodded and touched a few controls. The image slid to the side and was now showing the two shuttles from above, as they were still travelling on a parallel course. Iacta Tau A came in view, too, and Uhura narrowed her eyes against the star’s harsh light.
“Program optical filters, Mr. Sulu,” Kirk ordered.
The helmsman carried out the order with calm efficiency. The shining paled to a tolerable level, and now they could see the Copernicus slowly turning towards a nearby, reddish brown planet, while the Antares followed the straight course that would take her to K’rta, still invisible behind the great brightness of the primary star.
Uhura murmured a prayer following the ship’s course with her eyes on the viewscreen.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Having programmed the course, Boomer came up from the engine room and relieved Tigh in the pilot’s seat. Not that the colonel needed a rest, but as a dedicated pilot, he, too, was eager to test the abilities of their new, wonderful little ship.
“The Copernicus had turned away from our course, Colonel,” he reported. “The distance between the two shuttles is growing fast. Currently, we’re travelling with forty-five per cent impulse power. ETA to the orbit of K’rta 2: two hours, twenty-six minutes.”
“Excellent,” Tigh laid his hand upon Boomer’s shoulder for a moment, just like in old times, when Boomer had seen a young, green cadet and him the hard and stern training officer who hadn’t given praise easily; then he joined the Special Emissary in the passenger department.
The viewscreen had been turned on there, and the two security officers were staring at the image of the Enterprise in awe. As the transporter range was growing with every new model, shuttle flights had become rare - some people hadn’t get to see their own ship from the outside for years. The heck of the great ship gleamed pearly white in the light of the two suns, Iacta Tau A and B. Perspectivic distortion showed the two long, gleaming warp nacelles in the shape of a large V. There was a rectangular hatch in the heck plane: the door of the hangar deck they had just left. The outer doors were sliding closed, so that the large room could be re-pressured again.
“Increase speed to sixty per cent impulse,” Tigh ordered quietly, but Boomer heard him nonetheless. The Antares accelerated, the Enterprise diminishing behind them quickly, and Tigh couldn’t help feeling a slight pang of jealousy. He might have dreamed of the command chair of a Galactica-sized battlestar all his life, but the elegant, white beauty of the Enterprise didn’t leave him untouched.
The alliance forged between the Federation and the New Colonies had made warp technology available for the Twelve Worlds - in theory, at least. Their old, battered ships wouldn’t be able to endure the strain that subspace travel would put on their hulls, not even the Galactica. The Battlestar-class had to be reconstructed from the scratch, and the first new battleship, the Atlantia (named in advance to honour President Adar’s ship tat had been destroyed at Cimtar) had been under construction at the New Aberdeen Naval Yards of Aldebaran for a year by now. It would have warp drive, up-to-date phaser banks and photon torpedo launchers as well as reconfigured landing bays for six Viper squadrons. To finish it would take at least another year… if not more.
Among other high-ranking flag officers, Tigh, too, had applied for the command chair of the very first warp-capable Battlestar, but he was realistic enough to know how little chance he’d have against such legends as Xaviar and Croft. Even with the support of Fleet Commander Apollo and Sire Adama, he had to provide diplomatic success to be even considered for the position. The Quorum’s memory was notoriously short when it came to people’s merits, even recent ones. All the more did they remember Tigh’s generally rebellious spirit towards politicians. The fact that he was currently a member of the Quorum himself wouldn’t help him in this matter.
The Enterprise had diminished to a tiny white dot on the screen. Krsna, wanting to see more, touched one of the sensor controls to switch to the long-range forward sensors. Seeing that he was having problems with the magnification, Keiko Tamura came to his aid and displayed the image of a world that looked like a far-away, pale green marble.
“It’s beautiful!” Krsna cried out in surprise. “So much water.”
“According to these readings, seventy-eight per cent of the planet surface contains of water,” Tamura agreed, consulting the screens. “It could barely be classified as a Class M-planet; rather N, I’d say. A true waterworld. No large landmasses but a relatively high number of large islands. It’s very similar to your New Aquarius, Colonel, both in age and geography. The database says it’s the equivalent of Earth’s Carboniferous period.”
Krsna and Tigh exchanged identical blank looks.
“A little more detailed explanation would be helpful, Ensign,” the colonel said mildly.
“Sorry, sir,” Tamura blushed. “I keep forgetting that you come from a different world. Well, the Carboniferous was a geological period in Earth’s history, named so for the extensive coal beds of that age found in Western Europe. It ended some three hundred million years ago, and lasted some fifty million years. Its paleogeography was marked by the widespread epicontinental seas. There was also a drop in the south polar temperatures, meaning that the climates became much warmer, almost tropical.”
“And that’s true for K’rta 2 as well?” Krsna asked.
Tamura studied the readings again. “It seems so, sir. Apparently, the whole planet is one lush tropical swamp. The seas are extensive indeed, but their levels are relatively low, at least compared with the Earth average.”
“How big are the landmasses?” Mohammed Jahma, who couldn’t see the screen from his position, asked. Tamura performed another data correlation.
“Approximately the size of Terra Australis; some even bigger,” she replied. “Ten thousands of plant life species are being identified at the moment; most of them very similar to the now extinct Terran horse-tails, club mosses, scale-trees and Sigillaria. There are also a great number of ferns, cycads, conifers and vine-like plants.”
“What about animals?”
“Well, we’re still a bit far away for that,” Tamura frowned, “but given the twenty per cent higher oxygen concentration in the air than on Earth, I’d say we could count on very large insects and arachnoids. Fish of all sorts, of course. As for tetrapods, the database says the most likely are large amphibians - up to six metres long - with heads covered by bony plates and weak or underdeveloped limbs. Even the fully terrestrial amphibians can be as large as two metres. But most of this is based on Earth similarities, so I can’t tell for certain how accurate the estimates are.”
“Can you localize the colony?” Krsna urged her. Tamura shook her head.
“I can’t find any sign for larger amounts of metal alloys,” she replied, “which should be part of the standard equipment for a newly-founded colony.”
“Of course not,” the Denebian nodded. “Our people don’t use the prefabricated houses generally used by new colonies. Denebian colonists always build their shelters from the materials they find on the new worlds they wish to colonize; preferable out of stone. With our telekinetic abilities it’s relatively simple - and very environmental-friendly.”
“I thought your people were reluctant to leave the homeworld,” Tigh said.”
“Most of them are,” Krsna agreed, “but there are exceptions. Some believe that they could bond with new worlds the same way and are willing to take part in such experiments.”
“That still doesn’t explain the lack of Denebian lifesigns,” Tamura said doubtfully. “We’re less than an hour from establishing standard orbit. We should be able to find something.”
“The reason might be the subterranean habitats,” Krsna said. “We’re capable of raising beautiful buildings, yes, but due to the hot climate of the homeworld, two thirds of an average Denebian house are dug under the surface. Since K’rta 2 isn’t a particularly cool world, either, the colonists here most likely kept the old customs.”
“Well, we’ll know more within the hour,” Tigh said. “Keep scanning the planet surface for Denebian lifesigns, Ensign Tamura, especially for larger concentrations of the population. There used to live more than two thousand Denebians on Thimsel, and since they apparently aren’t there, they should be here somewhere. Assuming they’re still alive, that is.”
“You really do see things from the dark side, Colonel,” Mohammed Jahma said mildly.
Tigh shrugged. Although he was more than a head shorter than the security guard, he didn’t deem dwarfed by the yeoman. The elusive air of authority that enveloped him in every moment of his life, seemed to strengthen aboard his own ship.
“That might be rooted in the fact that I’ve seen too much pointless violence, treason and death, Yeoman. An old myth says that mankind has grown from dragon’s teeth.; and sometimes we truly rise to the challenge and make this reputation a well-deserved one.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The colonel’s bitter comment snipped any further conversation in the bud, and the Antares continued her way in silence, for more than an hour. The closer they came to the bright, blue-white sphere of Iacta Tau a, the more the temperature of the small ship’s hull increased. Soon, Boomer had to set the hyperpoarization of the windows at maximum, least they wanted to go blind.
“Do sunglasses belong to Starfleet’s standard equipment?” Cassiopeia asked. “Or do we need to wear helmets with polarized viziers?”
“Oh, no, those would be too heavy and clumsy,” Mohammed Jahma laughed. “For regular planetary missions, we have superlight equipment.”
With that, he pulled a large rectangular box out from under his seat. This belonged to every Starfleet-issue shuttle, and thus to the Antares as well. He took out a tightly wrapped little package. When he unfolded it, it proved to contain thin, hyperpolarized protective goggles and a transparent biofilter mask.
“These masks are made of superelastic polymers and adapt to the facial structure of their wearer immediately,” the Nigerian explained, “which is why they don’t have to be fastened by additional ribbons.”
“And how can we get them off again?” Cassiopeia asked with a frown.
“Each mask has an off taste,” Jahma showed her the right place. “If you press here, air comes under the mask, and it simply falls off. Don’t worry, this construction is absolutely safe. It’s been tested hundreds of times.”
“Do we really need to wear breathers?” Tigh asked; he didn’t like the thought for some reason.
“Afraid so, sir,” Jahma nodded. “They’re necessary, even for Ambassador Krsna. There could be microorganisms here against which we have no immunity. It’s a completely unknown world down there, and I’m responsible for your safety,”
“But if there were dangerous viruses and bacteria, our small colony must have died out long ago,” Krsna worried.
The Nigerian shook his clean-shaven head calmly.
“Not necessarily, Ambassador. Given enough time, they could have adapted already. Which isn’t true for first-time visitors, though. I’m sorry, your excellence, but I must insist, both as your security guard and as your paramedic, that you wear those masks - all of you.”
“It’s all right; you’re only doing your job,” Tigh waved him off, leaning over Tamura’s shoulder. “Anything new, Ensign?”
“I’ve found something that might be considered a settlement, sir,” she replied. “Here on the largest northern island. These constructions there are too symmetrical to be natural rock formations.”
“Good; beam us into the middle of that area, then.”
“I’d rather not beam down, sir,” Boomer turned to him. “There seems to be some substance in the rocks of that area that reacts with the radiation of Iacta Tau A and could disrupt the transporter beam. It’s too risky.”
“I see,” Tigh wasn’t happy about the news; if they couldn’t use the transporter, it meant that in case of an emergency they’d have to reach the Antares by traditional means before they could leave the planet. “In that case, we must separate the landing unit.”
“Seems so,” Boomer nodded; he wasn’t happy about it, either. “Rigel and I’ll stay in a geosynchronous orbit with the warp platform, so that we can pick you up immediately, if needs must be.”
“Colonel,” Tamura interrupted, now in a lot less neutral manner, “I think I can get in planetary communication. No Starfleet frequencies, though… I’ve never heard anything like that. Anyone having a clue?”
She put the strangely arrhythmic signal on the speakers. The Starfleet personnel shook their respective heads in unison, and Cassiopeia seemed clueless, too. Only Krsna nodded.
“This is an old Denebian security code, Colonel,” he said. “So old, in fact, that it’s not even registered in Starfleet databases. However, it’s still in use, albeit rarely. We only use it when we don’t want any outsiders to read our messages.”
“Can you log into it?” Tigh asked.
“Of course,” the diplomat replied, “but you’ll have to leave me alone with the comm console for that. It’s not so that I wouldn’t trust you, but I’m not allowed to share this code with anyone.”
“That’s not a problem, sir,” Tigh nodded, then he looked at his assistant. “Cassiopeia…”
The socialator rose from behind the comm console. They all withdrew to the passenger department discreetly, so that the Denebian could establish contact with the colony of his landsmen. Based on the quick, quiet clicks of the rocker switches, the code must have been a fairly long and complicated one. For a while, all they could hear was the crackle of static, then a long, melodic sound - like that of a gong - signalled that the contact had been established.
“Please, Colonel,” Krsna stepped back courteously, “join me!”
The picture of another Denebian appeared on the screen; as well as the human eye could tell, that of an elderly female. Her skin was a lot darker than that of the ambassador, almost bluish-black, her face simpler, broader, and her hair - as far as one could make it out under he brightly coloured shawl wrapped around her head - was completely paled out from high age,
“Hare,” Krsna greeted her, folding his hands and bowing slowly. “I’m special Emissary H’R’Krsna. There is great concern on the homeworld about the fate of your colony. I’ve been sent to assess the situation. With whom do I have the honour?”
The elderly female returned the greeting gesture; her broad, rough, veined hand showed that she’d done hard physical labour all her life. The Denebians’ love for the fertile soil resulted in the custom of doing a wide variety of agricultural work with traditional methods, although they’d have the means to use advanced technology.
“Welcome, Emissary,” she replied slowly. “My name is P’R’Vtí; I’m the leader of the Deirr and responsible for the agricultural affairs on this world. It’s a relief to finally re-establish contact with the homeworld. Are you capable of landing on our planet? “
“Yes,” Krsna answered, after getting the confirmation from Tigh. The elderly woman looked relieved.
“You should do so, then, as soon as possible. And tell your ship to stay away from Thimsel. I mean out of sensor range.”
“Why should they do that?”
“I shall explain later... as far as I can. You must trust me, Krsna-dwa; the situation is serious.”
Krsna glanced at Tigh again. The colonel nodded.
“Very well, Vtí-dwi,” the ambassador said. “Can you provide us with safe landing coordinates? ?
“No; but that’s what we have our !hew-technicians for. L’K’Smna...”
The old woman stepped out of the picture’s focus, changing places with a fragile, somewhat younger male, who was as fair-skinned (for a blue alien anyway) that he could be mistaken for an Andorian. His longish, white hair emphasized the likeness even more.
“You can use our regular landing area, Emissary,” he said, after performing the greeting ritual, and rattled down the necessary coordinates with a speed that Rigel could barely keep up with feeding them into the navigational computer. “The Four Elders will welcome you there.”
“Thank you, K’rta 2,” Krsna replied. “We’ll prepare for landing now. Krsna out. “
The contact was terminated. Rigel checked the data one last time, then she went down to the control room of the warp-platform. Since Boomer was dealing with the engine room, she had to pilot the drive section. Cassiopeia, whose father was captain of a small merchant ship once, took over for her on Tigh side; the socialator, having spent yahrens on her father’s ship, was a passable navigator.
Mohammed Jahma walked around, giving everyone protective goggles and breathing masks. Other than that, they went in their regular uniforms, as field jackets would have been too hot.
“Engineering ready,” Boomer reported.
“Separation system ready,” Rigel added. “Separation in minus ten seconds... five... four... three... two... one... and separation.”
“Release holding clamps,” Tigh ordered.
“Holding clamps released,” Rigel answered through the intercom. “Hull plates over clam housings closed. You’re ready for lift-off, Colonel.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant. Please forward the colony leader’s warning to the Enterprise and keep this channel open. We’ll check in with you again after the landing Tigh out.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The warning hit the Enterprise with the impact of a bomb. After some agitated discussion, during which Xon’s point of view (that they should continue straight to the orbit of the planet Gartov) clashed with Chekov’s (who wanted to make thorough reconnaissance flights around Thimsel and, if necessary, block planetary communications, although there was very little of the latter to be found), Kirk made a Salamonian decision. He withdrew Enterprise behind the third one of Thimsel’s four moons, to remain outside of sensor range and still be capable of indirect observations. The moon was an irregularly shaped, cavernous piece of rock, excellent for just that purpose.
Chekov, who’d wanted to monitor all planetary activities directly, was not happy with the solution, of course. But he had no other choice than to accept his captain’s decision.
“You worry too much, son,” Commander Scott tried to calm down the ambitious young security chief. They were sitting in the officer’s lounge, by a generous amount of vodka/orange and Single Malt whiskey, respectively. “The Captain knows what he’s doin’; trust him.”
“That’s not it, Meester Scott,” Chekov was holding his tall, thick glass with both hands, frustration written all over his youthful face. “I do trust my Keptin. Problem is that my security officers don’t trust me. How am I supposed to ensure safety of ship when my own crew obeys me only reluctantly?”
“You’re trying too hard, my lad,” the chief engineer said. “Give yer people time to get used to you. When the moment comes, you’ll make the right decisions; you’re not daft. And then, yer people will accept ya. You have to understand yer team, too. It’s not easy for them to get used to a new chief after Lieutenant Commander Giotto. He was authority incarnate, and Kelowitz, his second, had turned grey in security, too.”
“Vhile I’m just a greenhorn, set before their noses,” the young Russian finished gloomily. “I’m not blind, Meester Scott. I can read their faces vell enough.”
“Don’t let yerself bothered by that,” the Scotsman encouraged him in a fatherly manner. “Do as our pointy-eared lad does: do your job as well as you can, and let things take care of themselves.”
But no amount of encouragement could really cheer up Chekov today. He knew he was infecting Scott with his rotten mood, although the chief engineer needed some off time just as badly. So he took his leave leaving his barely touched drink on the table, and returned to his office on the B-deck.
“Any reports from the landing parties?” he asked the duty officer at the comm console. In this case, it was Yeoman Montgomery, a calm, middle-aged man. The yeoman shook his head.
“Nothing, Chief. And we don’t get anything from the planet, either. Commander Uhura guessed that the folks in that glass-and-concrete monstrosity must have their quarters interconnected somehow, because the only signals go to the mines and back. But they’re always the same; most likely industrial reports and acknowledgements of the same. Communications is still working on breaking the code.”
“That’s odd,” Chekov murmured. “Observation, have you found anything yet?”
“Negative, sir,” Lieutenant Imamura, also well beyond his youth, had always laid great weight on proper protocol. Chekov liked to work with him because Imamura didn’t care who the boss was; as long as duty shifts rolled with the necessary efficiency, he showed the traditional Japanese respect towards any commanding officer. “The entire sector is completely abandoned; at least that’s what it looks like. We keep scanning the surroundings, of course, just in case.”
Chekov had to be content with that; it wasn’t that he’d have any other choice. So he sat down to one of the unmanned consoles to re-check what little data they actually had about Thimsel. He knew, of course, that his men didn’t like him looking over their shoulders, but all this idle waiting was getting on his nerves massively.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
End notes:
(1) See: Crossroads, 12 - The Great Battle
(2) It’s basically the same thing as the Vulcan warp-shuttle seen in TMP - just in white.
For visuals: Ambassador Krsna:
Lt. Rhada:
Chapter 09 - K'rta 2
Author: Soledad
For disclaimer, rating, etc. see the secondary index page
Author’s notes:
Sorry for the slow pace, but these are more novels than short stories, therefore they take a lot of time to be written. The data about the Carboniferous period are taken from Wikipedia.
The whole Denebian background is made up by me. The different warp-speed scales were an intent to explain why ships in the Original series could fly faster than warp 10, while in the 24th century-based series, they could not. A detailed explanation can be found in The Next Generation Technical Manual.
Don’t be shocked by the spelling of Chekov’s speech. I’ve tried to reproduce his accent as I’ve seen in various Star Trek-novels. *g*
CHAPTER 8 - FIRST CONTACT
Although wearing the same name, the Antares, wasn’t identical with the small destroyer aboard which Colonel Tigh had fought his last great battle against the Cylons(1). That ship had suffered too heavy damage to be worth putting together again; besides, in the long run, the impromptu warp drive would have overstressed its structural integrity. No, the Antares was one of the new warp-shuttles(2) - a brand new design, of which so far only had been built six in the Utopia Planitia shipyards.
This new ship class had been developed for diplomatic purposes - as a courier ship, it had to be able to travel longer stretches independently. Its maximum travelling velocity was warp 4.5 - according to the new scale - but could accelerate as far as 6 in case of an emergency, and it had the same weaponry as a border patrol ship.
All this would have required a much larger rump than the average shuttlecraft - which, in exchange, would have cut back booth speed and maneuverability at impulse power. So the constructors, with typical Vulcan practicality, had chosen a simple but elegant solution: they hadn’t integrated the warp drive into the hull to begin with. Instead, they’d constructed a warp platform, with two massive, horizontal nacelles; this platform carried the actual shuttlepod, which had room for twelve passengers (including the crew) and could be separated from the platform at impulse power, to dock in to a starship or a Starbase - or to land on a planet.
When Tigh reached the hangar deck, his staff was already waiting for him. Boomer, who’d been specifically trained for this task before start, took over the small engine room of the warp platform. Tigh flew the ship personally, with Rigel as his co-pilot. Cassiopeia, now wearing a blue and silver Colonial uniform, too, sat at the comm station. Krsna, in full diplomatic attire, was shepherded into the passenger compartment with two security officers used to hot climates: Mohammed Jahma and Keiko Tamura. K’rta 2, like the Denebian homeworld, was a subtropical planet.
“Courier ship Antares ready for launch,” Rigel said, her fingers dancing on the control panel.
“Acknowledged, Antares,” Meade Martin, the duty officer of the hangar deck, replied. “Hangar deck secured. Forcefields activated. Start in minus 120 seconds. “
Tigh’s eyes raked along his own control panel. Everything checked out just fine. The control light shone in reassuring green, and the engines were warmed up already. Boomer hadn’t been idle in the engine room.
“Are you clear for launch, Rigel?”
“Yes, Colonel. All instruments read normal. Cabin pressure stable. Manual launch in 80 microns… I mean seconds. Countdown is running steadily. “
“Good,” Tigh switched to the engine room. “Communications test, Captain Boomer. Do you read me?”
“With signal strength six, Colonel. All systems are functioning flawlessly. We’re ready.”
“Good,” Tigh switched frequencies again. “Antares to bridge. Do you read me, Commander Uhura?”
“Loudly and clearly, Colonel,” came Uhura’s warm voice through the loudspeaker. “Have a nice trip, sir.”
“Thank you, Enterprise. Tigh out.”
“Hangar deck depressurized,” Meade Martin reported. “Hatch is opening. Begin launch sequence.”
“Launch when ready,” Tigh murmured, more to himself than to Rigel.
The humming of the engines increased a little as the Antares lifted off to float about a metre above the hangar floor. Switching the monitor to heck view, Tigh could see the shuttlecraft Copernicus lifting off and float some five metres behind them, waiting for them to clear the way.
The colonel looked forward through the Antares’ large transparent aluminium front window, and felt a strange pressure in his chest as the large outer hatch slowly opened. Through the still narrow slot, the stars were shining in the endless, black depths of space like tiny flames. It was a sight that made the heart of ever space traveller ache with longing.
This is real, Tigh thought. Most of the time we only see the pictures of a viewscreen. But facing space directly, without the interference of technology, makes one realize the exalted beauty of it. This endless void between the stars has been my home, ever since I climbed into a cockpit for the first time as a fourteen-yahren-old cadet. I won’t be able to become earthbound again, I think. Just as Uhura couldn’t get rooted in the sacred ground of Munguroo, I, too, will be travelling on the river of stars as long as I have the strength to it.
“Five microns to launch, Colonel,” Rigel warned him quietly.
The hatch doors had been fully retracted into the double-layered duranium hull. A rectangular opening yawned before them: a gate, opening directly to the cosmos. Tigh felt the same tickling tension as in his youth, before he’d taken off with one of those old, clumsy fighters. Flying had not only been a dangerous occupation for the pilots of the war-torn Colonies; it had also been their delight, joy and passion for ten centuries - above and beyond duty or any other pleasure.
Now that the war and the long flight were over, the Colonial warriors tried to calm down a little, too. They settled in, trying to devote their struggles and talents to the rebuilding. And yet Tigh couldn’t help but feel the old urge in his heart to leave the safety of the hangar deck and brave the challenges of deep space with the fragile nutshell of his little ship.
He was certain that down in the engine room Boomer was feeling the same.
He switched frequencies again. “Antares to hangar officer. Requesting permission to launch.”
“Permission granted,” came the answer promptly. “Have a good flight, Colonel. Hangar deck out.”
Tigh hit the intercom button twice, in rapid succession; comm officers signalled their thanks that way - he’d learned it from Uhura.
“Are you ready, Rigel?”
“Yes, sir; course set and engaged.”
Another switch. “Copernicus, we engage now. Stay at safe distance.”
“Aye, Colonel,” came the calm voice of Lt. Rhada. “I’ll do my best to avoid collision on my way out.”
Mohammed Jahma chuckled. Lt. Rhada belonged to the tribe of the Ojibwa, and her calm was unshakable like the Rocky Mountains. If anyone, she was certainly without a tendency to hasty reactions.
The two shuttles rose a little higher, then they slid through the open hatch in a straight line.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“Switch to heck view,” Kirk ordered, and Sulu changed the direction of the main viewer.
The image warbled for a moment, but barely any chance could be seen; it still showed the stars that seemed to be sitting in the deep folds of the black velvet space. Soon enough, though, the elegant courier ship with its protruding warp nacelles swam into the picture, followed by the more streamlined shape of the new Copernicus. It wasn’t the old, Typ-12B shuttlecraft, either, but a brand new design, capable to almost the same velocity as a warp-shuttle. The refitted Enterprise was the first heavy cruiser that got all her shuttles replaced with these new constructions - Kirk was very proud of the little ships. They might not been warp-capable, but at full impulse they certainly were a marvel.
“The Antares is on our backboard, sir,” Sulu reported. “Excellent navigation, if I may make the remark. Colonel Tigh must have been an ace pilot in his prime.”
“Lieutenant Rhada does a good job, too,” Kirk said, as if not liking to hear the praise of the concurrence. Tigh had become very popular among the crew, without actually doing anything for it, and in his honest moments the captain had to admit that it bothered him a bit… or more than a bit. “Readjust the focus, Mr. Sulu. I want to keep an eye on those shuttles as long as possible.”
Sulu nodded and touched a few controls. The image slid to the side and was now showing the two shuttles from above, as they were still travelling on a parallel course. Iacta Tau A came in view, too, and Uhura narrowed her eyes against the star’s harsh light.
“Program optical filters, Mr. Sulu,” Kirk ordered.
The helmsman carried out the order with calm efficiency. The shining paled to a tolerable level, and now they could see the Copernicus slowly turning towards a nearby, reddish brown planet, while the Antares followed the straight course that would take her to K’rta, still invisible behind the great brightness of the primary star.
Uhura murmured a prayer following the ship’s course with her eyes on the viewscreen.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Having programmed the course, Boomer came up from the engine room and relieved Tigh in the pilot’s seat. Not that the colonel needed a rest, but as a dedicated pilot, he, too, was eager to test the abilities of their new, wonderful little ship.
“The Copernicus had turned away from our course, Colonel,” he reported. “The distance between the two shuttles is growing fast. Currently, we’re travelling with forty-five per cent impulse power. ETA to the orbit of K’rta 2: two hours, twenty-six minutes.”
“Excellent,” Tigh laid his hand upon Boomer’s shoulder for a moment, just like in old times, when Boomer had seen a young, green cadet and him the hard and stern training officer who hadn’t given praise easily; then he joined the Special Emissary in the passenger department.
The viewscreen had been turned on there, and the two security officers were staring at the image of the Enterprise in awe. As the transporter range was growing with every new model, shuttle flights had become rare - some people hadn’t get to see their own ship from the outside for years. The heck of the great ship gleamed pearly white in the light of the two suns, Iacta Tau A and B. Perspectivic distortion showed the two long, gleaming warp nacelles in the shape of a large V. There was a rectangular hatch in the heck plane: the door of the hangar deck they had just left. The outer doors were sliding closed, so that the large room could be re-pressured again.
“Increase speed to sixty per cent impulse,” Tigh ordered quietly, but Boomer heard him nonetheless. The Antares accelerated, the Enterprise diminishing behind them quickly, and Tigh couldn’t help feeling a slight pang of jealousy. He might have dreamed of the command chair of a Galactica-sized battlestar all his life, but the elegant, white beauty of the Enterprise didn’t leave him untouched.
The alliance forged between the Federation and the New Colonies had made warp technology available for the Twelve Worlds - in theory, at least. Their old, battered ships wouldn’t be able to endure the strain that subspace travel would put on their hulls, not even the Galactica. The Battlestar-class had to be reconstructed from the scratch, and the first new battleship, the Atlantia (named in advance to honour President Adar’s ship tat had been destroyed at Cimtar) had been under construction at the New Aberdeen Naval Yards of Aldebaran for a year by now. It would have warp drive, up-to-date phaser banks and photon torpedo launchers as well as reconfigured landing bays for six Viper squadrons. To finish it would take at least another year… if not more.
Among other high-ranking flag officers, Tigh, too, had applied for the command chair of the very first warp-capable Battlestar, but he was realistic enough to know how little chance he’d have against such legends as Xaviar and Croft. Even with the support of Fleet Commander Apollo and Sire Adama, he had to provide diplomatic success to be even considered for the position. The Quorum’s memory was notoriously short when it came to people’s merits, even recent ones. All the more did they remember Tigh’s generally rebellious spirit towards politicians. The fact that he was currently a member of the Quorum himself wouldn’t help him in this matter.
The Enterprise had diminished to a tiny white dot on the screen. Krsna, wanting to see more, touched one of the sensor controls to switch to the long-range forward sensors. Seeing that he was having problems with the magnification, Keiko Tamura came to his aid and displayed the image of a world that looked like a far-away, pale green marble.
“It’s beautiful!” Krsna cried out in surprise. “So much water.”
“According to these readings, seventy-eight per cent of the planet surface contains of water,” Tamura agreed, consulting the screens. “It could barely be classified as a Class M-planet; rather N, I’d say. A true waterworld. No large landmasses but a relatively high number of large islands. It’s very similar to your New Aquarius, Colonel, both in age and geography. The database says it’s the equivalent of Earth’s Carboniferous period.”
Krsna and Tigh exchanged identical blank looks.
“A little more detailed explanation would be helpful, Ensign,” the colonel said mildly.
“Sorry, sir,” Tamura blushed. “I keep forgetting that you come from a different world. Well, the Carboniferous was a geological period in Earth’s history, named so for the extensive coal beds of that age found in Western Europe. It ended some three hundred million years ago, and lasted some fifty million years. Its paleogeography was marked by the widespread epicontinental seas. There was also a drop in the south polar temperatures, meaning that the climates became much warmer, almost tropical.”
“And that’s true for K’rta 2 as well?” Krsna asked.
Tamura studied the readings again. “It seems so, sir. Apparently, the whole planet is one lush tropical swamp. The seas are extensive indeed, but their levels are relatively low, at least compared with the Earth average.”
“How big are the landmasses?” Mohammed Jahma, who couldn’t see the screen from his position, asked. Tamura performed another data correlation.
“Approximately the size of Terra Australis; some even bigger,” she replied. “Ten thousands of plant life species are being identified at the moment; most of them very similar to the now extinct Terran horse-tails, club mosses, scale-trees and Sigillaria. There are also a great number of ferns, cycads, conifers and vine-like plants.”
“What about animals?”
“Well, we’re still a bit far away for that,” Tamura frowned, “but given the twenty per cent higher oxygen concentration in the air than on Earth, I’d say we could count on very large insects and arachnoids. Fish of all sorts, of course. As for tetrapods, the database says the most likely are large amphibians - up to six metres long - with heads covered by bony plates and weak or underdeveloped limbs. Even the fully terrestrial amphibians can be as large as two metres. But most of this is based on Earth similarities, so I can’t tell for certain how accurate the estimates are.”
“Can you localize the colony?” Krsna urged her. Tamura shook her head.
“I can’t find any sign for larger amounts of metal alloys,” she replied, “which should be part of the standard equipment for a newly-founded colony.”
“Of course not,” the Denebian nodded. “Our people don’t use the prefabricated houses generally used by new colonies. Denebian colonists always build their shelters from the materials they find on the new worlds they wish to colonize; preferable out of stone. With our telekinetic abilities it’s relatively simple - and very environmental-friendly.”
“I thought your people were reluctant to leave the homeworld,” Tigh said.”
“Most of them are,” Krsna agreed, “but there are exceptions. Some believe that they could bond with new worlds the same way and are willing to take part in such experiments.”
“That still doesn’t explain the lack of Denebian lifesigns,” Tamura said doubtfully. “We’re less than an hour from establishing standard orbit. We should be able to find something.”
“The reason might be the subterranean habitats,” Krsna said. “We’re capable of raising beautiful buildings, yes, but due to the hot climate of the homeworld, two thirds of an average Denebian house are dug under the surface. Since K’rta 2 isn’t a particularly cool world, either, the colonists here most likely kept the old customs.”
“Well, we’ll know more within the hour,” Tigh said. “Keep scanning the planet surface for Denebian lifesigns, Ensign Tamura, especially for larger concentrations of the population. There used to live more than two thousand Denebians on Thimsel, and since they apparently aren’t there, they should be here somewhere. Assuming they’re still alive, that is.”
“You really do see things from the dark side, Colonel,” Mohammed Jahma said mildly.
Tigh shrugged. Although he was more than a head shorter than the security guard, he didn’t deem dwarfed by the yeoman. The elusive air of authority that enveloped him in every moment of his life, seemed to strengthen aboard his own ship.
“That might be rooted in the fact that I’ve seen too much pointless violence, treason and death, Yeoman. An old myth says that mankind has grown from dragon’s teeth.; and sometimes we truly rise to the challenge and make this reputation a well-deserved one.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The colonel’s bitter comment snipped any further conversation in the bud, and the Antares continued her way in silence, for more than an hour. The closer they came to the bright, blue-white sphere of Iacta Tau a, the more the temperature of the small ship’s hull increased. Soon, Boomer had to set the hyperpoarization of the windows at maximum, least they wanted to go blind.
“Do sunglasses belong to Starfleet’s standard equipment?” Cassiopeia asked. “Or do we need to wear helmets with polarized viziers?”
“Oh, no, those would be too heavy and clumsy,” Mohammed Jahma laughed. “For regular planetary missions, we have superlight equipment.”
With that, he pulled a large rectangular box out from under his seat. This belonged to every Starfleet-issue shuttle, and thus to the Antares as well. He took out a tightly wrapped little package. When he unfolded it, it proved to contain thin, hyperpolarized protective goggles and a transparent biofilter mask.
“These masks are made of superelastic polymers and adapt to the facial structure of their wearer immediately,” the Nigerian explained, “which is why they don’t have to be fastened by additional ribbons.”
“And how can we get them off again?” Cassiopeia asked with a frown.
“Each mask has an off taste,” Jahma showed her the right place. “If you press here, air comes under the mask, and it simply falls off. Don’t worry, this construction is absolutely safe. It’s been tested hundreds of times.”
“Do we really need to wear breathers?” Tigh asked; he didn’t like the thought for some reason.
“Afraid so, sir,” Jahma nodded. “They’re necessary, even for Ambassador Krsna. There could be microorganisms here against which we have no immunity. It’s a completely unknown world down there, and I’m responsible for your safety,”
“But if there were dangerous viruses and bacteria, our small colony must have died out long ago,” Krsna worried.
The Nigerian shook his clean-shaven head calmly.
“Not necessarily, Ambassador. Given enough time, they could have adapted already. Which isn’t true for first-time visitors, though. I’m sorry, your excellence, but I must insist, both as your security guard and as your paramedic, that you wear those masks - all of you.”
“It’s all right; you’re only doing your job,” Tigh waved him off, leaning over Tamura’s shoulder. “Anything new, Ensign?”
“I’ve found something that might be considered a settlement, sir,” she replied. “Here on the largest northern island. These constructions there are too symmetrical to be natural rock formations.”
“Good; beam us into the middle of that area, then.”
“I’d rather not beam down, sir,” Boomer turned to him. “There seems to be some substance in the rocks of that area that reacts with the radiation of Iacta Tau A and could disrupt the transporter beam. It’s too risky.”
“I see,” Tigh wasn’t happy about the news; if they couldn’t use the transporter, it meant that in case of an emergency they’d have to reach the Antares by traditional means before they could leave the planet. “In that case, we must separate the landing unit.”
“Seems so,” Boomer nodded; he wasn’t happy about it, either. “Rigel and I’ll stay in a geosynchronous orbit with the warp platform, so that we can pick you up immediately, if needs must be.”
“Colonel,” Tamura interrupted, now in a lot less neutral manner, “I think I can get in planetary communication. No Starfleet frequencies, though… I’ve never heard anything like that. Anyone having a clue?”
She put the strangely arrhythmic signal on the speakers. The Starfleet personnel shook their respective heads in unison, and Cassiopeia seemed clueless, too. Only Krsna nodded.
“This is an old Denebian security code, Colonel,” he said. “So old, in fact, that it’s not even registered in Starfleet databases. However, it’s still in use, albeit rarely. We only use it when we don’t want any outsiders to read our messages.”
“Can you log into it?” Tigh asked.
“Of course,” the diplomat replied, “but you’ll have to leave me alone with the comm console for that. It’s not so that I wouldn’t trust you, but I’m not allowed to share this code with anyone.”
“That’s not a problem, sir,” Tigh nodded, then he looked at his assistant. “Cassiopeia…”
The socialator rose from behind the comm console. They all withdrew to the passenger department discreetly, so that the Denebian could establish contact with the colony of his landsmen. Based on the quick, quiet clicks of the rocker switches, the code must have been a fairly long and complicated one. For a while, all they could hear was the crackle of static, then a long, melodic sound - like that of a gong - signalled that the contact had been established.
“Please, Colonel,” Krsna stepped back courteously, “join me!”
The picture of another Denebian appeared on the screen; as well as the human eye could tell, that of an elderly female. Her skin was a lot darker than that of the ambassador, almost bluish-black, her face simpler, broader, and her hair - as far as one could make it out under he brightly coloured shawl wrapped around her head - was completely paled out from high age,
“Hare,” Krsna greeted her, folding his hands and bowing slowly. “I’m special Emissary H’R’Krsna. There is great concern on the homeworld about the fate of your colony. I’ve been sent to assess the situation. With whom do I have the honour?”
The elderly female returned the greeting gesture; her broad, rough, veined hand showed that she’d done hard physical labour all her life. The Denebians’ love for the fertile soil resulted in the custom of doing a wide variety of agricultural work with traditional methods, although they’d have the means to use advanced technology.
“Welcome, Emissary,” she replied slowly. “My name is P’R’Vtí; I’m the leader of the Deirr and responsible for the agricultural affairs on this world. It’s a relief to finally re-establish contact with the homeworld. Are you capable of landing on our planet? “
“Yes,” Krsna answered, after getting the confirmation from Tigh. The elderly woman looked relieved.
“You should do so, then, as soon as possible. And tell your ship to stay away from Thimsel. I mean out of sensor range.”
“Why should they do that?”
“I shall explain later... as far as I can. You must trust me, Krsna-dwa; the situation is serious.”
Krsna glanced at Tigh again. The colonel nodded.
“Very well, Vtí-dwi,” the ambassador said. “Can you provide us with safe landing coordinates? ?
“No; but that’s what we have our !hew-technicians for. L’K’Smna...”
The old woman stepped out of the picture’s focus, changing places with a fragile, somewhat younger male, who was as fair-skinned (for a blue alien anyway) that he could be mistaken for an Andorian. His longish, white hair emphasized the likeness even more.
“You can use our regular landing area, Emissary,” he said, after performing the greeting ritual, and rattled down the necessary coordinates with a speed that Rigel could barely keep up with feeding them into the navigational computer. “The Four Elders will welcome you there.”
“Thank you, K’rta 2,” Krsna replied. “We’ll prepare for landing now. Krsna out. “
The contact was terminated. Rigel checked the data one last time, then she went down to the control room of the warp-platform. Since Boomer was dealing with the engine room, she had to pilot the drive section. Cassiopeia, whose father was captain of a small merchant ship once, took over for her on Tigh side; the socialator, having spent yahrens on her father’s ship, was a passable navigator.
Mohammed Jahma walked around, giving everyone protective goggles and breathing masks. Other than that, they went in their regular uniforms, as field jackets would have been too hot.
“Engineering ready,” Boomer reported.
“Separation system ready,” Rigel added. “Separation in minus ten seconds... five... four... three... two... one... and separation.”
“Release holding clamps,” Tigh ordered.
“Holding clamps released,” Rigel answered through the intercom. “Hull plates over clam housings closed. You’re ready for lift-off, Colonel.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant. Please forward the colony leader’s warning to the Enterprise and keep this channel open. We’ll check in with you again after the landing Tigh out.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The warning hit the Enterprise with the impact of a bomb. After some agitated discussion, during which Xon’s point of view (that they should continue straight to the orbit of the planet Gartov) clashed with Chekov’s (who wanted to make thorough reconnaissance flights around Thimsel and, if necessary, block planetary communications, although there was very little of the latter to be found), Kirk made a Salamonian decision. He withdrew Enterprise behind the third one of Thimsel’s four moons, to remain outside of sensor range and still be capable of indirect observations. The moon was an irregularly shaped, cavernous piece of rock, excellent for just that purpose.
Chekov, who’d wanted to monitor all planetary activities directly, was not happy with the solution, of course. But he had no other choice than to accept his captain’s decision.
“You worry too much, son,” Commander Scott tried to calm down the ambitious young security chief. They were sitting in the officer’s lounge, by a generous amount of vodka/orange and Single Malt whiskey, respectively. “The Captain knows what he’s doin’; trust him.”
“That’s not it, Meester Scott,” Chekov was holding his tall, thick glass with both hands, frustration written all over his youthful face. “I do trust my Keptin. Problem is that my security officers don’t trust me. How am I supposed to ensure safety of ship when my own crew obeys me only reluctantly?”
“You’re trying too hard, my lad,” the chief engineer said. “Give yer people time to get used to you. When the moment comes, you’ll make the right decisions; you’re not daft. And then, yer people will accept ya. You have to understand yer team, too. It’s not easy for them to get used to a new chief after Lieutenant Commander Giotto. He was authority incarnate, and Kelowitz, his second, had turned grey in security, too.”
“Vhile I’m just a greenhorn, set before their noses,” the young Russian finished gloomily. “I’m not blind, Meester Scott. I can read their faces vell enough.”
“Don’t let yerself bothered by that,” the Scotsman encouraged him in a fatherly manner. “Do as our pointy-eared lad does: do your job as well as you can, and let things take care of themselves.”
But no amount of encouragement could really cheer up Chekov today. He knew he was infecting Scott with his rotten mood, although the chief engineer needed some off time just as badly. So he took his leave leaving his barely touched drink on the table, and returned to his office on the B-deck.
“Any reports from the landing parties?” he asked the duty officer at the comm console. In this case, it was Yeoman Montgomery, a calm, middle-aged man. The yeoman shook his head.
“Nothing, Chief. And we don’t get anything from the planet, either. Commander Uhura guessed that the folks in that glass-and-concrete monstrosity must have their quarters interconnected somehow, because the only signals go to the mines and back. But they’re always the same; most likely industrial reports and acknowledgements of the same. Communications is still working on breaking the code.”
“That’s odd,” Chekov murmured. “Observation, have you found anything yet?”
“Negative, sir,” Lieutenant Imamura, also well beyond his youth, had always laid great weight on proper protocol. Chekov liked to work with him because Imamura didn’t care who the boss was; as long as duty shifts rolled with the necessary efficiency, he showed the traditional Japanese respect towards any commanding officer. “The entire sector is completely abandoned; at least that’s what it looks like. We keep scanning the surroundings, of course, just in case.”
Chekov had to be content with that; it wasn’t that he’d have any other choice. So he sat down to one of the unmanned consoles to re-check what little data they actually had about Thimsel. He knew, of course, that his men didn’t like him looking over their shoulders, but all this idle waiting was getting on his nerves massively.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
End notes:
(1) See: Crossroads, 12 - The Great Battle
(2) It’s basically the same thing as the Vulcan warp-shuttle seen in TMP - just in white.
For visuals: Ambassador Krsna:
Lt. Rhada:
Chapter 09 - K'rta 2