Set Fire...: Prologue
The star burned in space, a lonesome point of warmth and light in the everlasting reaches of frozen darkness. Separated from even its nearest neighbors by the vast distances of the interstellar expanse, bringing life to the planets that clung, tightly, in orbit around the solitary point, its fiery brilliance soon gave way, receding into little more than a flickering pinpoint, fighting its futile battle against the all-encompassing weight of nothingness.
It had taken fire in the early eons of the galaxy, and would continue burning until entropy consumed the universe; a red dwarf, its life was measured across the echoes of silent time. It had stood, bathing its planets with radiant heat, when civilizations began to emerge, thrusting themselves into the stars; it had witnessed the rise and fall of uncounted unions and empires, each one boasting to be the greatest ever before receding into the forgetfulness of unknown history. It had birthed a people of its own, a vibrant race that had grown into a thriving, mature member of the stars; and it had witnessed their downfall, the slow, ebbing days of a people fading from their moment in the circle of life.
Time meant little in the great stellar dance, but Jonathan Archer saw his world burning in his eyes, he could feel every second pass by in the exquisite pain of delay as the crew of the Enterprise hurtled towards zero hour.
The star—it was unremarkable, average at best, one of a countless number beyond human fathom; nothing about it bespoke its importance in the battle for human survival, the fight of just one more sentient race trying to make a leap to the heavens. Perhaps it was only its location—its nondescript location since the dawn of stellar creation—that gave it a reason for interest. For in its life, in the blink of an eye, as the star stood its silent vigil in the great beyond, the space around it had changed. Warped, twisted, flooded with a quantum physical unnatural to its universe, this star found itself enveloped deep in the wastelands of the Delphic Expanse. Around it, the known laws of science were challenged on a moment-by-moment basis; the fabric of space-time itself was rendered and torn, unable to withstand the growing pressure of another universe pushing its way in.
In this realm, only the courageous and, perhaps, the foolhardy dared to travel. The dangers were manifest; and even the native inhabitants, of worlds scattered across the two-thousand light-year realm, rarely dared to leave the relative safety of a homeworld. Trapped in this environment, the residents had ground to a halt, their development a lost cause in the struggle for simple survival; and the skies, the few corridors of safety from the spatial disruptions, were plagued by pirates of desperation and others worn into a cruel and cold deprivation, preying on the unknowing innocents who found themselves trapped in this nether-region of space.
The crew of the starship Enterprise had cracked the code.
Located throughout the Expanse were a series of massive spheres; impenetrable to prying eyes, they were clearly artificial, and only the human scientists had realized just how alien the globes were. Set in place by a race not of this universe, the spheres worked in concert to tear away the fabric of this reality, breaking down the walls that protected this existence from the intrusion of another. In time, the natives of that other realm would burst across, claiming this space as their own; the native occupants no longer able to survive in the mutated cloth of their own continuum.
The disturbances were not uniform across the Delphic Expanse; they grew and shrank, were more and less powerful, and as the Enterprise traveled, a pattern emerged: at the center of the disturbances was, invariably, a sphere. By finding—and charting—the locations of the spheres, the crew had been able to make a rough map, showing passages of lesser disruption wherein the starship could travel.
But there was no way to stop them, save for a turn of fortunate by Jonathan Archer and the Enterprise.
While most travelers steered far clear of the spheres, avoiding the worst of the spatial disruptions, the Enterprise had dared a different path; its crew had, with study and practice, learned how to approach the spheres themselves, driven by both scientific interest and the simple incentive of survival. And, in one such trip to one such sphere, they had found a small crack in its metallic shell; large enough to slip in a shuttlepod, the crew had entered. A veritable trove of data was taken back to the starship. Implicit within, recognizable to all, was a simple realization: the spheres were operated by a computer code, alien, perhaps, but a cognizable code nonetheless. If it could be hacked, if instructions could be entered, they could take down the entire network of spheres.
But that is not what had brought the Enterprise to the outskirts of the Azati system.
Seven months earlier, Earth had been struck by a devastating attack. Appearing from nowhere in the morning sky, an alien probe had fired a single energy beam down unto the planet; but that beam had ripped apart everything it touched, carving a giant, mile-wide ditch from Florida to Venezuela. It vaporized homes, businesses, libraries, and parks; and as the grim details slowly emerged, the death toll had topped seven million. The only thing worse than the attack was the uncertainty: Who had done it? Why? Would they do it again? How could Earth protect itself?
An unexpected hint from a long-time foe identified a far-distant species, the Xindi, who lived in the Delphic Expanse. And with no other clues to follow, the Enterprise launched, swearing its vengeance for the millions of innocent dead back home, and on a mission to thwart an imminent second attack, powered by a weapon capable of shattering the Earth to its core. Subterfuge—and an abduction of the Xindi scientist Degra, who had designed the probe and the subsequent full-scale weapon—informed Archer that the second weapon was undergoing final construction in the shipyards of Azati Prime.
"Slow to one-quarter impulse," Archer ordered, keeping watch as the Enterprise flew through the icy debris marking the outermost reaches of the star system. Weathered, perhaps, but unbroken, the starship sailed smooth, slowing down under the gradual commands of Ensign Mayweather. "Any sign of monitoring stations yet, Malcolm?"
Standing at the tactical post, behind and to the captain's right, Malcolm Reed was watching closely for any indication of surveillance. "Nothing yet, sir," he answered, his words clipped and precise. "I'm picking up a suggestion of passive sensors further inward, but not out this far."
Archer nodded, thankful for the small advantage. He needed to get the Enterprise as close as possible to Azati Prime, but he simply could not risk being detected. "T'Pol," he commented, speaking over his other shoulder to the slender Vulcan handling the science station. "We need to find some cover to get us in closer."
"Yes, Captain," she replied, her focus turned onto her console as she sought an advantage—any advantage in the natural terrain of the system—that could provide the starship with much-needed cover. "There is an unusual degree of turbulence in the solar wind for this far out in a system. We will need to travel slowly, but I can chart a path that adheres to the greatest disturbance."
"I agree, Captain," Travis added. T'Pol was feeding the data to his helm console; and in the navigator's mind, a path—however indirect—was forming. "It won't get us all the way in, but we should be able to remain undetected until we approach the outer planets."
"How long, Travis?" Archer asked. Secrecy and stealth were a dominant concern; but so was time. They could ill-afford to slink around the outskirts of the Azati system, plotting a meandering course in, while the Xindi were on the verge of launching their doomsday weapon.
Mayweather didn't need to input the calculations. "About half a day, Captain," he answered. "That'll put us near the orbit of the outermost planet, and that's where our cover will dissipate. From there…" The helmsman let his voice draw to a halt, the remaining implication understood by all. From there, we will be fully exposed.
"That range should give us plenty of data on our tactical sensors, sir," Malcolm added in. "By that time, we'll have a full picture of Azati Prime."
Time. A commodity that the universe has in abundance. But us… "Very well," Archer replied, acknowledging the reports. The universe had trumped him: he simply could not bend the forces of the Azati system to fit his needs. "Keep us moving, Travis, but keep us undetected. We need information first—we can't go charging in without doing our due diligence." And let's hope, he understood, that the delay does not prove fatal.
Time is ticking down.
At the rear of the bridge, opened onto the command area, was a small alcove: within it, in the center, was a waist-high computer console, the size of a large desk or small table. Flat on top, the screens scrolled out images and data, both simple and complex; and here, in the briefing "room," the senior staff gathered.
"We're at a full stop," Travis opened up, reporting what was already known; but the declaration was important, and stated for the record. After hours of delicate navigating, the Enterprise had reached its furthest infiltration point; and now, tucked within the magnetic disturbances created by a trojan asteroid's passage through the solar winds, they stood at the edge of a great open plain. From here, the risk of detection shot upward with every kilometer traveled; from here, it could only be a desperate charge into the heart of the Azati system, braving the enemy fire that was sure to find them.
"Tactical sensors have given us a considerable amount of information," Malcolm added on. Tapping the control pad, he pulled up a real-time image of Azati Prime. "There is considerable activity around the planet. Numerous ships, of multiple different designs, but all of them we recognize or can theorize as being Xindi." He narrowed the image in closer, and as the resolution cleared, a reptilian warship became visible.
"We've also detected a large array of satellites in orbit of the planet." Malcolm switched the screen to show a tactical overlay of the entire world. "They're generating a detection grid—it looks like a powerful one." The grid coverage blanketed the globe. "There's no way to get the Enterprise through the grid without being detected, sir." Reed spoke with a deep breath, and as he paused, the pronouncement hung heavy in the small alcove. "A number of the platforms appear to contain weapons. We'd be shot to pieces long before we could get close enough to do anything."
"Degra mentioned a security net," Archer mused softly, recalling the information gleaned from the covert interrogation of the Xindi weapon-maker. "But he didn't mention this many ships." Showing as scrolling data, the sensors tallied nearly thirty Xindi spacecraft detected in orbit.
"Not all of the ships are battlecraft," T'Pol offered; it was a sign of the grimness of their situation that the Vulcan among the crew was searching for the silver lining of hope. "And there are several possible explanations for the large number of craft. It is entirely possible that some are merely in transit, and are not posted as guards to protect the planet; perhaps supply convoys, or ferrying relief personnel."
"I don't know, T'Pol." Trip Tucker joined into the conversation for the first time, his voice weighed down with a sense of futile realization. "I mean, we can tell some difference in the types of ships, and yeah, some may not be combat vessels. But we're one ship, and those reptilian cruisers can tear us apart." His voice dropped further as he read the data. "We're detecting at least six of them."
"It's not that, per se," Travis countered. "Look at the screen, Commander. It's not about what's there; it's about what isn't there."
"You're right, Travis," Archer replied quietly. "Where's the weapon?"
No one spoke in response.
The weapon, as described by Degra, would have been near-impossible to miss. A sphere spanning three hundred meters in breadth, radiating a blooming energy signature, it would be far larger than anything else the Enterprise sensors had already detected in orbit; and having surveilled closely for hours, there was little chance that it remained, unhidden, on the far side of the planet.
And it wasn't just the weapon; a construct that large would need a support structure, gridwork, maintenance and construction stations, a whole host of infrastructure to assemble it. And there was no sign of any such activity.
"Is it possible?" Hoshi's tone was hesitant, as she didn't want to be the person to voice the thought. "Is it not here?" Are we in the wrong place?
Archer glanced over at T'Pol. "Degra was clear when we spoke," the captain countered. "He said that the weapon was being constructed, here, in the shipyards of Azati Prime."
"I don't know what to tell you, Captain," Trip replied. "I know a thing or two about starship construction, and this weapon won't be fundamentally different. I'm looking at the same sensor data as you all." He shook his head. "There's no shipyard here."
"Unless…" Travis paused as moment as his thoughts caught up. "You're thinking like an engineer, Commander." Archer turned to look sharply at the navigator, daring his hopes to resurrect. "You know how Degra described the Xindi Council. Politics. Balancing of interests between the five species. Reptilian, insectoid, primate, arboreal, and aquatic."
"Wait." Trip had to close his eyes as he considered the implication. "You think the shipyard might be in the ocean of the planet?"
"Travis has a point," Malcolm added thoughtfully. "It would make no sense from an engineering standpoint—building a stellar craft under the pressure of the water is backward. But, if the Xindi Council was trying to include all five of its members…"
Archer raised an eyebrow. "There are plenty of reasons, when you open that door."
"So, what?" Hoshi cut in, her tone a voice of skepticism. "If the shipyard is in the oceans, how do we find it?"
"You're not going to like this, Hoshi," Malcolm answered. "We have to get closer—a lot closer."
"Like in orbit." Trip's proclamation carried unwanted weight. "How do we do that?"
"Captain." T'Pol broke in. "Sensors are detecting moment in a cluster of Xindi ships. They are approaching the detection grid."
"On screen," Malcolm confirmed the unspoken order, summoning an image of the ships onto the console. Before the six officers, the group of ships—recognizable as six primate craft, each roughly half the size of the Enterprise—were nearing a super-imposed line indicating the sensor network. Over them, looming like a patient predator, was a warship shaped roughly like an Earth manta ray. Reptilian.
"We're picking up a communication from the ships." Hoshi scrunched up her face as she parsed her own data. "I'm sorry, Captain, I can't provide any more detail."
"An access code," Travis answered immediately.
"They're entering the restricted area," Malcolm confirmed. "If we could copy their sensor output—get our hands on that code—"
It was a ray of hope; a glimmer of a plan based upon a glimmer of an assumption, but Jonathan Archer was ready to seize on it. "Give me a sensor readout on those primate ships," he ordered. As the requested data scolled onto the screen, he raised both eyebrows with surprise. "T'Pol is that—"
"Yes," the science officer responded, momentarily forgetting her control as she cut off the captain. "The warp signature matches. The lead primate ship is Degra's."
It was unusual for Degra to ease and relax; unusual for the master scientist and engineer to take a moment, away from the confines and monitors of his lab, away from the demands of the Xindi Council, away from the incessant brushfires and conflagrations inherent in building a weapon that could destroy a world. But here, today, in this moment, safe in the embrace of his own starcraft, he had just such an opportunity; the messages had been answered, the work orders given, and though he awaited planetfall on Azati Prime, Degra found that he could steal that moment to reflect on his great commission, appreciate what the Xindi had accomplished, and take a sense of pride in the resurrection of the united Xindi races.
The room amidships was small; but along one side, a viewport occupied the whole exterior wall, giving him a view of the brilliant topaz oceans below as his craft slid into orbit. It was enough—as he looked out, imagining the world of the past, the long-destroyed homeworld shattered by the wars between his brethren—that he found he could almost forget for a moment, his thoughts drifting to half-forgotten dreams of chasing his children in the tidal waves of a beach, the dreams of looking down upon a mountain valley. Such dreams inspired him, perhaps even more than the promise of a new Xindi; it was the simple dream of a better life for his descendants, salvation from their exile in the stars, a home to call their own.
And the sword of destruction no longer hanging, dropping, over their heads.
It had been—how long ago?—that the beings had first appeared, not-quite-materializing, but speaking clearly through the dimensions of future time. They had bemoaned the disasters that had struck the Xindi; the endless warfare, the countless butchery, and ultimately, the fiery death that had propelled the remnants into the stars, scattered and isolated, vagabonds traveling nowhere.
The beings had spoken of promise; they spoke of a great future for the Xindi races, a future where the exiles could unite, bonding together for the first time in their shared history. A future of peace and amity between the races; a future in which the Xindi would have a home of their own, a stable and prosperous existence, taking their place as leaders among the stars. A future he could imagine, but hadn't hoped; a future he would will to his children, a future that he would do anything to secure for them.
But, yes, the beings had spoken of warning as well. For, peering into the mists of the future, they foresaw a great threat to his people; a rapacious, violent species that had taken to the stars in an eyeblink, consuming all around them. This race—these humans—were destined to expand beyond control, and in only a matter of time, they would envelope the last of the Xindi in their murderous grasp.
Degra was not a man of violence; but he was a man of duty, who would take any action necessary to protect his family and give them a better life than he had experienced. So when the Xindi Council formed, in the shadow of this great threat, Degra had stepped forward. He had offered his services, his knowledge, and his expertise as the Council sought a pre-emptive strike.
And from it, he had designed the great weapon.
When the probe struck Earth, it had sent data packets back to the Xindi Council. Degra, along with his closest aides, watched the strike, then watched it again; and over the ensuing days, rewatched it many times as they calculated the destructive force of the probe's energy beam. But the probe had not calculated a death toll; indeed, the Xindi scientists actually knew very little about Earth, and lacked basic knowledge, such as its population.
Degra had watched with clinical detachment as terra firma was blown apart. Yes, in some way, he had rejoiced—perhaps not like the reptilians, with their boosts, or the insectoids, with their glee—but he had a job to do, a task to perform, and as he watched the energy beam lash out yet another time, he saw only the technical specifics of the probe.
But here, in this moment—in a moment of privacy, as he contemplated the impending completion of the great weapon—he found himself reflecting on the long, strange voyage of the previous years, at the course set upon him—that he had willingly undertaken—in defense of his people, his children, and his dream for a new future.
Standing at the viewport, flanked by his two closest aides, Degra sighed deeply. "It seems strange to celebrate the completion of a weapon," he remarked, not turning his head to either side. "Particularly one designed to destroy an entire planet."
"That may be so," Edur answered. An old, weary administrator, Edur had worked with Degra since the start of his career; not the scientist, understanding little of the intricate physics and technology involved, Edur possessed a preternatural skill to navigate supply resources, oversee an army of workers, and keep a vast project on track. "But it has been a stunning achievement. In building this weapon, we have brought together our peoples. All of the five races have contributed—all of the five races have made this their mission. This great task has unified us in a way I would've thought to be impossible."
"Indeed." Degra nodded slowly. "It has done all that, and more. It has not just given us a purpose; it has given us a future."
"We have bought that future with the blood of another race," Kepa added sourly. A young man, perhaps intemperate with his words, he was nonetheless a brilliant engineer; and Degra found that he enjoyed the company of the skeptic, who provided a voice of caution, who would not fall for the fancy pronouncements of others. "It is a steep price to pay, Degra."
"It is," Degra acknowledged. "But it is these humans, or it is us Xindi; that much has been made clear to us. We cannot both survive, and given that choice, my friend, I will defend my people." I will defend my children, he added to himself, not speaking the words, not even in this close of company. "We have been but orphans, lost in the wilderness of the stars, and I am proud to say: no longer. For the first time, the Xindi are striving forward as a united people; for the first time, we are truly seizing the reins to ensure that we not just survive, but grow into a great and noble people. This is a worthy legacy for us to secure, Kepa, for we stand on the verge—the verge of a new era for all Xindi."