DISCLAIMER: Star Trek and all related characters are the property of Paramount Pictures, Inc. No copyright infringement is intended. This work of fiction is for entertainment purposes only and no money has changed hands. The original characters and events are the sole property of the author and may not be used without permission.

STAR TREK:

THE GOD MACHINE

by Darrin Colbourne

Montoya was frozen. She felt utterly helpless. It saddened her to have come all this way and found intelligent beings at the very first stop only to have them destroy themselves before her very eyes. It was the last thing she'd ever expected to see. For long moments she wondered if this were somehow the result of her own shortcomings. Intellectually she knew this was just some horrible coincidence, but deep down she couldn't help but second-guess her actions from the time they first approached the Indira system, trying to figure out if this might have been avoided had she taken some different action sooner, or if they had simply gone on to the next world.

Pike, meanwhile, simply sat and watched the screen with a detachment even he didn't know he could manage. It was actually easy for him. This was one instance where the heavy decision didn't fall on his shoulders. This was a serious disruption in their mission, but that just meant that it was up to their Mission Planner to decide how to continue, which meant that it was up to Montoya to suggest a course of action. For his part, all he had to do was wait patiently for her to ask the right question and take it from there, so waiting patiently was what he was doing. He wouldn't prod, he wouldn't prompt. He would simply let her collect herself and turn to him with what she wanted to do. If there was any vestige left of the woman he first encountered in the briefing two months ago, he was sure he wouldn't have long to wait.

She didn't disappoint him. Suddenly she snapped out of her reverie and turned to him. "Could we stop them?"

It was almost a plea, but it was the right question. Pike turned to the station opposite hers. "Fire Control, could we shoot those missiles down with our point defenses?"

The Fire Control Officer, who'd been monitoring the data coming from the sensors, said, "Yes, Sir, but we need to get started right now. We'd have to take up a pole-to-pole orbit half the distance from where we are now so that we can catch the bulk of the missiles as their courses inter-penetrate…"

"Captain, if I may," Number One said, turning toward Pike, "We may get all the sub-orbital missiles with the point defenses, but that won't stop any cruise missiles or bomb-carrying aircraft or spacecraft that might be deployed. To get them we'd have to go active with the Main Sensor, wrecking our small target profile."

"True," Pike said, "but they're going to figure out somebody's up here as soon as their missiles start blowing up in orbit. They already suspect something is amiss thanks to our weather probe. If we're going to take out anything we have to give up what stealth we have."

"Not all of it." Montoya said, making Pike and McDonald look at her. "I mean, we don't have to approach the planet or go active to take everything out. We can do it with EMPs. Explode some of our torpedos in the upper atmosphere. They won't kill anyone on the ground, but the resulting EMPs should fry the electronics of anything in the air or nearby space. We can do that, can't we?"

"We can." Pike said.

"Suppose there are pilots in those craft?" Number One said. "They may not be able to stay aloft without power."

"Better to ditch on an intact world than to be incinerated along with it." Montoya said. "I think we should try it."

"I agree." Pike said. "Battle Stations!"

The Communications Officer touched a contact on her console which started an electronic gonging over the Intercraft speakers, then announced along with it "Now Hear This: All Hands Man Your Battle Stations! Say Again, All Hands Man Your Battle Stations! This is not a drill!"

Montoya smirked as she turned back to her station, imagining that in Sick Bay Flores was banging her head in frustration at what she considered an inane practice. At least now Montoya saw that there was a perverse logic to it. Setting the ship at Departure and Arrival Stations meant that, should anything happen when the ship was at the beginning or end of a voyage, it wouldn't take long at all to bring it to a fighting stance.

Of course, Battle Stations was unique in that it meant the gloves were off. The Weapons Officer would be bringing the ship's directed-energy weapons - point-defense lasers and intermediate-range particle cannons - from 'Standby' to 'Armed'. Small-tree-trunk sized torpedos were being loaded into the torpedo tubes mounted over the Main Sensor. At least one of the tactical craft in the Flight Bay was being brought to 'Alert-Five' status, meaning that it would be ready to launch within five minutes of the order being given. Lander teams were being deployed throughout the ship to guard against the unlikely event that Enterprise was boarded. And somewhere, someone had switched the lighting in the Control Room from Soft White to Deep Red. The purpose of this eluded Montoya. She'd been told it was to preserve the Control Room crew's vision in the event of power loss and to focus the watchstanders on their consoles, but she suspected that the Starfleeters just did it because it looked 'cool'. At any rate, it signaled that the Control Room was now an Attack Center, meaning the Enterprise was on a war footing.

"All Decks report 'Ready'." Number One said a minute after two Landers wearing green fatigues and body armor and carrying shoulder-fired combat arms took station in the Attack Center.

"Very Well." Pike said. "Science Officer, coordinate with Fire Control and select areas of the atmosphere where the detonations will do the most damage. Fire Control, how many weapons do you think we need?"

"Recommend 12 weapons, Sir." The officer said. "Enough to get maximum coverage over the major land masses, the poles and the oceans."

"Start working on the firing solutions. Weps, how are we loaded?"

"We've got two Mark Tens in the tubes." The Weapons Officer said.

"Very Well. Open the outer doors, fire when you have solutions, reload with Mark Tens. Sensors, recall the weather probe and send the tactical probe out to 30,000 miles."

As Weapons and Fire Control acknowledged and complied, Number One said: "You understand, Captain, that this will only work if those alien weapons are not properly radiation hardened."

Pike thought about it a moment. "Well, our Lieutenant Goren thinks that the first probe we encountered was made when their technology base was equivalent to Earth's around the mid-twentieth century. If their technological advance has progressed at the same rate, it's doubtful that even their best hardening techniques will be able to withstand what we're about to throw at them."

"Yes, well that is a rather large 'If', Sir. If we're wrong…"

"Sometimes you can only go with the information you have." Montoya said. It was just loud enough to be heard. Pike didn't look away from the main screen, but he did look slightly amused. Number One did turn to Montoya, just long enough to shoot her an evil look. Montoya simply continued to work out targeting data.

"Solutions set for tubes one and two!" The Fire Control Officer called out.

"Torpedo Tubes ready in all respects!" The Weapons Officer said. "Shooting One, Shooting Two! Torpedos Away! Reloading with Mark Tens!"

"Torpedos running hot, straight and normal!" Fire Control said as the torpedos ignited their engines and sped off to their targets. Mark Ten Fusion Torpedos were essentially multimegaton thermonuclear warheads mated to fast sub-light engines and compact passive sensors. The whole system was controlled by a programmable targeting system. The weapons were designed to snap unshielded spacecraft in half and overload the energy shields of better protected ones.

Pike listened as the two officers launched twelve of the weapons over the course of a few minutes. The ship carried forty-three more of the torpedoes in her magazines. Pike hoped the first salvo would do the trick. He didn't want to have to explain why he'd need such a massive re-arming so soon after the start of what was ostensibly a peaceful mission.

It was a matter of seconds before the torpedoes reached their programmed coordinates in the planet's atmosphere. "Weapons at targets," the Fire Control Officer said, "firing Now, Now, Now."

With the touch of a contact twelve small suns exploded in Indira Four's upper atmosphere. The effects were immediate. Computers automatically dimmed the main screen and Sensor monitors to protect the Attack Center crew from the glare, but even at the extreme range Adams and the Engineering Section had to take steps to protect the ship's electromagnetic systems. The satellites and missiles in close orbit weren't so lucky. There were actually several direct kills from the blasts, but most of the surviving objects were slammed by the resulting electromagnetic pulses. Montoya collated the data from the Sensor, Communications and Countermeasures Stations and gave the report. "All incoming scans have been shut down. We're not detecting any transmissions between the surface and the satellites…I think we did it." She was smiling when she turned to Pike.

"The missiles are still flying." Number One reminded her.

The Sensor Officer responded. "That's true, Sir, but the ones that were still in the boost phase haven't seperated from their first stages yet. The ones that are already inbound to their targets haven't deployed any warheads. I think it's safe to say that there will be a lot of duds falling to the surface, but we just stopped their World War III."

Montoya caught Number One's eye and smiled wide and raised an eyebrow. Number One merely glared and returned to her console. The Science Officer's triumph was short-lived. Just a moment after she returned to her own console there was a brief power outage in Control. Everything went black for a moment, then the lighting retuned, this time bathing the space in bright blue. That was the sign that the ship was on auxiliary power.

Pike turned his chair toward the Engineering Section. "ChEng…"

"Sir," Adams said, "you're not gonna believe this. We just got hit with an EMP."

Pike was stunned. "Ours?"

"No, Sir. That wasn't powerful enough to get past our shielding. Something much more powerful just fried the connectors in the nacelles. Main Power is down. We're running on the batteries now."

"How long till we have Main Power back?"

"Damage Control's on it now. The connectors are going to have to be replaced. Estimate twenty minutes until repairs are complete. Naturally, until then we won't be able to jump to Warp."

Pike grunted and turned back to the main screen. "I sincerely doubt that the people who launched those missiles were capable of skunking us like that." He said.

"The Warp-Futzers." Montoya muttered.

"Commander?" Number One said as she turned.

"It's possible that they aren't happy with what we just did." Montoya told her. "I think they responded in kind."

The Attack Center was silent for a few moments after that as everyone let that sink in, then Pike said: "Countermeasures, any idea where that pulse came from?"

"Going over the data now, Captain." The Officer said. "Got it. It looks like it came from the surface."

"Concur." The Sensor Officer said. "From an unpopulated region on the far side…at least that's what the tactical probe saw before it got fried too. Looks like the beams were bounced through the satellites in low orbit."

"How could they have survived our weapons' effects?" Pike said.

"I don't think they did, Sir. I think they were just intact enough to channel the beam we got hit with. Whoever shot at us was playing Cosmic Pool, and dusted the sats in the process."

Pike thought about that for a minute. "Okay. I'm impressed. We'll stay at Battle Stations until Main Power is restored, then we'll return to a normal watch. I want to meet with the Department Heads immediately after we stand down."

As everyone went back to work, Montoya contemplated what she'd say at the staff meeting. Somewhere down on Indira Four someone - or something - had lashed out at them. She wanted to know who they were and why they were doing it, and there seemed to be only one way to find out.

"We want to do some Warp Power-up and control tests before we attempt a jump," Adams was saying in the Wardroom twenty-five minutes later, "but it looks like the repairs were a success. You couldn't get more surgical than the strike that hit us. The Bad Guys knew exactly where to do enough damage to knock out our power without leaving us stranded here."

"It was a warning." Montoya said. "Like shunting us three light-years away at Warp. They want to keep us from interfering with this world without hurting us."

"And I suppose you'd like to go on ignoring the warnings." McDonald said.

"What are your intentions, Commander?" Pike asked Montoya before she could respond.

"Sir, I'd like to form a landing party and go down to the surface near the source of the beam that hit us." She said. "It's not in a highly populated area and the environment is similar enough to Earth's that we can go down in regular clothing."

"Have you forgotten so soon that there's also a war on?" McDonald said. "Nuclear conflict is an escalation for a society in this stage of development. We don't know how long they've been shooting conventional weapons at each other, nor do we know what weapons survived the EM pulses. We should thoroughly scan the place before you even think of going down there."

"I thought you were worried about compromising our stealth." Montoya said.

"Well, given that we've been shot at I'd say that our stealth has already been compromised, so there's no sense in setting foot in a war zone when we can examine it just as closely from orbit."

"Orbital scans won't tell us why these people are at war, nor will they tell us why there's something on the planet that wants us to back off and let it happen. We have to go down and look around."

"Or, we can take the hint and get as much information as we can from orbit before we move on, preferably within the hour. We're obviously not welcome here. Let's not press the issue."

"We can't leave. I didn't expect to find a populated world this early in the mission, much less one this far along in its development. And we need a very close look at what's been attacking us. We have to go down there at some point."

"And what if the next 'warning' powers down the transport just as it's entering the atmosphere?"

"I'm willing to take that risk."

"Unless you plan to somehow teleport down by yourself, you're asking others to share that risk with you. Quite frankly, Commander, I don't think you've earned the right."

"But I have," Pike said, getting back control of the meeting, "so I'll be the one doing the asking if we decide a landing is a 'Go', Number One."

McDonald's head spun in Pike's direction. It sounded very much like a rebuke, which surprised her. Still, she recovered quickly. "Aye, Sir." She muttered.

"Montoya," Pike said, "who did you have in mind for the landing party?"

"Myself, of course," Montoya said, "and Wendy Flores and Ben Goren, and Jim Greenfield, our Archeologist. And a couple of research assistants."

"Very Well. I'd like you to take Commander McDonald as well."

The two officers looked at each other and then turned to Pike. "Sir?" They said in unison.

"You both obviously have your own ideas about what's going on here, so I think it's a good idea if you figure it out together. That'll make it easier for you to filter out what's true from what's conjecture."

"But, Sir…" Montoya began. Pike cut her off with a raised hand.

"That's how it's going to be, Commander. You take McDonald with you or you don't go. It's up to you."

Montoya surrendered. "Yes, Sir." She said, defeated.

McDonald still had some fight left. "Sir, if we're intent on doing this, might I suggest that we bring along a squad of Landers for security?"

Montoya couldn't take it anymore. "Well, how stupid would it be to set down with an armed party if you're right about it being a war zone?"

"Only slightly less stupid than setting down with nothing but a trio of researchers and a pair of college students with hand scanners between us and the enemy, if I'm right." McDonald said.

"Ladies…" Pike said, a warning tone to his voice. Montoya and McDonald clammed up, then the Captain turned to his Landing Force commander. "Major Song, can you spare an officer to handle Security for the operation?"

"Yes, Sir. I can spare me." Song said without hesitation.

"Very Good. So this is what we're going to do: Montoya, you're going to prepare your landing party, but one of the preparations you're going to make is you're going to issue sidearms to everyone going ashore. While she's doing that, Number One, you'll return to Control and conduct those scans you wanted, so that you'll have the data to contribute to Montoya's mission plan. Commander Silas, you'll need to prep a transport and a Cavalier. I want a tactical craft flying high cover for the operation. Ladies, when you are on the ground, Montoya is in charge. Number One, you'll be there to help with communications and make sure Montoya gets anything she needs from the ship to carry out her survey. If there's shooting to be done, you'll follow Song's lead. Montoya, how long do you think you'll need?"

"I honestly don't know. I need to…"

"You have two hours, starting the moment you touch down. If you can conduct a preliminary survey without incident we can talk about you going down there again for a longer time."

"But…"

"Two Hours, Commander, and then you will be back in that transport and on your way back here, Understood?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Any other questions?" No one had any. "Very Well. Dismissed." With that, Pike stood, forcing everyone else to do the same, then McDonald, Montoya, Silas and Song vacated the Wardroom and went to carry out their assignments. Adams and Boyce lingered a moment longer.

"Very decisive." Boyce said when the others were out of earshot. "Very commanding. It almost brought a tear to my eye the way you took charge like that."

"I agree, Sir." Adams said. "You should be teaching leadership classes in O-School."

"Oh, shut up." Pike said, causing the others to laugh, then he pointed at Boyce. "And you…don't you need to be somewhere as well? When they come back…"

"I know, I know," Boyce said. "I'll be preparing the decontamination chambers." With that Boyce left the Wardroom.

"What about us?" Adams said when Boyce was gone.

"We talk," Pike said, "about what we're going to do to make sure we don't get blindsided again."

It was one part of the Support Section that Montoya had hoped to avoid for the duration of the mission. Only a preparation schedule that left no room for small arms training had let her stay away for this long. Now, Pike's orders had given her no choice.

She had never seen so many weapons in one spot in her life. The Armory was located in a small cargo bay and managed by two Starfleet Landers. The walls were lined with rack upon rack of shoulder-fired combat arms, assault weapons and man-portable air defenses, of both the directed-energy and projectile throwing varieties. There were also numerous cabinets with hand-held versions of the above, along with grenades and other explosive devices, edged weapons and gas weapons (grenades and hand-held sprayers). Several other cabinets carried spare ammunition; rounds for the slug-throwers, rechargeable power packs for the DEWs.

Song had accompanied Montoya to the space. "There's enough here to overthrow a small country." She breathed.

Song chuckled. "Not quite," he said, "but it is enough for my entire force - plus about a third of the rest of the ship's company - to combat assault an enemy installation."

Montoya sighed. "I don't want to combat assault anything. I just want to take a look around."

"You might as well be safe while you're looking." He said, then turned to one of the Landers. "Corporal, let's have one of the Childresses."

"Aye, Sir." The Corporal said with a smile and a nod, then he went over to one of the cabinets and took something out. He returned a moment later with a large, black handgun in his hands, which he handed to Song.

The Major showed the weapon to Montoya. "Childress 510 Series Directed Energy Pistol. It's a particle weapon. You pull the trigger and it shoots a stream of high energy particles straight through the target. Just like a bullet, only a lot damn faster and without having to police the casings afterwards." He handed the weapon to her, handle-first

She hesitated before taking it. "Is it loaded?"

Song showed her the bottom of the handle. There was an empty, rectangular slot in the center. "It's useless without the power pack. And anyway, the safety's on. Try it."

Montoya took the weapon, holding it gingerly in her two hands. "It's light."

"It's made mostly of composites and alloys. And there's zero recoil. Easy to carry and easy to fire."

Montoya looked at it for a moment more, then put her right hand around the handle and her forefinger around the trigger guard, then extended the weapon toward the bare part of one of the walls.

"You should use your left hand to steady it." Song said.

"But if there's no recoil…" Montoya began.

"It's not the recoil." Song said, and pointed to her hand, making her look. She hadn't realized it was shaking.

She lowered the weapon immediately. "I've never shot anyone in my life. I've never even held a gun in my life."

"Well, if all goes well, you won't have to use it today, right?"

"I suppose, but still…do you have any non-lethal weapons?"

"Actually we do. Corporal, could you get us a Phaser?"

"Yes, Sir." The Corporal said, then went to retrieve another weapon. When he returned he was carrying a black, cylindrical object that was just under half a meter long and about two inches wide. He handed it to Montoya after she handed the Childress back to Song.

"It looks like a flashlight." She said after she examined it. There was a large lens at one end and two dials mounted in the other.

"It's the most dangerous flashlight ever created by Man." Song said. "It'll put out a flash of light at up to a million candlepower, accompanied by a high-powered microwave beam. Aim it at the target's head and press the contact, and he'll be dazzled, nauseous, spastic, and then he'll drop like he just got KO'd in the first round by the Klingon Heavyweight Champ."

Montoya pointed the Phaser at the wall. This time her hand was steady. "How often do you use these?"

"Not often. They were originally designed for use by police forces for crowd control. The Landing Force has different priorities. In combat, 'non-lethal' just means the bad guy you drop today comes back at you tomorrow."

Montoya lowered the weapon and turned to him. "Still, they must be of some use to you, or you wouldn't have them."

"We have them more for political reasons than any other. They have as many limitations as advantages. For instance, the dazzle light won't work on Romulans because, like Vulcans, they have an inner eyelid that protects them from intense light. And Klingons' redundant physiognomy means that you can only bring them to their knees with Phasers, even at full power."

"What about Orions?"

Song snorted. "They just point and laugh."

Montoya smiled. "Okay, fine. So I can't conquer the universe with them, but could I at least issue these to my landing party?"

"You can issue them to your people if you want, but we don't know anything about the locals yet. The Phasers may have about as much effect on them as they do on Orions. Personally, I'd rather have something that will put holes through their vital organs."

"I'm sure Number One feels the same way."

"So am I. Look, we'll just take enough Childresses and Phasers for the entire landing party and decide who gets what in the transport." He and Montoya handed the weapons to the Corporal. "We'll need seven more of each, plus three reloads apiece." Song ordered. "Have them delivered to the Alert transport in the Flight Bay."

"Aye Aye, Sir." The Corporal said, then turned to the other Lander. "Get eight of each together with basic reload sets." He said as he handed the other man the weapons. When he went off to fill the order, the Corporal turned back to the officers. "I just need a signature, Sirs."

"It's your party." Song said to Montoya. The Corporal went to retrieve a clipboard-sized datapad and brought it over. He tapped out the order on the screen, filled in the mission particulars, then handed the pad and a thin stylus to Montoya.

"I need your thumbprint and signature in the box at the bottom, Sir." He said.

Montoya took the pad and stylus. She scanned the screen quickly and found the box he was talking about in the bottom right corner. It was labeled "Mission Commander."

As she pressed her right thumb in the square marked "Thumbprint" and used the stylus to sign her name on the line provided, she said, "So I guess if anything happens to these weapons…"

"They'll take it out of your pay," Song said, "assuming you live through whatever happens, of course."

"Of course." She said, then handed the pad and stylus back to the Corporal. "So what now?"

"The Equipment Bay. We need to get field radios and such."

As they left, Montoya asked. "By the way…why 'Phasers'?"

"Nobody knows. The Testing and Evaluation guys gave it that name, and even they aren't sure why. It was probably just a bet. Silliest Weapon Name Ever wins, or something…"

The Flight Bay was the lowest active deck in the ship. It was divided into two sections. The after section was the Hangar Deck, where the Enterprise's smallcraft were stored and maintained. The forward section was the Flight Deck, a large airlock where the craft were prepared for missions, launched and recovered. The two craft assigned to Montoya's mission were ranged on opposite sides of the Flight Deck and maintaining an Alert-5 status.

As she and Song entered the Flight Deck, Montoya noticed that Silas and three others were grouped near the nose of the Cavalier Tactical Support Craft parked on the port side of the deck. They were all dressed in dark-green-and-black pressure suits and the other three were paying close attention as Silas talked. Montoya assumed it was an ad hoc mission briefing for the flight crews.

Montoya grimaced slightly as she regarded the spacecraft near them. When she'd first seen the Cavalier her first impression was that it resembled some kind of giant mechanical shark. She'd been told it could operate in an atmosphere as well as it operated in space, but she doubted it, since the only visible control surfaces were the planes mounted in an inverted-Y in its tail. The stubby wings mounted mid-frame were actually pylons for a variety of weapons, up to and including Mark 18 anti-shipping torpedoes, smaller, faster versions of the Mark 10. For this mission the pylon she could see sported a high-energy laser. As was custom, the rear half of the ship was taken up mainly with the propulsion systems, with a complex Sublight Engine/Reaction Control System cluster mounted above and two Space Warp Engines installed flush with the after hull. The entire thing was painted black and gray and marked with the Starfleet Eight-Pointed Star, the United Earth emblem and the "Outrider" Squadron emblem - a cloaked horseman brandishing a musket - which was painted on either side of the vertical tail plane.

The Science Officer's ride to the planet didn't look anywhere near as menacing. The Workhorse Logistics Support Craft was simply a medium-sized lifting-body spaceplane. All of its propulsion systems were mounted internally and it carried no offensive weapons. It was designed mainly to carry small cargo loads and personnel between ships and from ship to "shore". It was painted white and black and bore its markings along its flanks. The squadron emblem especially intrigued Montoya because, at first glance, the stylized drawing of a Douglass DC-3 cargo plane didn't seem to fit the squadron nickname. It made more sense to her when it was explained that "Trash-Hauler" was an old air service nickname bestowed by fighter and bomber pilots on their cargo-carrying brethren.

Goren was waiting at the bottom of the ship's aft loading ramp as Montoya and Song approached. "McDonald's on her way!" He called out. "She just finished the comprehensive scan of the planet. She'll tell us what she found out when she gets here."

"That's good." Montoya said as they reached the ramp. "What about the others?"

"Wendy and Jim are already in the transport. Our techs are off getting a couple of last-minute instruments. We didn't realize how much this thing could actually hold until we got here. Other than that, we were just waiting for you and Number One."

"We were just signing out some weapons and field equipment." Song said. "Should get here when your assistants do."

"Here comes Number One now." Montoya said. The others looked where she was looking. McDonald had just walked in from the Hangar Deck. She headed straight over to the pilots and spoke with Silas for a minute or so, then the group split up. Silas and her Weapons Systems Officer boarded the Cavalier as McDonald and the other pilots came over to the Workhorse.

"Well, we've learned a few things." McDonald said as the pilots boarded. "First, our EM pulse attack worked better than we expected. From what we can tell from orbit, power in nearly ninety percent of the planet's population centers is still out."

"Well, that's good news." Montoya said.

"There's also bad news." McDonald said. "Nearly half the installations we can identify as military bases have managed to restore their power, or might never have lost it. Most of them are underground, bunkered facilities, so there's no way to know for sure what functions they serve until they're fully active. I suppose it's good news that there's nothing flying right now, but that hasn't stopped various campaigns going on on the ground. We have indications of a relative few vehicles being repaired and employed for troop movements, but mostly infantry forces are simply engaging each other on foot."

"Back to basics." Song muttered. McDonald nodded.

"Not totally, however. There was at least one modern weapon system that seems to have survived our attack unscathed: Submarines."

Montoya was surprised. "Submarines?"

"Magnetic scans of the oceans picked up several moving objects deep beneath the surface. Their movements are too orderly for them to be aquatic life forms, and there are indications of undersea explosions and supercavitation."

"So the undersea battle is alive and well." Song said.

"And it may not stay undersea. At least six of the submarines we've been tracking are making their way to points near the major land masses. They could be going home, but a few are making their way to unpopulated areas near the poles, and if these actions are consistent with our assumptions about the Indirans…"

"They could be heading for firing points for sub-launched intercontinental missiles." Song said.

Montoya started pacing. "They must have been too deep to be affected by the pulse." She muttered to no one in particular. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"Yes," McDonald said, "if only it had occurred to someone that such an attack might miss something."

Montoya stopped pacing and shot McDonald a dirty look. The First Officer responded with a raised eyebrow and a frown. Montoya just conceded the point. "Very Well. Is there anything else I need to know?"

"Just that the object we're going down to see is causing serious distortions in the planet's magnetic field. The effect reaches out to ten miles on the surface and up to six miles into the atmosphere."

"Here comes our stuff." Goren said before Montoya could follow up. Everyone's gaze was drawn back to the entrance from the Hangar Deck. Four crewmen - the two research technicians, the Lander from the Armory and another crewman in a Gold shirt - accompanied a Deck Crewman pushing an anti-grav pallett loaded with cases and boxes to the Workhorse. As the Deck Crewman pushed the pallett up the ramp the others reported to their superiors.

"We met the deckhand in the Hangar." The Lander said to Song. "Your weapons are at the bottom of the pallett."

"Very Well." Song said. "Thanks for bringing them."

"Aye, Sir." The Lander said with a nod and departed. As he left a research tech approached Goren.

"And our instruments are right on top of the weapons." He said.

"Great. Go ahead and get on board." Goren said. The two technicians nodded and boarded the craft while the last crewman addressed Song and McDonald.

"Your equipment's aboard as well, Major," he said, "and the things you requested are there too, Number One."

"What did you ask for?" Montoya said.

"Jackets and caps." McDonald said. "The temperature where we're going is 58 degrees Farenheit and it's breezy." She smiled and indicated the ramp. "Shall we go?"

Montoya nodded and boarded the Workhorse as Song dismissed the Quartermaster's Mate and the Deck Crewman came down with a now-empty pallett, then he and Goren followed McDonald up the ramp. The ramp closed when everyone was clear and the officers made their way through the hold and up the small flight of stairs to the passenger area. There was seating for ten people, aside from the flight deck, where the pilot and co-pilot were prepping for launch. Flores, the bookish Lieutenant Jim Greenfield and the technicians were already seated. Goren, Montoya and Song found seats themselves as McDonald stopped in the "front office" and said to the pilot, "We're ready to go."

"Yes, Sir." He said, then turned to the radio as she went to a seat. "Hauler One to Prize," he said when he connected with Flight Ops, "We are ready to launch."

Pike was back in Control in the center seat when the call came in. "Message from Flight Ops". The Comms Officer said. "The Shore Mission is ready for launch."

"Give them the go." Pike said.

"Aye, Sir. Flight Ops, Control. Launch the Alert Spacecraft."

An alarm sounded in the Flight Deck, forcing the deck crew to retreat to air-tight shelters as the access to the Hangar Deck was closed tight. A moment after everyone was safe the Flight Deck was depressurized, then the Inner Airlock Doors in the center of the deck slid open. When the Outer Doors followed suit, Flight Ops sent to the ships, "Shore Mission, you are go for launch. Sortie your ships."

Silas's craft, "Rider One," was the first to depart, using its RCS jets to rise off the deck and slide over the access to space. When the pilot of "Hauler One" saw the Cavalier disappear through the Inner Door he brought the Workhorse off the deck and followed. A few seconds later he was transiting through the Outer Doors and free to maneuver. Rider One was already beyond Enterprise's Main Sensor and heading for Indira Four.

"Hauler One, Rider One," Silas's voice sounded in the cockpit, "stay in my exhaust, just like we discussed."

"Copy, Rider One," The Workhorse Pilot responded, "taking trailing position." He slid his ship into a position about a hundred meters behind the Cavalier. The plan was to do a flyover of the landing zone via one pole-to-pole orbit, then to descend at the end of the orbit. At their current speed it would only be seconds before they reached low orbit.

As the transport angled up toward the north pole, Montoya turned to McDonald. "Did you see them?"

"Sorry?" McDonald said.

"In all your scanning, did you see them? The Indirans."

"Oh. Well, I did see some of them as they were marching off to kill each other…"

"What did they look like?"

"Even Enterprise's optics have their limits. All we could see were figures moving along the surface."

"Surely you must have seen something of their appearance?"

"Well, yes, but from above, through a lens more than twenty-thousand miles away."

"That same lens imaged a space probe from nearly two and a half astronomical units away!"

"Yes…a space probe the size of a large vehicle, sporting a dish the size of our Main Sensor, traveling in open space, with no clouds, fog, smoke or atmosphere to obscure or distort the image…"

"All right, I understand all that, but even with those limitations…"

"Commander, look…I understand what you want me to say. It's not as if there was anyone sunbathing out in the open for us to zoom in on. It's likely the bulk of the civilian populace sought shelter when the first missiles were launched, and the soldiers we could see were all armored from head to toe…and anyway, as I said, we could only see them from above. There was no way to see their faces, and that wasn't my priority."

Montoya looked like she might protest further, but she simply sighed inwardly and turned back around. McDonald looked at her, wondering what she had done to upset the Science Officer this time.

"Commander Montoya!" The pilot called from the right seat in the cockpit. "Did you wanna come see this?"

Montoya got up and went forward. There was only about enough room for her to stick her torso in through the entrance. "What is it?" She asked.

"Take a look." The Pilot said, indicating the forward windscreen.

Montoya turned her gaze straight ahead and got her closest look yet at the planet. The horizon was only slightly curved and stretched from one end of the screen to the other. Their course was taking them over the pole, so patches of ice could be made out through the thin cloud cover. The Indiran ocean was a soothing dark blue in color, and the terminator showed a stark contrast between the planet's day and night sides, while the ambient glow of the day side threatened to wash out the light of the nearby stars.

"It's beautiful." Montoya breathed. It was the first truly alien world she'd ever seen, one not claimed by races she'd known all her life, and therefore not bound up in their cultures, politics and wars.

The Pilot smiled. "CAG thought you might want to see it." He said.

That made Montoya refocus her gaze. She could just make out the pale blue glow of the Cavalier's sublight engine exhaust some distance ahead.

The Science Officer grinned. "Thank her for me."

"Will do. We're 'in the lane' now. We'll complete this orbit in about forty-five seconds and assuming there's no problems we'll begin our descent."

"Very Well. Thank you for this, Lieutenant." She said, patting the pilot on the shoulder.

"My pleasure, Commander." He said. With that Montoya went back to her seat.

When she was out of earshot, the co-pilot muttered "Suck-up."

"Bite me." The Pilot said.

Less than a minute later the Workhorse began its descent. The reentry was plotted so that the transport would be a few minutes away from the target area once it was in the clear. The descent itself took three minutes, which the Landing Party spent in silence. Everyone was nervous to an extent. McDonald and Song, the officers with the most experience at this kind of mission, were best at hiding it. Montoya tried to emulate them, but it was difficult. Despite her best efforts she found herself fiddling with the buckle on her safety harness. Ultimately she folded her hands in her lap and forced herself to keep them there.

"Rider One, Hauler One is Feet Hot and proceeding to LZ." The Pilot radioed to Silas once the ship was clear of the ionized air created by its reentry.

"Roger, Hauler One," Silas radioed back, "Rider One taking station." The Cavalier would now take up a racetrack pattern in the upper atmosphere over the landing area.

Another minute had passed when the Pilot called Montoya to the cockpit again. When she stuck her head in he reported: "We're starting to feel that magnetic interference. Onboard sensors, inertial navigation and communications are all being affected. We can compensate, but it's a clear sign that whatever we're heading for is putting out a lot of power."

Montoya watched through the windscreen as the transport streaked over the harsh landscape of the planet's northern continent until it reached the landing area, a wide valley in a mountainous region. As the ship descended into the valley everyone in the cockpit noticed that there was something at its center, something large, black and artificial.

"I thought nobody lived here." The Pilot said as he pulled in close.

"Nobody does." Montoya said.

They got a better look as the ship pulled in close and began circling. The object was a black, four-sided pyramid, about twenty feet tall and adorned with gold markings that no one could make out. Though it was impossible for them to tell what purpose it served, Montoya had no doubt who'd built it there.

"The Warp-Futzers." She whispered.