STAR TREK - TNG - 37 - The Last Stand

For Sammie, most faithful and furry of collaborators

Prologue

IT WAS A BRIGHT,BEAUTIFUL MORNING , the sun blazing hot and white in a cloudless green

sky. His hands clasped behind him, Kerajem zan Trikotta stood at the east window of his elaborately

appointed office atop Government Tower. The seven members of the Council of Ministers sat silently in

comfortable chairs around the room, each alone with his thoughts.

The ministers had been there all the previous day and through the night. They had talked endlessly of

peace and war, of good and evil, of life and death. They had argued with each other until their voices had

gone, along with their patience. The room air was stale with the sweat of their effort.

Now it was midmorning of the next day, and time was nearly up. The First Among Equals had a decision

to make, and so Kerajem was being left to himself for the few moments left.

Kerajem looked down forty-one flights to the busy streets below. It seemed that everyone in the world

must be outdoors today, enjoying the suddenly fine weather. Kerajem knew that most of the people

down there were government bureaucrats who should have been at their desks on this workday. He

smiled slightly. If the smaller wheels who drove the massive machinery of government wanted to take an

hour or so off to enjoy the sunshine, then why not? It had been a long, hard winter, and this was the first

truly pleasant day the capital had seen in months.

The facts were what they were, and they would not change. That had not stopped several of the

ministers from arguing, bargaining for time, hoping against hope that things would work out nevertheless,

and that a way out of the crisis would be found.

Kerajem looked up toward the eastern horizon. It was so clear today that he could see all the way to the

mountains, which were still white with snow and ice. The mountains were the foothills of the great Kajja

Kojja, the range that divided the eastern coast of this continent from the interior plains.

Kerajem knew those mountains well. He had been born among them, in one of the old mining towns. It

had been a hard life back then. Kerajem had been drafted to work in the mines at the age of six, as the

laws had then required. Children of both sexes were sent into the mines because, being small, they could

scramble and wiggle and force themselves into dark, narrow places where grown men could not go. It

had been highly dangerous work that provided only the most meager reward to the children’s families.

“You came from there, too, Rikkadar,” Kerajem said over his shoulder. “The mountains. You remember

how it was.”

“Yes, First,” the finance minister replied from his chair. He was the only other man in the room above the

age of sixty, and he was the only one there who Kerajem thought of as a friend. “That was a long time

ago.”

“Not very. A mere matter of decades.” Still facing the mountains, Kerajem looked at his hands. He

could not remember a time when he had possessed all ten of his fingers. He might be who he was now,

but the mines always found him again whenever he tried to hold a cup or sign his name.

It had been Kerajem’s generation which, when it had come to maturity and power, had at last eased the

relentless preparations for war instituted and maintained for millennia by their forefathers. Kerajem

himself had helped to form the more liberal policies of modern times when he was younger. There had

been great opposition, mostly by the old, the self-interested, and the superstitious, but reform had finally

come. As a result, living conditions for the people were generally much better than they had been when

Kerajem was a boy.

Social reform had finally come in the conviction that the old stories of doom and destruction had been

merely the exaggerated stuff of hoary legend, tales of horror believed only by the stupid, the gullible, and

the obsessed. However, the world had discovered the terrible truth just thirty-three years before, when

the first signals from space had been detected and the first probes intercepted. Those who would destroy

the world were real, and they were coming. Now they were almost here, and they promised that

everything Kerajem knew and loved would soon end in fire and blood and death.

That promise did not leave the First Among Equals much choice.

There was a transmitter on Kerajem’s desk, a direct line to the War Room. It suddenly beeped politely

for his attention. Kerajem crossed the room and, thumbing a button on the side of the unit, spoke into the

pickup. The eyes of everyone were on him.

“General, this is the First,” Kerajem said, seating himself at the desk, impossibly trying to make himself

comfortable. “You are speaking to the entire Cabinet.”

“Yes, sir. I have a report.”

“Go ahead.”

“The test schedule has been completed. Results are nominal.”

“Very well,” Kerajem said quietly. “Please stand by.”

The First took a last moment for himself and then made his decision. Rikkadar saw the promise of doom

in his friend’s haunted eyes. “Plan Blue doesn’t even represent a real defense,” the finance minister said,

his voice cracking. “Bring them back, Kerajem. Recall them before it’s too late.”

“Blue sets a high price for our demise,” said Hattajek, the minister for defense. He rubbed his eyes

wearily. “We’ve been all over this, First.”

“Indeed we have, Hatta,” Kerajem said gently, “but I would be disappointed if this order were to be

given without objection.”

There were several small, neatly framed photographs set in a group near a far corner of Kerajem’s

cluttered desktop. The foremost photo was a nice portrait of Kerajem’s only

granddaughter—ravenhaired, freckled, unscarred by life and fate. Little Kara and her contemporaries

had never known the inside of the mines and the factories. Kerajem and his fellow reformers had at least

accomplished that much.

Of course, it was not nearly enough.

The First gazed at Kara’s picture for another moment and then he gave the order. “General, execute

Plan Blue Ultimate according to schedule.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll be there shortly with Minister Hattajek.” Kerajem broke the connection. “Thank you all,” he said to

the ministers, dismissing them. “Hatta, you go on ahead. I’ll be along presently.”

“Yes, First.” Hattajek left and, one by one, the others began to drift out of the room after him.

Rikkadar was the last to leave. “Are you sure about this, Kerajem?” he asked softly, when they were

alone. “Are you really sure?”

“Of course not, Rikky,” the First answered kindly, “but it’s all we’ve got.”

Rikkadar sighed. “I suppose so. I wish it were otherwise.”

“So do I. Go home. Get some sleep.”

“So should you, Kerajem.”

The First Among Equals shook his head. “I have to go to the War Room now,” he said quietly. “We’re

at Blue Ultimate. I . . . won’t be home again for a while.”

“All right,” Rikkadar said, “but I’ll be back here later today. Sooner if you need me, of course.”

“Of course.”

“Be well, my friend.” Rikkadar closed the door gently behind him.

Kerajem was alone now. Closing his eyes, he reached far back into his childhood and muttered what

little he remembered of the prayer his mother had taught him to keep him safe in the mines. Only a

miracle could save the world. Though he did not believe, Kerajem bowed his head and prayed to his

mother’s god for a miracle.

Chapter One

Captain’s log, stardate 45523.6. Our survey of this previously unexplored sector is now well into

its second week. We have departed the star system we have temporarily designated 30452

Federation Astrophysical Survey and are on course for the next system on our list.

I am about to begin going over the various summaries of preliminary findings that have been

filed by our department heads concerning 30452 FAS. Given the results of this survey so far, we

are certain to make a rather hefty deposit in the bank of cosmological knowledge.

The work of our Science Division people is providing not only revelation, but respite. Many of

those aboard who are not directly involved in survey work are taking advantage of this

admittedly welcome lull in our usually hectic routine to relax a bit—oh.

THE DOOR SIGNALSQUEEP LED, and Jean-Luc Picard put his log entry on hold. “Come,” he

called, and the door to the ready room slid aside. “Ah, Number One. What brings you here?” Picard

greeted him. “Isn’t this your off time?”

“I’ve been keeping busy, Captain,” Will Riker said, handing Picard a padd. “Here’s the correlated

environmental data on the third and fourth planets of ‘452. Thought you might want to see this sooner

rather than later.”

Picard smiled, took the padd, and leaned back in his chair. “Thank you, Will,” the captain said as he

began to scan the display. “With the ton of work we’ve yet to get through, I didn’t feel right in making

this a priority item. It was thoughtful of you to run this on your own.” He tapped the padd with a finger.

“Ah,here’s what I was hoping to see.”

“Let me guess. The ambient radiation spike on Planet Three?”

Picard nodded slowly. “Precisely. As we thought, it’s coincident with the date of the formation of the

ruins, within the margin of error—that is, the spike agrees closely with the date we’ve established through

other evidence. Whoever wiped out this civilization came quickly, struck hard, and didn’t leave much

behind.”

“Everything suggests that Planet Three suffered a massive thermonuclear bombardment from space,”

Riker agreed. “Whoever it was used weapons designed to scatter as much killing radiation as possible.

Everything on Planet Three was intended to die, and the planetis dead for all practical purposes. All

that’s left are bacteria and insects, a few hardy plants, and not much else.”

Picard read further. “We estimate that it has been six thousand years since the bombardment,” he said,

“yet the planet is still badly contaminated. What remains of the ecosphere is extremely fragile.” The

captain picked up one of the padds on his desk and handed it to Riker. “The geological survey has

identified several areas that could have been the sites of ground-based launching facilities on Planet

Three,” the captain told him. “Spaceports, more or less. Large ones.”

Riker read the display. “I agree,” he said. “They had to have been launching facilities, given their size and

proximity to the sites we’ve established for Planet Three’s major cities. Think the natives could have

escaped?”

Picard shook his head. “The ruins suggest a native population of more than two billion humanoids at the

time of the bombardment. The launching facilities—if that’s what they are—would be inadequate to

handle that number in anything like a reasonable time, and I doubt the natives had time. What do we have

on Planet Four, Will?”

“Our analysis of the ruins there confirms that Planet Four was not as technically advanced as Planet

Three,” Riker said. “However, the natives of Planet Four seem to have had space travel of some sort. As

for the plague virus we found during our orbital bioscans, Dr. Crusher’s still working up the schematics,”

Riker replied. “To quote the doctor, ‘I’ll have it soon. It’s complicated. Please go away.’“ He grinned

and then grew serious. “Beverly’s theory is that the virus might have been tailored to kill off all higher

animal forms on Planet Four.”

“Tailored, you say? It was purposefully designed?”

“She says it might have been, sir,” the first officer said. “The virus is still present in Planet Four’s

ecosystem, and its effects remain potentially devastating. Beverly says, from what she’s already seen, that

the odds against a virus like this one evolving naturally and then remaining relatively stable for six millennia

are prohibitively high. Viri just don’t work like that.”

“But Planet Four is ecologically stable at present,” Picard pointed out. “It actually seemed quite lovely.”

“Yes, sir. Higher forms of animal life are not present on land, but lower forms are prospering, and plant

and marine life seem to have been completely unaffected.”

Picard read quickly through the report from the exobiology section. “What about that life-form Bergeron

located just before we left?” the captain asked. “That brightly colored slithering thing that looked a bit

like a Centaurianbhobb? It seemed to be the most highly evolved land-based life-form left on the planet.

Any worthwhile findings?”

“Nothing much, Captain,” Riker replied. “Hibberd replicated the thing before we left, returned the

original to its habitat, and dissected the duplicate. There was some initial hope that the creature might be

sentient, but Bergeron says, quote, ‘If you give it ten million years, it might amount to something,

emphasis onmight .’ Unquote.”

Picard nodded. “I see. Too bad.”

Riker continued. “All in all, Planet Four seems the next best thing to a paradise, in some ways—except,

of course, that the natives are all gone, their cities and other artifacts have been crumbling into dust for six

millennia, and we would die within fifteen minutes if we beamed down to the surface unprotected.”

Picard shook his head. “I wonder who came through here and did all this, Will. Two planets devastated,

one apparently irredeemably. It seems incredible—”

“Worf to Captain,”came a distinctively deep voice.

“What is it, Lieutenant?”

“Sir, sensors have detected a warp-field generation pulse, eighty-seven point three light-years off,

bearingfour hundred ninety-five mark twenty-three. Duration was zero point one seven seconds.”

“Any sign of a ship in that area?”

“No, sir. Wait—there it is again. Same range and bearing. The duration was zero point five eight

seconds.”

“Commander Riker and I will be right there,” the captain said. “Picard out.”

“Nowthat’s odd,” Riker said, climbing out of his chair.

“Indeed.” The captain rose and, adjusting his jacket for the umpteenth time that day, glanced at the

survey summaries that still lay, unread, on his desk.They say there is no such thing as a useless fact ,

Picard thought,but sometimes I wonder .

The captain and first officer left the ready room and stepped directly onto the bridge. Ensign Ro Laren

was in the captain’s chair. “Captain, Commander,” she greeted them as she rose. Her tone was as formal

and correct as ever. Without another word, Ro moved away from the conn and relieved her replacement

at the flight control console.

“Any indication of warp-field strength, Mr. Worf?” Picard asked as he took his seat. Riker plopped

down to his right.

Worf shook his head and frowned at his Tactical panel. “Neither pulse lasted long enough to be able to

tell, Captain.”

Riker spoke up. “A bit over eighty-seven light-years from here at that bearing—isn’t there a system near

those coordinates, Mr. Data?”

“Yes, Commander,” Data replied, nodding. “There is a system with a G0-type star at that location.” The

android paused for a moment, awaiting the results of a long-range sensor scan. “Sensor readings coming

in now. The system in question has eleven planets. The third and fourth may be class-M. The system lies

well off our course through this sector, and so it was not included on our survey list.”

“That may change,” Picard said dryly. “Anything else, Mr. Data?”

“I am not sure, sir. The star seems to be generating more interference in midrange space-normal EM

frequencies than might be expected.”

“Oh?” Picard thought about that for a moment. “Is there anything about the nature of the interference

that might be considered unusual?”

“No, sir,” replied Data, shaking his head. “There is simply more of it than I would expect to see from this

type of star.”

“Captain,” Worf called. “There has been a third pulse. Same bearing, same range, duration zero point

eight three seconds. This pulse lasted long enough for us to derive a reading of field strength, sir. It was

sufficient for warp factor one.”

That was more than enough for Picard. “Ensign, set course for that system, warp factor three.”

“Laid in, sir.”

“Engage.”

Chapter Two

Captain’s log, supplemental. The Enterprise has just crossed the orbit of the outermost planet of

the star system we have designated as 30453 FAS. As we have drawn closer, we have determined

that the extra electromagnetic interference that we thought was somehow being emitted naturally

by the star is actually coming from the third planet of that system. Therefore, the interference

cannot be natural. Someone must be transmitting it on purpose, but who—and to what end? And

who is responsible for generating the warp-field pulses we detected?

I intend to find out before we leave here.

We will drop out of warp just inside the orbit of Planet Five, a Jupiter-class gas giant that is very

nearly in opposition to Planet Three at this time. This will place us some six hundred fifty million

kilometers from Planet Three. We’ll then head in for a look about. I do not intend to attempt

contact with the natives of Planet Three—if any—at this time.

THEENTERPRISEDROPPED OUT OF WARPprecisely on schedule, and Data studied the readouts

on his Ops panel. “Captain,” he reported, “short-range sensors have detected meta-cetacean life-forms

inhabiting the upper atmosphere of Planet Five, as is typical for gas giants of this class. The planet

possesses fifteen major natural satellites and a class-two ring system. Diameter is approximately one

hundred forty-five thousand kilometers. Typical, sir.”

“Any signs of habitation on the satellites?” Picard asked. “Colonies or mining operations, perhaps?”

“No, sir. However—”

“Yes?”

“I am reading an object at three hundred forty-four mark twenty-three, range eighteen thousand seven

hundred kilometers.”

“Mr. Worf?” Riker called.

“It is an artificial construct of unknown configuration in orbit around the local star,” Worf said. “It is not

under power, but I am getting low-level internal power readings. There appear to be no life-forms

aboard.”

Picard glanced at Troi, who nodded.

“Let’s take a look at it, Mr. Worf,” the captain ordered. “On screen.”

The majestic image of Planet Five on the main viewscreen swam for a moment and was then replaced by

an unremarkable starfield. In the center of the screen there was a very small something.

“Increase magnification,” Riker directed, and the object grew.

“Not a ship, I think,” Picard said softly.

“It looks like it might be a surveillance satellite,” Riker said. “I think I see what might be sensor

arrays—many of them.”

Picard nodded. “If that is indeed what they are, Number One, then this is a surveillance probe of almost

monstrous complexity. Those arrays appear formidable. Are there weapons aboard it, Mr. Worf?”

“None, sir. It is harmless.”

Picard nodded. “Mr. Data, are there any other objects out there like this one?”

The android briefly consulted his readouts and nodded. “Sir, I am reading a second object of similar size

and configuration at one hundred ninety-eight mark forty, range eighty-three thousand six hundred

kilometers. There is a third, bearing oh twenty-three mark twelve, range three hundred fifty-three

thousand one hundred kilometers. A fourth—”

“Never mind, Mr. Data,” Picard interrupted. “Thank you.”

“Whatever these things are, they appear to be pretty closely set,” Riker observed.

“Indeed they do, Number One,” Picard agreed. “Someone has gone to a great deal of trouble to post a

line of sentries. Clearly, those probes are on the lookout for someone, and I very much doubt that we are

it. Mr. Worf, long-range sensors ahead. I want to know everything there is to know about Planet Three

before we get there. Ensign, lay in a direct course for Planet Three, one-quarter impulse.”

“One-quarter impulse,” Ro repeated. “Aye, sir.”

“Engage. Arrival time at Planet Three, Mr. Data?”

“Standard orbit in two hours, twenty-one minutes, thirty-five seconds, sir.”

“Captain,” Worf reported, “we are being scanned. There is a radar signal coming from the probe.”

Picard blinked. “Radar?”

“Radar, sir,” Data said, nodding. “It is an acronym that stands for ‘radio detecting and ranging’—”

“Not now, Mr. Data,” Riker cautioned.

“That can’t be possible,” Picard continued, puzzled. “Radar is much too primitive to see us. They

couldn’t bounce a radio wave off us, not with our shields up.”

Riker frowned. “Perhaps they’re using radar as a carrier wave for something we can’t detect. We may

have been spotted, Captain.”

“Sir,” Worf suddenly said. “The object has just transmitted a tightly beamed signal on space-normal

radio wavelengths. It appears to be a coded burst transmission.”

Picard sighed. “To whom?”

“The transmission was beamed in the direction of the third planet, sir.”

“Of course. Can you decipher it?”

Worf looked at his console. “Doubtful, sir. The transmission appears to have been enciphered and

compressed using several random number sequences. It could take us years to decompress and decipher

the message.”

“The signal must have been about us,” Riker said. “The burst occurred just after we dropped into normal

space near the probe.”

“Perhaps it was only a coincidence,” Troi said. “The probe may issue regular status reports on a set

schedule, and we just happened to be there for its latest. After all, we’re shielded. We should be

undetectable.”

Riker shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t believe in coincidences. Whoever put that probe here knows

we’ve arrived—or they will, once they receive that signal. Captain, may I suggest yellow alert?”

Picard thought about it for half a second, and then nodded firmly. “Make it so.”

The heavy, bombproof doors of a shaftcar rolled open slowly, and Kerajem and several of his assistants

stepped onto a narrow gangway that lay far below the surface of the capital city. They walked down the

passage a few meters to the VIP entry gate of the Shrine, their footsteps echoing oddly off the polished

metal walls. The soldiers on guard duty at the gate came to attention and saluted as the First and his party

passed through. Kerajem’s assistants followed the leader through the gate one by one, like ducklings

following their mother.

They all headed quickly to the War Room, which was located at the center of the Shrine. The Planetary

Defense Complex, as it was more formally known, was located in a series of caverns three hundred

meters below a nondescript building located across the city from Government House.

This was the second Shrine. The original had been built on the same spot more than a millennium before,

shortly after the caverns had been discovered by explorers. There had been an actual shrine here then.

The Shrine had served as the Holy See of a totalitarian theocracy that controlled the planet at that time

and for centuries thereafter. The many generations of monks who had lived, worked, and died at the first

Shrine had spent their entire lives praying to ward off the day when the enemy might find their world and

destroy it.

When the revolution came, the Shrine had been abandoned in the belief that it was no longer needed and

never had been, that the threat it was designed to counter had never been more than the fever dreams of

deranged prophets. The monks who had lived and worked here had been secularized and sent away,

never to return.

Not quite a generation ago, when the world had discovered the terrible truth about its impending doom,

there was suddenly a need for a planetary defense headquarters immune to any imaginable form of

attack. Strategy had demanded an invulnerable location, and tradition and convenience had suggested the

Shrine.

The facility no longer looked anything like a monastery. All traces of that sort of thing were gone. Years

of effort and billions of work units had been expended to build a fully modern facility. The new Shrine

was staffed not by monks but by military personnel, skilled civilian technicians, and a gaggle of

bureaucrats.

The Shrine was now a fit fighting machine. It would do the job, if anything could.

Kerajem’s people would not run.

Not this time, and never again.

Defense Minister Hattajek was standing in the command well, talking quietly with several top officers.

All of them straightened a bit as Kerajem approached. The First nodded to them in greeting. “Status

report?”

The chief of staff, General Blakendet, stepped forward. “Sir, Blue Ultimate is in force. Force Red

continues to decelerate, course unchanged.” He gestured at the wide display screen at the front of the

War Room. “As you can see, sir, there they are.”

“Well done, General,” Kerajem said quietly. “All we can do now, I suppose, is wait—”

Suddenly there was the low, insistent sound of an intrusion alarm. Heads turned to study the main

screen.

There was a glowing red disk there that had not been visible a moment before.

“Now what in the name of darkness is that?” Kerajem wondered. “Malfunction, General?”

Blakendet shot a look across the room to his watch officer, who shook his head vigorously:No . His face

told the rest of the story.

Blakendet turned to address Kerajem. “Sir, we have a confirmed intruder just inside the orbit of Ma’ak

Unselbe.” He read the displays before him. “Speed—dear gods! Excuse me, sir. Speed of the unknown

is one quarter that of light. The unknown is on a direct course for us. We have a visual from the probe

now, sir.”

“Let’s see it.”

Part of the War Room tactical display was replaced by a blurred photograph of—something. “It looks

like a flying dustpan,” Kerajem said. “I don’t recognize it. Whatis that thing, General?”

“It appears as if Force Red might have come up with something new, First—something we didn’t

expect,” the general replied. “Traffic, try to raise the unknown. See if it answers.” The old soldier paused

as he studied the most recent data from the early-warning probe. “Sir,” he told the First after a moment,

“energy readings from the unknown are off the scale. Given the situation, we must assume hostile intent. I

recommend we go to alert condition one.”

Kerajem felt all hope die within him as he gave the necessary orders.

“Captain,” came Worf’s strong voice. “I am showing indications of military movements on Planet Three.

There have been a large number of aircraft and ground-to-space rocket launches in the past minute. The

pseudostellar interference we have been reading has also increased greatly.” He paused. “It appears that

the interference is being generated on purpose in order to mask communications traffic.”

“They don’t appreciate eavesdroppers,” Riker said.

“Apparently not,” Picard said. “Can you penetrate the interference, Mr. Worf? If Planet Three is making

offensive moves against us, I’d like to know what’s going on down there.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Should we hail them, Captain?” Riker asked.

“I wish I could, Number One, but I won’t until I am certain they know we are here. The Prime Directive

is still in force. They could be in a panic for some other reason, although I admit that seems unlikely to

STAR TREK - TNG - 37 - The Last Stand

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