DOOMSDAY WORLD Page 3

  Gregach made a sound of annoyance, low and throaty. He closed his box, conceding the game.

  “No use,” he said, “in prolonging the agony.”

  The took the spheres apart in silence, taking their time, in no hurry to bring the evening to an end. Gregach idly wondered how his predecessors had tolerated Kirlos without evenings like these.

  It was a forbidding world where people lived entirely underground, among and on top of the ruins of a race long gone and still not entirely understood. A place of excessive heat—especially for a K’Vin—without any hope of a cooling breeze.

  And yet, for thirty-five years now, the K’Vin had shared it with the Federation—not because it had any great value. But it was a way for both parties to keep track of each other. And perhaps keep alive the hope, among individuals on both sides, that the two powers might become allies again.

  As he dismantled a partially completed construct, Gregach couldn’t help but compare it to his own unfinished career. His superiors had made Kirlos sound like an important place when they’d first described it to him—but he had known better, even then. The rest of the Hegemony regarded it as a backwater, a shelf on which to place a military hero of the previous regime.

  But even after years on Kirlos, he still dreamed of a transfer to the frontier—to a place like Slurin or Lethrak, where truly important events were taking place.

  “Thank you,” said Stephaleh, “for approving the forms for the Federation officers and equipment.”

  Gregach dismissed her gratitude with a gesture. “It was nothing. My assistant attended to it.” He put away the last bit of tubing. “They’ll be arriving shortly, then?”

  Stephaleh nodded and leaned back in her chair. Her back was tired, and the cushions didn’t really help. Rather than prolong a conversation, even with a friend, Stephaleh found herself longing for a soak in a tub of scented water. “Yes, very shortly. It appears that our archaeologist knows one of them—their chief engineer.”

  “The one with the eyes?”

  “They all have eyes, my friend. But yes, the one with the VISOR, which should aid in the work.” She flexed her fingers to prevent them from cramping again, as they had during dinner.

  “Imagine spending your entire life looking at everything through filters, never seeing what things really look like,” he continued.

  She moved in her seat, adjusting a cushion. “He sees far more than you or I do. In fact, his vision may be the most sophisticated in the galaxy. But even so, there are limitations. And I’m told the device is painful.”

  “My people are still leery of letting Starfleet personnel anywhere near Kirlos. It’s seen as an escalation of hostilities between our peoples,” he said.

  They both softly laughed at the thought of hostilities here on this dry, hot world with no valuable resources.

  “They are here at Professor Coleridge’s request, not mine,” Stephaleh reminded him. “And your people have approved the visit. They will come and look at the dirt, find some artifacts that may tell us something about the Ariantu, and go away. What harm can they do?”

  “Hmmph,” responded Gregach. “Starfleet is merely acting on orders to check up on the K’Vin, or so my people say. I think the same as you, but their very presence has people back home up in arms. Couldn’t they have come by shuttle?”

  “You know the shuttlecraft have limited range, Gregach. Besides, I wouldn’t mind a look at the new Galaxy-class cruiser. This is the first one in the area. Quite impressive vessels, I’m told.”

  “And powerful enough to lay waste to Kirlos.”

  “Perhaps they’ve come to do something about the traders you allow on your side of the world,” she jested. “Really, Gregach, must you allow those Ferengi merchants stall space in the market? We both know they carry stolen merchandise—everything from Romulan ale to iridium.”

  “And what about the Federation allowing Rhadamanthan ships to transport bogus entertainment packages?” Gregach shot back, rising to the challenge. “My government cannot protect the rights of creative work if the Federation allows just any race to duplicate the material and sell it for hundreds of credits below our cost.”

  “The Federation trade commissioner has already begun investigating the Rhadamanthans and the Ferengi and the Ditelans. We’re making efforts, Gregach, but I’m told the K’Vin government has not looked into a single Federation charge.”

  Gregach snorted and rubbed a finger over one short tusk, inspecting it for flaws. It was an unconscious action of which Gregach was never fully aware. “Now, now, Stephaleh, let’s put away the posturing. Don’t look for a second victory tonight. After all, neither of us can control the actions of our duly respected governments.”

  Stephaleh nodded in agreement and picked up her drink. Like her people, it was tall and thin and a light shade of blue.

  They were interrupted by the appearance of Zamorh, Stephaleh’s aide. He came into the room in great haste and looked a little silly, huffing and puffing. Even to the Sullurh, Gregach reminded himself, this world’s heat could be debilitating at times—and they had settled here long before any of the other races.

  “Ambassador,” said Zamorh, “word has arrived from the Enterprise. The officers are beaming down now.” His speech was punctuated by gasps for breath.

  “Thank you, Zamorh. We will greet them in the transporter chamber,” said Stephaleh, rising from her chair. The movement, she told herself, would do her some good, and the change from the ordinary would be most welcome.

  “Remember what we agreed to, Ambassador,” Gregach said as they moved through the building.

  This caused the Andorian to slow down and look at her colleague. “Of course, but I don’t agree with your position, and therefore you will outline it to all of them, including the professor. She will not like it, either.”

  “She will live with it, as will the Federation. I personally don’t care one whit what happens. But I am speaking for the K’Vin government, and their word will not be ignored.”

  “That is never my intention, as you well know.” Stephaleh did not appreciate his constant passing of responsibility from his office to his government, but she supposed most of the decisions were dictated from high enough up the chain of command that he had little choice but to accept them.

  Moving down a corridor, the ambassadors and Zamorh passed the few people left working on the evening shift. The Federation embassy was rarely busy until the early hours of the morning, when people wanted to complain of the poor deals made the night before. The Sullurh led the way, conducting them past works of art Stephaleh had chosen to bring from the art museums on Andor. The pictures depicted great sieges from her planet’s past. Gregach liked the fact that her race was a savage one, although somewhat less so than his own.

  He pondered the number of races that had started off violently and changed over time. He could think of few that started off benevolently and reached high levels of technology. The killer instinct, he mused. There was much to be said for it. Filing that thought away, he walked into the transporter room, where gleaming metal coexisted with the rough-hewn walls of the original Ariantu structure.

  A human technician stood behind the console awaiting the teleportation of personnel. Also present was the embassy’s security chief, a human named Powell, burly and dark-haired. Stephaleh had picked him from a number of officers looking for planetside postings through Starfleet. He served her well, though he was less experienced than she would have liked.

  Stephaleh looked up as her sensitive antennae detected the transporter effect before anyone else in the room noticed it. The sparkling columns manifested themselves; three shapes became distinct. To her surprise, the android named Data was a good deal more human-looking than she had imagined possible. Of course, she had heard of the remarkable machine that had been found on a distant world some twenty-eight years ago. But in person, he was quite something to marvel at.

  The black-skinned man with the VISOR stepped forward first and
broke into a broad, natural grin. “Hi. I’m Geordi La Forge. This is Security Chief Worf and Lieutenant Commander Data,” he said, gesturing to the two behind him. Data nodded, expressionless. Worf, the dark, menacing-looking Klingon, just stared. All three moved off the platform before anyone could respond.

  “I am Ambassador Stephaleh n’Ehliarch. And I would like to present Ambassador Gregach, who represents the K’Vin Hegemony.” The Andorian bowed slightly from the hips while Gregach, emulating humans, reached out to shake hands—not so much in deference to another race’s customs, Stephaleh knew, as to get a feel for each visitor’s strength. She watched with a slight smile as he winced after shaking hands with the Klingon.

  “Let me take you to a room where we can talk and get comfortable,” she suggested. “Drinks?”

  In the grand reception room, Zamorh went to an ornate carved cabinet and opened it, revealing a refrigeration unit. He poured out a variety of brews—juices and synthehol drinks—which he arranged artfully on a tray and offered to each guest. Data abstained, as did Worf, but Geordi helped himself to a fruit juice. Gregach chose synthehol, complaining under his breath about the lack of a decent beer on the Federation side of Kirlos. Stephaleh also had a juice and stood in the center of the room.

  “I welcome you all to Kirlos, may your stay be a pleasant one,” she said, holding her glass high. The others returned her salute and sipped their drinks. With the one formality out of the way, she sat in a large chair stuffed with cushions. Zamorh had placed it in the position of authority, so all eyes would have to turn to Stephaleh.

  “I hope we don’t have to be overly formal, Lieutenant Commander La Forge,” she began. She smiled warmly at him.

  “Of course not, Ambassador. We’re just a bunch of people who are needed to help dig up the countryside,” he replied with a grin. “In fact, I was wondering where Professor Coleridge is.”

  “Zamorh, my aide, has already sent for her. To be honest, we did not expect you to receive approval to beam down until tomorrow.”

  “Ah . . . yes, well, our Commander Riker found a way to expedite matters with your aide . . . Gezor, isn’t it? Very efficient staff.” He directed this remark to Gregach, who sat in a straight high-backed chair. “Your people are most thorough.”

  Gregach nodded and returned to his drink. He wanted to watch the conversation, measure each Starfleet officer. La Forge seemed to be the natural leader, easygoing and pleasant. The VISOR was off-putting to Gregach, but he realized that the thought was silly. The android, with its sallow skin, appeared to be functional and useful but not a real soldier. On the other hand, the Klingon was fierce and appeared menacing, even sitting and looking at ease. Gregach longed for the days when he was a youth on border patrol, occasionally skirmishing with Klingon craft far from home. At least they were a people to fire the blood and make life a challenge. He hoped to talk with Worf before the Enterprise left orbit.

  The group made small talk for a bit about where the Enterprise had last been and some of its more notable ports of call. Gregach noticed that Zamorh always seemed to hover in the background with a refill or a fresh napkin to bead up the condensation from the glasses.

  Stephaleh found herself growing increasingly tired as the time passed. She was unused to staying up late; except for her sessions with Gregach, she tended to retire early—earlier and earlier, it seemed to her. Now fatigue played around the edges of her mind, and she stifled several yawns. Perhaps a stimulating drink to keep her awake, maybe just a cup of coffee? She could feel her mind wandering, like the underground rivers on her native Andor. . . .

  Then Zamorh left the room and came back minutes later with a tall, dark-skinned female right behind him—a human who walked purposefully, letting each step carry her forward. She wore a simple dark blue jumpsuit that needed cleaning and a cap of some indeterminate style. Beneath the cap, long straight black hair framed a familiar round face with almond-shaped eyes, high cheekbones, and a wide, expressive mouth.

  A Sullurh walked in her wake, striving to keep up with her long strides. If Stephaleh hadn’t expected him to be trailing behind, she might not have noticed him at all.

  Before the ambassador could make introductions, La Forge was on his feet, his smile threatening to split his face. “Professor Coleridge!” he cried. La Forge looked surprised when she swiftly crossed the room and embraced him in a huge hug that would have knocked the breath out of a smaller man.

  “You look good, Geordi. Very good. A commander now, I see. Excellent.”

  Geordi’s fingers brushed the pips on his collar and he shrugged. His smile had not yet faded, and he wanted to ask her a million questions. Instead, remembering the surroundings, he chose to get business out of the way first. He introduced the other officers and then announced with a wave of his hand, “And this is Nassa Coleridge, the greatest archaeologist of them all!”

  “I am pleased to meet you both,” said Coleridge. “This is my helper, Thul. He was assigned to me when I arrived here, and thank goodness for him.” Thul, small and not very imposing, nodded briefly and then stood off to one side.

  “And now, Geordi La Forge, let’s sit down and see if we can’t put you to work,” Coleridge continued. She took a seat herself, between Gregach and Data. Though it was getting late, she appeared ready to wrap up the details of the dig.

  Stephaleh noted this. “As I said earlier, I was not expecting to conduct this session until tomorrow,” she began, massaging her left leg, trying to ease a cramp that had only just dug its claws into her. She cleared her throat. “First, some background. Ambassador Gregach and I agreed two years ago to open Kirlos to widespread archaeological exploration, since we are all curious about the Ariantu. It is of scientific importance that as many of the artifacts be preserved as possible, since they may be our only clues to a lost civilization. To that end, we have mutually agreed to allow a Federation-sponsored dig, which happens to be on the K’Vin side of the world. Ambassador?”

  Gregach roused himself and sat up a bit straighter before beginning. “Professor Coleridge has requested your assistance, Lieutenant Commander La Forge, because of your unique VISOR. However, it must be stressed”—and he looked meaningfully at Worf—“that no military presence is to disturb the populace. On either side.”

  Worf grunted. “I am a member of Starfleet, and Starfleet is not a military organization. We just acknowledge that at times, when dealing with the unknown, security is . . . prudent.”

  “Quite so,” Gregach agreed, turning to Stephaleh. “The amount of time we have agreed on is one week, no more.”

  Coleridge let this sink in for several seconds before she spoke up. “Ambassadors, when I made my appeal, I clearly indicated that I needed help for two weeks. I spent hours working on Gezor’s silly forms.” She waved her arms to punctuate her point. “You have halved my request with no notice.”

  “I’m sorry, Professor,” Stephaleh began. “Politics may not interest you, but Ambassador Gregach and I have our instructions and priorities. We decided that having a Starfleet vessel in orbit for two weeks would be unnecessarily distracting for the citizenry. A starship in orbit fuels fears.”

  Once again, Coleridge thought about the words before replying. “I just don’t agree, Ambassador. I need Geordi, and he tells me I need Data. I was counting on two weeks.”

  “You will have to content yourself with one week, Professor,” Stephaleh said as pleasantly as possible. “Look at it this way: at least you can begin tomorrow, one day early.”

  “That may be. What about transportation of our findings?”

  “I have decided to establish a weight limit on how many artifacts can be removed from the K’Vin side for study by the Federation,” Gregach said. “If you exceed the limit, we will ask for compensation from the Federation, and our negotiations will begin anew. Instead, I would ask you, Professor Coleridge, to limit yourself to one metric ton of material.”

  “That’s most generous, Ambassador,” she replied, truly surprised.
She’d thought he was talking in the dozen-kilo range. “Well, as Sarek once said, ‘It is always best to accept what one does not expect.’ ”

  “Surak, Professor,” countered Data.

  “What was that?” Coleridge looked surprised.

  “Your quote. It was from the earliest writings of Surak. Sarek is an ambassador.”

  “Of course. Silly of me,” she said with a smile.

  Worf took in the conversation. His original assessment of the political climate on Kirlos had apparently been right on target.

  The warrior K’Vin had allowed themselves to be domesticated by Federation diplomacy. There didn’t seem to be much in the way of action to look forward to.

  Then he noticed Zamorh and Thul, talking in a corner away from everyone else. Neither seemed at ease; their remarks were brief.

  An odd race, the Sullurh, he thought.

  If there was anything he had learned as security chief on the Enterprise, it was to be suspicious of all strangers until they proved themselves worthy of trust. He even had his doubts about some members of the Enterprise crew, never having served alongside them.

  “Then it’s agreed,” said Coleridge. “We can begin in the morning. I’ll first transport back to the Enterprise some of my findings, so they can be relayed to the institute.”

  A not-so-fake yawn allowed Stephaleh to call an end to the evening’s meeting. “You gentlemen have rooms waiting,” she told the Enterprise officers. “And I must bid you all a good night.” With that, she rose.

  Zamorh recognized his cue. He held the door open for her as she slowly strode from the room.

  Gregach stood, too. He looked at the Enterprise trio and added, “You and Professor Coleridge will be my guests for a meal sometime during your stay here. We’ll show you why the Federation yearns to have us as allies again—for our cooking. And, Lieutenant Worf, I suspect we will have some things to discuss as well. Good nighttime to you all.”

  Chapter Three

  Captain’s Log, stardate 43197.5: A priority message from Starbase 105 has informed us of an unwarranted attack on a Federation outpost in an adjoining sector. The situation on Tehuán is critical, with high casualties and widespread damage to the settlement. As the Enterprise is the nearest available starship, we have been ordered to provide immediate assistance.