Star Trek: That Which Divides (23 page)

“What do you mean by that?” Kirk asked.

By way of reply, Boma made his way to the control console Uhura had been monitoring. He touched several of the console’s flat black plates in sequence, each contact bringing with it a string of melodic tones accompanied by new lines of Kalandan text on the station’s central display. “During our investigation, we discovered what looks to be a data storage facility located about two kilometers beneath us. The thing is massive. If I did the math correctly, we’re talking about a data warehouse holding more information than Memory Alpha
and
Memory Prime
combined
.”

“That’s one hell of a lot of storage,” McCoy said.

Kirk replied, “Bones, your talent for understatement knows no bounds.” Memory Alpha, the central repository housing information pertaining to the historical, cultural, and scientific achievements for each of the Federation’s member worlds, was among the largest such archives in existence and was available to anyone who wished to make use of its extensive collection.

“This is incredible,” Sortino said, her amazement evident in both her voice and expression. “The library of an entire civilization, right here beneath our feet.”

Boma nodded with no small amount of enthusiasm. “Exciting doesn’t even begin to describe it, Ambassador.”

“In addition to the data storage complex,” Spock added, “there is evidence of a vast communications array, which we’ve been able to determine is activated soon after the energy field surrounding the planetoid opens and allows passage. It’s quite possible that this system transmitted or
received instructions during the intervals that the rift was open.”

“Or updates?” Uhura asked. When Kirk and the others looked at her, she shrugged. “If it’s supposed to be a library, it makes sense that the Kalandans would want to keep it updated.”

“But they’ve been dead for thousands of years,” McCoy said. “So, who the hell has this planet’s computer system been talking to?”

Spock replied, “Most likely no one, Doctor.”

“So,” Kirk said, if this
is
an archive like Memory Alpha or some other kind of backup for their knowledge base, it makes sense for the Kalandans to have wanted to protect it.”

Boma said, “It might not even be the only such repository they created. Redundant backup storage, that sort of thing. We certainly learned our own lesson on that front.”

Recalling the incident that had resulted in the loss of a great deal of data from the Memory Alpha complex, Kirk could only nod in agreement. After sustaining damage during a freak attack by noncorporeal beings that actually had been targeting the facility’s humanoid staff members, the ensuing loss of information had triggered the creation of Memory Prime and several other backup installations, as well as a network of smaller stations scattered throughout Federation space. It was hoped that the resulting division of information assets among the disparate data collection storehouses would reduce if not prevent further loss of such records.

“If what we learned at the other outpost we found is any indication,” Kirk said, “the Kalandans were very interested in decentralizing their base of power. According to the records Spock was able to access, there may be dozens of
planets like that one
and
this one, with examples of their technology and amassed knowledge storehouses. They obviously were planning ahead for some kind of major event so far as their civilization was concerned.” Despite Spock’s best efforts, however, the Kalandans’ ultimate goal, if indeed there even was one, remained as much a mystery as the long-dead race itself.

“Imagine the information that might be down there,” Sortino said, shaking her head in amazement. “It’s obvious the Kalandans were more technologically advanced than we are, at least in some respects. Think of what we can learn from them.”

Boma nodded as he looked to Kirk. “The information and equipment in this facility alone would take years of comprehensive study, sir.”

“And Starfleet will send specialists here to do just that,” Kirk countered, “but that might have to be postponed, unless we take steps to protect the Dolysians’ interests here. We also need to be thinking ahead so far as the Romulans are concerned.” There could be no forgetting the destroyed Romulan vessel and the signal it had dispatched just prior to its destruction. More ships would be coming, he knew, searching for answers and possibly even stumbling into the same trap. Then there was the possibility that someone from the
Enterprise
or even Dolysia might do something else to provoke the Kalandan defense system.

So,
Kirk thought,
how do we prevent that from happening?
He held no real desire to see injury or death inflicted upon those who considered him their enemy, even when circumstances allowed no other option. So long as alternatives to taking life existed, he would seek them out and exploit them. “Spock,” he said, “what can you tell me about
getting control of the system and maybe even shutting it down? Or at least being able to redirect or countermand any actions it might take against perceived threats?”

“We have not yet gained access to those processes, Captain,” the Vulcan replied. “The entire system is rigidly compartmentalized and therefore does not lend itself to easy access by unauthorized parties. If not for the knowledge we gained from the other Kalandan outpost, as well as the talents of Mister Boma and Lieutenant Uhura, we would not have made it this far.”

From behind Kirk, Uhura said, “Captain, I think you need to see this.” When the group turned to her, the captain saw that she had moved back to the console she had been monitoring during the attack on the Romulan vessel. She pointed to one of the monitors, which once again displayed row after row of what Kirk could describe with utmost generosity as gibberish.

Echoing his thoughts, McCoy said, “That looks worse than Scotty’s technical journals.”

Kirk ignored the comment as he stepped closer to the console. “What’ve you got, Lieutenant?”

“This monitor is displaying an extract from what Lieutenant Boma and I have determined to be—for lack of a better term—an activity log. There are entries here for all of the different tasks, actions, queries, and results processed by the computer network, including the defense system.”

“So,” Kirk said, “you’re able to tell me everything this thing’s been doing since it came on line?”

Boma replied, “If a complete archive of the system activity is recorded in that data storage beneath our feet, we should be able to tell you every action this computer has taken since it was first activated.”

Setting aside the idea of what thousands of years of recorded computer data might look like, how long it might take to access it, or how much storage space such a massive amount of information might require, Kirk looked to Uhura. “I’m guessing you’ve got something to show us from the recent past, Lieutenant?”

The communications officer nodded as she gestured once more to the monitors. “Yes, sir. According to this, and if I’m translating the date and time computations correctly, the defense system recorded the actions it took when confronting the
Huang Zhong
and the Romulan ship. From what I’m seeing of the sensor data, the Romulan vessel was not destroyed.”

“What?” Sortino asked, her eyes widening in surprise. “Are you sure?”

Uhura replied, “Not one hundred percent, but from the recorded data, the ship seemed to disappear just seconds before the final attack.” She looked to Kirk. “Sir, I think they activated their cloaking device and managed to escape.”

“Escape to where?” McCoy asked. “We’d have heard from the
Enterprise
if they had gone back through the rift, right?”

Spock said, “The sensor data recorded during the engagement noted the damage inflicted upon the Romulan vessel. If it did survive the attack, then it likely would require extensive repairs.”

“If that’s true,” Kirk said, “we may have ourselves some party crashers, after all.”

Standing at the foot of the ramp leading into her ship, Commander Vathrael looked toward the sky and noted the beginnings of the color shift signifying the onset of nightfall. Unlike the mauve tinge cast over everything during daylight hours, the effect of the energy field encompassing this world now was beginning to radiate a pale violet glow across the surrounding landscape, a hue Vathrael had come to find soothing. Though the barrier prevented the penetration to the planetoid’s surface of direct sunlight as well as light reflected from the two moons orbiting the nearby inhabited planet, the light refracted from the barrier itself did a serviceable job of compensating for that loss. Vathrael wondered if those responsible for the energy field had intended such an effect, or if it was simply an odd consequence of the technology they had seen fit to place here.

An interesting question
, she conceded. It was but one of many queries she had considered with respect to the planetoid as well as the technology it seemed to harbor and those who created it. The weapons certainly commanded her interest, given how it had disabled and—if not for the timely intervention of her engineer—nearly destroyed the
Nevathu
, and brought about its forced landing here. Despite any personal desire Vathrael might have to further investigate such mysteries, they would have to be set aside while
she and her crew tended to the more immediate problems they faced.

Footsteps on the ramp behind made her turn to see her engineer, Subcommander Mylas, descending toward her from the ship. His face and hands, along with his uniform—a standard gray one-piece coverall designed for wear by crew personnel when performing labor-intensive tasks where the regular duty uniform was inappropriate—were smudged with grime. Thinning, stark white hair dampened with perspiration and bloodshot eyes rounded out his disheveled appearance, testifying to the extended period of time he had spent in the bowels of the
Nevathu
.

“You look tired, my friend,” Vathrael said as she regarded him.

Mylas nodded as he came to a stop at the foot of the ramp. “I’ll rest when the work is completed, Commander.” Despite his words, he leaned against one of the ramp’s support struts, a breach of protocol that Vathrael would never have tolerated from anyone but him.

Unable to resist a small smile, she said, “If you’d let Fleet Command give you the promotion you’ve already earned several times, by my count, you wouldn’t have to crawl around in the belly of my ship trying to fix everything.”

“I much prefer my present duties, Commander. I’m not a creature of politics, or even polished military bearing. My place is with the machines, and I am happy to continue serving in that capacity so long as the empire will have me.”

Vathrael replied, “Fleet Command’s loss is my good fortune.” She first met Mylas when she was but a young centurion, recently graduated from the military academy on Romulus and having been posted to her first
assignment to the warship
Bloodied Talon
. Mylas had been that vessel’s engineer, and she recalled that even then he had projected the same attitude toward promotion or any other offer that might remove him from the position for which he was without question ideally suited. The two had become friends during that assignment, and continued to correspond even after duty and circumstance saw to it that they were separated and dispatched to different ships. Several
fvheisn
later, having been promoted several ranks herself and after receiving her orders to take command of the
Nevathu
, Vathrael learned that Mylas had not yet retired and asked him to transfer to her ship to serve as its engineer. It was a request he had obliged without hesitation, much to her delight, and in addition to his duties overseeing the scout ship and its systems, Mylas also resumed the other role he had taken on during her early career: that of her mentor, sympathetic listener, and even her conscience.

“How are the repairs progressing?” Vathrael asked.

Covering his mouth with one hand to stifle a yawn, Mylas nodded. “As well as can be expected, Commander. Life support is fully operational. The sensors are still off line, but we should be able to test the impulse engines by this time tomorrow.” He paused as though considering his remarks, before adding, “Most of the actual repair work there is complete, but I wish to execute some tests and a computer simulation before we attempt to employ the engines.”

“Have you no faith in your own skills?” Vathrael asked, suppressing the urge to smile once again.

Mylas shook his head. “I simply have an aversion to dying in an expanding ball of fire and gas, which is what
will happen if our repairs to the impulse drive are incorrect, incomplete, or careless.”

Trusting her friend’s judgment, Vathrael replied, “Very well. It’s not as though we will be in any hurry to depart.” Then, realizing how her words could be interpreted, she added, “I’m sorry, Mylas. That was an inconsiderate remark.”

Rather than appearing offended, the elder Romulan instead released a small, quiet chuckle. “Worry not, Commander. I understood your meaning. Of course, I do regret that there are limitations to what we can repair.”

“You saved the ship,” Vathrael countered. “Would you not agree that to be the primary concern?”

Mylas nodded. “In light of that, I bow to your wisdom, Commander.” He punctuated the remark with another tired laugh.

The attack on the
Nevathu
from the mysterious defense system buried beneath the planetoid’s surface had come within moments of being disastrous. From the pitched battle’s beginning, Mylas had been taking steps from the depths of the engineering section. Though he was not fast enough to prevent the initial damage to the ship, it was his quick thinking and resourcefulness that had seen to the deactivation of all weapons systems as well as the haphazard deployment of the
Nevathu
’s cloaking device. The cloak’s reactivation had come at the precise, necessary moment, rendering it invisible to the planetary defenses and allowing the ship to drop undetected from orbit.