Kappa-2 Monocerotis
The Borderlands
{Eleven years previously}
"Humanity was not content to defeat Noonien Singh," Arik Soong continued, speaking pleasantly despite the calamity of the story; it was a warm day, a sunny afternoon of soft, flower-kissed breezes, and the children were gathered around the base of a nivellea tree. "Resentful and hateful, the baseline humans sent out an edict to utterly destroy the Augments; even those who had not been involved in Singh's schemes."
Gazing upon the bright, tanned faces and sun-bleached locks of hair, Soong nearly lost his place. "Humanity hunted down Noonien Singh and his brethren," the doctor continued, passing the slip off as an intentional pause. "The first Augments had sought to bring order and peace to Earth, seeking to eliminate warfare and deprivation for the first time in human history. But humanity rejected their betters. None of the Augments survived the purge. They were harassed, hunted, and killed, their very corpses irradiated and burned."
A couple of the children shivered visibly. "Two thousand unborn embryos were left. The baselines were too cowardly to terminate the embryos, and too cowardly to allow them to live. Instead, they were condemned to a perpetual purgatory, denied their very existence." It was, to Soong, the most despicable act of them all, but he spoke only with the careful recitation of a lecturer.
"Within a generation, Earth descended into chaos. Food, water, arable land, fuel, raw materials…all became in short supply, and nations and cities jockeyed for dwindling resources, beggaring their neighbors to fill their own coffers, however momentarily. Ironically, the Earth had no shortage of water. But it was not consumable, and not in the locations where it was needed.
"The times called for brave, innovative leadership; the audacity of cooperation, and the brotherhood of mutual support," Soong continued, flowing smoothly through the presentation. "They called for the re-evaluation of priorities, the uplifting of the common need over individual greed. But instead…humanity sniped away at its best, and elevated the lowest common denominator."
A child, towards the forefront, raised his hand eagerly, nearly twitching in eagerness.
"Yes, Pûrâh?" Soong smiled at the child, pleased to see such interest from the youngster.
"Can I go to the bathroom?"
Soong's smile fell. "Later, my son."
Resuming his professorial tone, Soong launched back into his soliloquy. "With natural resources depleted, and the planet raped, mankind fell into bickering. When two men were unable to both possess a desired object, they became enemies, and endeavored to subdue and destroy each other.
"With each man devoted only to his own tribe," Soong went on, allowing the darkness to creep into his tone, "no common power developed to restore order. For this—" he raised his voice, highlighting the coming point—"is why humanity can never truly live at peace: a society based on competition is solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short. It beggars its own sense of community. And when community vanishes, war begins."
A slender hand rose in the back. "Is that when the Final World War broke out?"
Soong nodded. "A state of war broke out, of every man against every man. Made victim to his passions, the human lust for battle raged unchecked by the hand of a strong leader." Soong punched his palm, holding back his fist to illustrate the point.
"War begets war," Soong continued, imagining that the breeze was blowing more strongly across his skin. "And the escalation of battle was inevitable; six hundred million humans died on the battlefields, consumed in the fires of war. Countless more perished in the decades that followed, as the land struggled to support humanity, and the scarcity of food and clothing pitted human against human in miniature battles for survival."
Taking a moment, Soong took in a long, deep breath, enjoying the delicate fragrances of the nivellea tree. It wasn't often that he enjoyed the exile from Earth, but days like this—bright and beautiful, soaking in the pureness of uncorrupted nature, an entire world available to him—made the pain of his banishment lessen. "In hindsight," he went on, forcing his thoughts back to unhappier things, "the problems were obvious.
"Understand, my children: the peace that Earth currently enjoys is a mirage. For, as the nature of foul weather lies not in a momentary rain shower, but rather in the tendency over many days to storm, so too does the nature of war lie not only in actual fighting, but lies whenever there is a disposition to fight.
"Humanity still exists in this state of cold war. Its meager institutions are weak, unable to compel the awe of their subjects, unable to grant the assurance of permanent peace. Underneath the veneer, the passion, the hatred, the lust, the distrust, and the fear, still rage. Do humans not still lock their doors, and hide their valuables, living in the fear of violent death? It is only the exhaustion of war that preserves the peace."
...
Enterprise
Kappa-2 Monocerotis
Captain's Log, May 29, 2154. We have arrived in the star system of Kappa-2 Monocerotis, where the Augments spent the first ten years of their lives. I have little hope of finding anything here that might indicate where they are going…but this is the only hope we have.
The starship barely shuddered as Travis applied the braking thrusters, allowing the craft to glide its way into a simple parking orbit of the planet below. It was—if Travis had to say so—an elegant parking, relying on inertia to carry them softly in, rather than utilizing the harsh back-and-forth of the maneuvering jets. Piloting a starship, after all, was not particularly complex; piloting it without abusing the inertial dampeners, however, was an art form.
"Assuming orbit, sir," Travis called out, tapping the final controls to settle the Enterprise in to its new cradle. The pronouncement was more of a formality; the captain, eager even now, stood beside Travis, watching the navigational readings as they descended into orbit.
His immediate task complete, Travis allowed himself a moment to watch the planetary curve on the viewscreen. From their vantage point, the majority of the planet was lit up by the glow of sunlight, the remainder encased in the darkness of night, its horizon accented by the shimmer of far-off stars.
By visible indications, it was still a young planet, barely past the massive geologic upheavals of its creation; broad, shallow seas could be seen, wrapping their way around the belly of the planet, flanked by great forests and the bluish-green of swamplands. Few mountains were visible, but an expansive icecap was apparent.
As luck would have it, it was "summer" in their target zone.
It took only seconds for Travis to locate the coordinates of Soong's colony, and a gentle nudge from a single jet subtly altered the Enterprise's course. Within an hour—perhaps a little less—they would enter a perfect geostationary orbit above it.
"No anomalous tactical readings, Captain," Malcolm reported from his rear station. His precise tones cut across the bridge, snapping the crew from their temporary sense of awe at seeing an alien planet.
"No communications signals, Captain," Hoshi confirmed from her post, having taken the time to scan twice. None were expected; but the Enterprise crew was too sharp to rely on that.
"Verena?" Archer glanced back for only a second as he queried the acting chief science officer.
"One moment, sir," she replied, then: "No anomalous readings, sir. The planet appears to be standard M-class. Oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere, with no signs of breathing hazards. Air pressure slightly denser than Earth norm, and surface gravity is…four-point-two percent stronger."
"I'm getting a visual now, sir," Hoshi added, and the viewscreen blinked once before zooming in rapidly, highlighting a clearing in the band of steppes between the forests and the icecap. As the image cleared, the compound became apparent: a network of artificial structures arranged, in a rough semi-circle, around a rockface containing doors, windows, and even a skylight.
Travis felt the shift in the air as the captain moved away. "Malcolm, you're with me," Archer ordered, his voice trailing slightly as he crossed to the lift. "Travis, you have the bridge."
"Aye, sir," Travis called out. He tapped a command to summon his helm replacement, and assumed the command chair.
...
I.K.S. Ba'Sugh
Somewhere
A Klingon bird-of-prey is a rather small vessel.
Nonetheless, rank has its privileges, particularly in the feudal mindset of Klingon society. The packed vessel contained two rooms of barracks-style bunks; one, crammed in tightly with little room to even move, was for the enlisted crew. The second, slightly roomier—but only slightly—was for the small officer corp.
But the captain got his own room.
Although the room had been claimed by Maâlîk, there was no question of where Soong would set up shop. He was their father, after all, holding a position even loftier than that of a Klingon captain. But now that he was here, in the presence of his children, with workspace and a computer at his disposal…Soong could find no energy to think about genetics.
Ten years of sitting in his cell, with nothing but a pencil, some paper, and his mind, he had spent every waking hour endlessly jotting down notes and ideas, visualizing the genetic chains in his head, sometimes crafting double helixes out of his dinner; his memory held a treasure trove of genetic data the work of others and his own alterations conceived of and developed during his long incarceration. He had a hundred ideas; nay, a thousand ideas, for how to augment his children still further, to make them tougher and smarter, to make them better able to survive lethal reaches of interstellar space.
But he couldn't focus.
It was such a very unusual sensation for him, and it troubled Soong as he rocked back in his chair, his eyes glazing over as he tried to read the packets of biochemical codes scrolling across the computer screen before him. The questions on his mind seemed far more profound than sequences of nucleic acid. How did my children end up with a stolen bird-of-prey? Why do their eyes seem so hard? They had picked up Tûrêl; but where are Bêrîth and Raâkîn?
As Soong wondered, his min floating on the musings, the hatchway doors opened with a characteristic Klingon clang. Turning about, Soong rise, but he greeted his new bunkmate with a warm smile. "Hello, Maâlîk," the doctor stated, wondering if the others had noted the strain in the young man. "Is there any sign of pursuit?"
Maâlîk fell heavily onto the thick pile of furs covering the slab of a bed. "No, Father," he answered wearily. "We've found no trace of pursuit or surveillance."
"Perhaps you should take a rest, Maâlîk," Soong offered in concern. "We have several days of flight ahead of us. One of the others can handle your duties for the time being.
"No. Thank you, Father, but no," Maâlîk restated quickly. "I am the Leader. It is up to—me—to keep my brothers and sisters safe." Several deep yawns provided pauses in the sentence.
"Yes," Soong replied softly. "Then, perhaps, we should take the time to have a conversation."
Maâlîk smiled woefully. "Of course, Father," he answered. His tone flirted with insouciance. "What would you like to discuss?"
Soong leaned forward. "Where are Bêrîth and Raâkîn?"
"They both died recently," Maâlîk replied nonchalantly.
"Died?" Soong's already pale face became ashen. "But they—I mean, they—" He stammered a bit, unable to finish the thought.
Maâlîk nodded in confirmation. "You know of Bêrîth's condition, Father," the Leader answered. "Our exile was too rough for him. I'm sorry, Father, but he didn't make it."
Soong nodded soberly as he acknowledged the sad report. It was, in its own way, unsurprising; and that, if nothing else, eased the sharp infliction of pain stabbing through the doctor's being. Bêrîth had been…a treasured child, a precious child, strong in his own ways. But there was no denying his physical frailty.
"And what of Raâkîn?" Soong asked, softly, nudging the young leader along. "I've asked around. No one will tell me what happened."
"What exactly have the others said?" Maâlîk replied, cautiously. A notable hic, a grieving sound, was clear in his voice.
"Only that Raâkîn didn't make it," Soong answered. There was a remarkable sense of silence surrounding the circumstances of Raâkîn's death, as if the old childhood codes were still in force among his maturing offspring; the old parental intuition told him that something big, something scarring, centered on Raâkîn's death, but touched all of his children.
Maâlîk's eyes bounced around the low-lit room, as if searching for a place to hide. "There was an accident," he said at last, his voice croaking slightly with subdued grief. "Shortly before we left the moon."
Soong sat back in his chair in conscious effort to lessen the physical pressure on Maâlîk. "What happened?" the doctor prodded. He kept his voice soft and gentle, reassuring the young man that he had nothing to fear; Soong was simply a concerned parent. There may be blame to place…but Soong knew he wouldn't. It's not worth it, he reflected. Two of the twenty had already been touched by death; and the survivors had no one to turn to for solace in those brutal days.
And he could see the guilt in Maâlîk's face.
Whatever happened, Soong understood, it involved Maâlîk somehow. The two boys—at least, in those blissful years of their childhood—had been constantly at odds with each other; Raâkîn's love for hierarchy and Maâlîk's thirst for chaos were a volatile mix. But it made Raâkîn a better leader, and Maâlîk a better…leader as well.
If Raâkîn had simply died, Soong understood, it would not be troubling his other son so much.
And Maâlîk's grief was genuine as he stumbled forward, uncharacteristically unsure of himself. "We were having an argument," he began, haltingly. "I—I was accusing him of being a coward, of ignoring our destiny. He was angry with me…and lost his focus. He slipped on a wet rock."
"And?" Soong prodded again.
"He fell into a lake of hydrogen sulfide," Maâlîk stated quietly. "The concentration…was too high. I tried to grab his hand, and pull him out—but he was gone. I'm sorry, Father."
There was more to the story—more to the argument, more to the dispute, more to Maâlîk's sense of self-reproach, but Soong chose to let it go. His son—his surviving son—did not need Soong's condemnation.
"It's okay, Maâlîk," the doctor answered. "It's okay. I should have been there for you—for both of you."
...
Enterprise
Kappa-2 Monocerotis
Dusk had fallen by the time the shuttlepod reached the surface, and although it meant little to Porthos, the remainder of the landing party broke out flashlights as they clambered out of the small craft. An experimental sniff of the air revealed that it was clean and strong; the odor of alien flowers was easily detectable, tantalizing the human noses with heretofore unknown scents and promises.
Porthos, for his part, promptly peed.
"This way!" Archer called out, gesturing towards the rockface. Unsealed files from the original raid indicated that the main facilities were built into the rock; time permitting—which seemed likely—they would bring down additional teams to search the other buildings.
It was short work to enter—the door, presumably unused for a decade, was conspicuously clean of debris, opening easily at the push of a hand. Leaving two guards outside, the team made their way in, flashing lights about the entryway; the first room was a large cavern, split into several parts by the use of paper screens. A common room, Archer identified quickly. Numerous corridors jutted outward, snaking their way deeper into the rock.
"Cap'n!" Smitty called out, his voice echoing from a rocky alcove along one wall of the large room. "You gotta see this—a protein resequencer, water purifier, cryogenic storage…everything you'd need to keep a colony of humans alive!"
"Sir! Over here!" Malcolm added, drawing the captain's attention to another alcove, this one closer. Stepping over beside the dividing wall, Archer noticed what appeared to be a lab; scientific equipment, most of which he didn't recognize, flashed blinking lights at him.
"Smitty!" Archer called his engineer over. Sidestepping around an overturned chair, Trip joined his commander to survey the equipment.
Smitty grabbed a handful of loose wires, and studied the connectors on the end. "Interfaces," he said. "They look a lot like the ones we have in our Sickbay. I'd say these were wired to medical equipment."
"I need to know exactly what kind," Archer responded. "It's important."
"I'll see what I can find out," the engineer answered.
As the engineer bent down to take a closer look at the equipment, Archer continued his survey of the main room. Turning to a wall-mounted monitor, the captain tapped the screen, opening a random file. Surprisingly, it wasn't a genetic schematic, nor a school lesson; he had opened up a video file of Dr. Soong and the children, clearly celebrating a birthday. Soong sat in the middle of the screen. In front of him sat a cake, bearing ten candles. A group of children clustered around, laughing and giggling in anticipation of the sweet dessert. One of the children leaned forward and blew out the candles. "I'll be damned," Archer murmured to himself.
...
Deeper into the rock, Malcolm moved slowly through a passageway, wondering to himself why Starfleet landing parties always seemed to end up deep in caves. This one, at least, was not overtly dank and dark; it may have been, at one time, a natural tunnel cutting through the thickened bedrock, but the walls had been carved away. Now, it was comfortably large; two people could easily fit abreast without discomfort, and the floors, wall, and ceiling were all smoothed over. Gently running his fingers over the stone, Malcolm took a moment to examine the work; surprisingly, it bore small imperfections, as if the finishing had been performed by hand
A glowing glimmer in one corner caught Malcolm's eye, and curious, he dimmed his flashlight to its lowest setting, transitioning slowly downward into the near-infrared wavelengths as his eyes adapted. Now, several glowing stripes were visible, running horizontally along the walls; stronger in some places and weaker in others, as if the bioluminescent substance hadn't received its last sprucing up, but painted with arrows distinctly leading back to the front of the warren.
Submerged in the simple sublimity Malcolm closed his eyes for a moment, allowing his other senses to surge to the forefront. He could hear the echo of voices, back behind him at the entrance cavern; but the only other sound was the snuffling of a beagle's nose as Porthos trotted up beside him .It was the dog's sudden tenseness, rather than any perception of his own, that alerted Malcolm.
Someone else was in the tunnel.
Who could it be? Calmly, Malcolm sifted through the options. The Enterprise landing party was all accounted for. It could be an indigenous life form, but there had been no sign of animalistic disturbance. In fact, Malcolm realized, there was no sign of any disturbance at all, other than the clear doorway.
His own breath lessened, Malcolm shut off his light and lessened his breath, listening for sign of the intruder—the other intruder, he amended. The faint glow provided sufficient light with which to see; and sensing nothing on his own, Malcolm carefully followed the beagle's peering eyeline. There, behind that bend.
Porthos sensed it first.
Malcolm reacted instinctively, flattening himself against the wall as the dog burst into frantic snarling; and a figure rushed forward, not pausing as it passed by, leaving behind a chilled breeze and the odor of unwashed stench. In the momentary, fleeting glimpse, the being resembled a faint, skeleton-thin ghost, unnaturally slender with an almost glowing paleness.
Porthos was hot on the being's tail, baying loudly as he chased the stranger towards the front cavern; and Malcolm came along, two steps behind, allowing the bioluminescent stripes to guide him through the darkness. There was only a short distance, he judged, before they reached the front; he had been little more than a hundred meters into the tunnel, and the being navigated the twists and turns with natural ease.
...
No one could miss the bark of a beagle in hot pursuit.
Archer, Smitty, and the two-person security detail fanned out, their movements dictated by silent hand signals four flashlights trained on the entrance to the tunnel, hoping to stun the unknown being with the force of right light. Two seconds counted down, an almost agonizing wait, before the being appeared suddenly.
It—he, Archer corrected, making an educated guess—hit the concentrated spotlight and froze. The being's pale skin seemed almost bleached in the light.
Very carefully, the captain lowered his own light and stepped into the penumbra of his others. He knelt down, laying his photonic pistol on the floor with exaggerated movements; and as he slowly straightened, Archer held his arms open, his hands wide and facing the stranger. His voice was level and calm as he spoke. "We're not going to hurt you."
"Who are you?" the being demanded, his voice rapidly approaching panic; but the words were familiar to the Starfleet officers. Despite the being's otherworldly appearance, he was human—the diction was too natural for an alien speaker.
"We're your friends," Archer stated, trying to project his best notion of friendly warmth. "We're not going to hurt you. We just want to talk to you."
"Leave me alone!" the being shouted, shifting his feet as though preparing to flee. Jerking slightly from side to side, the being reached behind himself and produced a knife.
The blast of Malcolm's photonic pistol immediately leveled the being from behind.