Star Trek: Deep Space Nine®: These Haunted Seas, page 30
“Can you tell if the energy is a natural phenomenon,” Vaughn asked, “or artificial?”
Nog looked over to Shar, who said, “No, we can’t.” The science officer reached up to the monitor and traced a circle along the boundary between the complex and the gray patch. “Sections of the buildings here appear to have collapsed, which could indicate a natural phenomenon that the builders of the complex were not expecting. But it may be that this is some sort of energy-production facility, and the builders somehow lost control of it.”
“Either way,” Dax said, “whether the energy occurs naturally or artificially, this must be what destroyed the civilization on the planet.”
“Actually, we’re not certain about that,” Nog said. “Scans around the rest of the planet show it to be perfectly habitable—” Shar passed his padd to him, and he passed it to Vaughn. “—and the pulse appears to have emanated outward and upward from the complex, not along the surface.”
“But the planet is devoid of life,” Dax noted.
“That’s true,” Nog agreed, “but we’re just not sure why.”
“Any idea how we might be able to stop the pulses?” Vaughn asked.
“Not yet,” Nog said. “But from the level of the interference with the sensors, we were able to determine the current magnitude of the energy at the site. And the rate at which it’s changing.”
“Changing?” Dax said.
“Yes,” Nog said. “The amount of energy there is increasing considerably.”
“Why?” Vaughn asked.
“We don’t know,” Nog said. “But we can tell that it is increasing at a combinatorial rate.”
“Combinatorial?” Dax said. She sounded shocked, and Nog thought that she clearly understood that such a rate of change was far greater than either a geometric or exponential progression.
“Yes,” Nog said. “And if it continues increasing like that, then the amount of energy there will soon match the amount in the pulse we encountered in the Vahni system.”
“Meaning that another pulse will launch into space,” Vaughn concluded solemnly.
“We think so,” Nog said.
“How long?” Vaughn wanted to know.
Nog glanced over at Shar again, not for scientific support this time, but for moral support. Nog did not want to answer Vaughn’s question, because he did not want the information he had to be true. But he knew that it was.
Nog turned back to face Vaughn and Dax. “Three and a half days,” he said.
Before Vaughn issued his final order, he glanced down at the padd on his desk. In the upper right corner of the display, a flashing icon denoted the active link to the ship’s library computer, and in the middle of the screen, a blue progress indicator had almost reached the three-quarters mark. The download of the Vahni data, together with the translation algorithms for their written language, was taking some time.
Vaughn looked back up at the figure of Lieutenant Dax standing across from him. Her soft, round features had drawn into a tense expression, but she wore it well, he thought; the situation warranted concern, and she seemed neither panicked nor unsure, despite the tremendous responsibility being thrust upon her. “If something should happen on the planet,” Vaughn told her, continuing their conversation, “if we’re not back in eighty hours, I want you to take Defiant out of here.”
“Yes, sir,” she said. To her credit, she spoke without hesitation, although Vaughn knew that even the idea of abandoning three of the crew must have troubled her, particularly after the loss of Ensign Roness. It would have bothered any officer. Vaughn had certainly left enough people behind in his career to know that it never got any easier. And sometimes, he thought, you end up leaving yourself behind…or pieces of yourself.
Vaughn stood up and walked around the desk. “Lieutenant,” he said, locking eyes with his first officer, “I want to be very clear about this.” As much as he could, he would ease this burden for her by making this decision now, and not requiring her to make it later. “I don’t want Defiant here even a minute past the deadline I’ve given you. Even if we can’t save the Vahni, we’re at least going to save the crew.”
Dax straightened, her bearing changing subtly. She nodded slowly and seriously, her hands slipping out of sight behind her back. The expression on her face appeared to belong momentarily to somebody else. “I understand,” she said in a voice that also seemed only partially her own. “I won’t wait.”
“Good,” Vaughn said, and he circled back behind his desk again. “Believe me, though,” he went on, “if we can’t stop the next pulse from launching into space, I don’t intend to be on the planet for it. There are buildings still standing down on the surface, but there certainly aren’t any people.”
He leaned to his right and checked the padd again, his fingertips brushing the smooth, glassine desktop. The progress indicator had edged up toward the eighty percent mark, he saw.
“Sir?” Dax said, and now her voice sounded exclusively like her own again. “What about the Vahni Vahltupali? If you can’t stop the pulse on the planet, and we can’t stop it in space, then should we contact them? Should we contact them now and tell them about the situation?”
Vaughn sighed. He had thought about this himself during the past few hours. “My decision would be not to,” he said, sitting back down. “If the next pulse is even as powerful as the last one—and the Vahni records tell us that it will be more powerful—then they have virtually no chance of surviving. At the very least, the quakes that will wrack their planet will decimate their civilization. They don’t have starships, and none could arrive from the Alpha Quadrant in time to evacuate them.”
“So what good would it do to tell them that their society was facing annihilation?” Dax asked rhetorically, answering her original question. She brought her hands out from behind her back and clasped them together in front of her waist. “There would be panic.”
“Panic,” Vaughn agreed, “and fear and sorrow and pain. I see no reason to visit that upon them.” What he did see, though, was an opportunity to further demonstrate his confidence in Dax’s leadership. She had learned a great deal and performed well in the few months since she had chosen to pursue the command path, and his belief in her was tacit in his having assigned her as Defiant’s first officer for this mission to the Gamma Quadrant. At the same time, the Starfleet crew on DS9 were not exactly overburdened with command personnel, a circumstance that had obviously contributed to Dax’s rapid rise to a position of such authority. Vaughn certainly felt her capable, but because of the fast and dramatic increase in her responsibilities, he endeavored to demonstrate his faith in her whenever the chance arose. “If I’m not on Defiant when it departs, though,” he told her, “then whether or not to contact the Vahni will be your decision. If we don’t make it back to the ship, the only order I’m binding you to at that time is to get the crew to safety.”
“Yes, sir,” she said.
“In the meantime, keep Lieutenant Nog and Ensign T’rb focused on finding a means of defeating the pulse in space,” he said. “Maybe if we can’t shut it down at the source, they’ll be able to find some way of dealing with it up here.”
“Both the engineering and science staffs are already working on the problem,” Dax said.
“I know,” Vaughn said. “Defiant has a fine crew.”
Dax nodded her agreement. “One last thing, Captain,” she said. “What about the Sagan? Should I keep a team working on it?” The necessary repairs to the shuttle would still take another five to eight days to complete.
“Yes,” he said after a moment’s thought. “Unless those personnel are specifically needed for the effort to stop the pulse. We’re not that sure of our facts; maybe the energy buildup will start to diminish, or the rate of increase will, and we’ll end up here for more than three days. In that case, the second shuttle might be of some use to us.” Vaughn did not need to dwell on the fact that, once he took Chaffee down to the planet’s surface, he and the shuttle crew would be isolated from Defiant—and from any assistance, should they require it. Neither communications, sensors, nor the transporter could penetrate the energy in the cloud cover. Lieutenant Dax and Dr. Bashir had already raised concerns about that issue, but Vaughn had quickly decided that whatever potential risk there would be to the shuttle crew was easily offset by the almost certain danger to the Vahni.
“Understood,” Dax acknowledged.
“Is there anything else, Lieutenant?” Vaughn asked.
“No, sir,” she said. “Except…good luck, Captain.”
“And to you, Lieutenant,” Vaughn said. “I know I’m leaving the ship in good hands.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Dismissed.”
Dax started for the door, but she stopped when a voice sounded over the comm system. “Ensign ch’Thane to Captain Vaughn.”
Vaughn tapped his combadge. “Go ahead, Ensign,” Vaughn said.
“The shuttle is ready to go,” he reported.
“Very good,” Vaughn said. He glanced down once more at the padd. The progress bar had now passed the eighty-five-percent point. “I’ll be there in about twenty minutes,” he said. “Vaughn out.”
Dax nodded and continued out of the ready room. Vaughn watched her go, the deck’s main port corridor briefly visible beyond her as the door opened and closed. He turned in his chair to the computer interface on his desk. With practiced movements, he quickly accessed the file of sensor readings the probe had recorded at the source of the pulse. Vaughn really had no idea what they would be able to do once they got down there, even if they were able to learn more from a closer examination. The best hope, of course, lay in the notion that the pulse might be the product of a mechanism that could be shut down, or that they could destroy with the shuttle’s phasers. Somehow, Vaughn doubted any solution would turn out to be that simple.
Not for the first time, the prospect of unleashing the phaser cannons and firing a salvo of quantum torpedoes occurred to him. In his mind, he saw the powerful weaponry pounding the planet, the surface collapsing and eventually liquefying amid a hail of light and explosions. But for all they knew, the energy of the phasers and torpedoes—if they could even penetrate the cloud cover and be delivered accurately to their target—might hasten or even strengthen the next pulse.
Vaughn again reviewed both the raw numbers of the sensor data and the analyses the crew had so far done. To this point, they had learned very little. He could only hope that going down to the planet would provide them with more information.
A few minutes later, a tiny chime signaled the completion of the download. Vaughn switched off the computer interface, then reached over and picked up the padd. He sequenced through a quick diagnostic to verify the success of the data transfer. He then opened one of the Vahni files to ensure that the translation algorithms functioned properly. As the colorful and complex shapes of the written Vahni language marched across the display, the plain letters of Federation Standard crawling along beneath them, Vaughn vividly recalled the scene of the crowd singing at the memorial service, their “voices” a prismatic flow of forms and contours.
Vaughn switched the padd off and stood up. He reached over past the computer interface, to where he had earlier tossed his old Starfleet field coat. Surface temperatures around the source of the pulse had read mild during the day, but would likely drop during the night. Vaughn put on the coat—which he had managed to hold on to since his days as a cadet—and tucked the padd into an inside pocket. Then he headed for the shuttlebay.
The door to the shuttlebay opened to a jet of fire. Along the starboard side of the battered Sagan, Ensign Permenter guided a laser torch across a section of twisted hull plating; where the ruby beam contacted the metal, sparks flew in a bright fountain. The starboard warp nacelle, which had nearly been torn from the shuttle during its ascent through the Vahni atmosphere, lay on the deck behind Sagan, still in obvious need of repair. Beside Permenter, Ensign Gordimer used a tricorder to monitor the work being done. Both officers wore protective eyewear. Gordimer, Vaughn knew, was a security officer, but on a ship with a crew of only forty during an extended mission, people often had to labor outside their specialty.
As Vaughn started into the shuttlebay, he heard somebody call to him from behind, barely audible above the hissing drone of the metalworking. “Captain.” Vaughn turned in the doorway to see Dr. Bashir rushing to catch up to him.
“Yes, Doctor?” Vaughn said, raising his voice to be heard.
“I need to talk with you, sir,” Bashir said as he reached the doorway. Vaughn looked at the doctor, saw the serious expression on his face, and stepped back out into the corridor. The door glided shut, cutting off the noise of the laser torch.
“What is it, Doctor?” Vaughn asked. “I assume this can’t wait.”
“I’m sorry,” Bashir said. “I’ve been struggling with whether or not to approach you about this, and, well, I’ve decided I really don’t have much choice.”
“Make it quick,” Vaughn said, his voice registering the annoyance he felt at being delayed. “Time is a factor here. I need to get on the shuttle.”
“That’s just it, sir,” Bashir said. “I’m wondering whether you’re the right person to be going on this mission.”
“Excuse me?” Vaughn said, nonplussed that the ship’s chief medical officer seemed to be taking exception to personnel assignments.
“You’re the senior officer on the ship, Captain,” Bashir explained, “and for you to take part in a potentially dangerous away mission—”
“Just a minute,” Vaughn said, interrupting. “Who would you have replace me on the shuttle?”
Bashir had a ready answer. “Lieutenant Bowers, I think, would be a good selection.”
“Lieutenant Bowers,” Vaughn echoed, and he suddenly thought he understood the doctor’s motivation. He took a couple of steps past Bashir, then turned back to face him. “Not Lieutenant Dax?”
“Bowers, I believe, has more experience on away missions,” Bashir said, although he did not sound entirely convinced of his own words.
“I see,” Vaughn said. He considered several ways of dealing with the doctor on this issue, but quickly opted for expediency. “Are you worried about me going down to the planet,” he asked, “or about Lieutenant Dax being left in command of Defiant?”
“I’m concerned about Lieutenant Dax,” Bashir admitted. “I won’t deny that. After what she’s been through, I’d also say that’s a legitimate concern.”
“You’re right, it is,” Vaughn said. “Which is why I took it into account when I made my decision. I believe Lieutenant Dax is up to the task I set her.”
“With all due respect, sir,” Bashir said, “that may not be the case. She may seem to be all right when she’s on duty, but off duty, she’s—”
“Don’t tell me,” Vaughn said.
“But, sir—” Bashir began to protest.
“I don’t want to know,” Vaughn reiterated. He looked down a cross-corridor and away from the doctor for a moment, attempting to rein in his displeasure at having to deal with this now. At the same time, he realized that Bashir’s apprehensions about Dax were not without reason. “I like Lieutenant Dax,” Vaughn said, looking back over at the doctor. “I suppose that we’ve even become friends in a way that Curzon and I never managed to. But I’m also her commanding officer, and in the middle of a mission. And what I see from her professionally right now is that she has worked out the loss of Ensign Roness.”
Bashir nodded. “What I’m suggesting,” he said, “is that perhaps she hasn’t actually worked it out as well you think she has.”
“But that’s my point,” Vaughn said. “In her job as a Starfleet lieutenant, as first officer of this ship, she’s behaved perfectly well. Whatever her private feelings are, she’s not allowed them to interfere with the performance of her duties.” Vaughn paused, then said, “I have confidence in her abilities.”
“As do I,” Bashir returned at once.
“But what is this about,” Vaughn asked, “if not her ability to command under stress?” When Bashir did not respond right away, Vaughn stepped back over to him. “Is it maybe about the difficulty of command, about the substantial burden of its responsibilities, especially under stress, and you wanting to shield her from that?”
“I suppose it might be,” Bashir said, looking down briefly.
“Don’t be so troubled by that, Julian,” Vaughn said. “It’s not a wrong or bad point of view. I understand it, and even appreciate it. But I can’t permit it to influence my command decisions.”
“Of course, sir,” Bashir said in a tone that seemed to indicate his understanding.
Vaughn moved away from Bashir and said, “Carry on, Doctor,” dismissing him.
“Yes, sir,” Bashir said.
Vaughn walked forward and the door to the shuttlebay opened. He expected to be greeted with the screech of the laser torch slicing through metal, but instead, only the voices of Permenter and Gordimer reached him. As Vaughn started through the doorway, Bashir called after him again.
“Good luck, Captain,” he said.
Vaughn glanced back over his shoulder. “And to you, Doctor,” he said. Then he continued into the shuttlebay, and the figure of Bashir disappeared behind the closing door.
The shuttlecraft Chaffee hied to port and down. The great, veiled mass of the planet swung into view in the forward windows, implying the movement that the inertial dampers denied. Vaughn scanned the clouds for breaks and saw none. Already, the shuttle had descended toward the planet twice, only to have to pull back when the transitory routes through the cover had been swept closed.
“The depression is increasing,” Ensign ch’Thane reported. He sat at the front starboard console, working the shuttle’s sensors; Vaughn sat directly behind him. Their scans could not penetrate the clouds and the energy surges contained within, but they could visually detect where the cover had parted in an area; ch’Thane tracked such an area right now. “It seems to be stretching far down.”
