STAR TREK - SCE - 27 - Balance of Nature

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Other eBooks in the Star Trek™: Starfleet

Corps of Engineers series from Pocket Books:

#1:The Belly of the Beast by Dean Wesley Smith

#2:Fatal Error by Keith R.A. DeCandido

#3:Hard Crash by Christie Golden

#4:Interphase Book 1 by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

#5:Interphase Book 2 by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

#6:Cold Fusionby Keith R.A. DeCandido

#7:Invincible Book 1 by David Mack & Keith R.A. DeCandido

#8:Invincible Book 2 by David Mack & Keith R.A. DeCandido

#9:The Riddled Post by Aaron Rosenberg

#10:Gateways Epilogue:Here There Be Monsters by Keith R.A. DeCandido

#11:Ambush by Dave Galanter & Greg Brodeur

#12:Some Assembly Required by Scott Ciencin & Dan Jolley

#13:No Surrender by Jeff Mariotte

#14:Caveat Emptor by Ian Edginton & Mike Collins

#15:Past Life by Robert Greenberger

#16:Oaths by Glenn Hauman

#17:Foundations Book 1 by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

#18:Foundations Book 2 by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

#19:Foundations Book 3 by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

#20:Enigma Ship by J. Steven York & Christina F. York

#21:War Stories Book 1 by Keith R.A. DeCandido

#22:War Stories Book 2 by Keith R.A. DeCandido

#23:Wildfire Book 1 by David Mack

#24:Wildfire Book 2 by David Mack

#25:Home Fires by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

#26:Age of Unreason by Scott Ciencin

#27:Balance of Nature by Heather Jarman

COMING SOON:

#28:Breakdowns by Keith R.A. DeCandido

#29:Aftermath by Christopher L. Bennett

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s

imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or

dead, is entirely coincidental.

AnOriginal Publication of POCKET BOOKS

POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon &

Schuster, Inc. 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New

York, NY 10020

STAR TREK is a Registered Trademark of

Paramount Pictures.

This book is published by Pocket Books, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc., under exclusive license

from Paramount Pictures.

For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

ISBN: 0-7434-7593-3

First Pocket Books Ebooks Edition April 2003

POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

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http://www.startrek.com

Chapter 1

Fear consumed her, muting her voice, bleeding all color from her vision. P8 Blue clung to a railing as the

mother-tree world trembled and heaved. In her mind, she cried out to her friend Zoeannah, encouraging

her to hold on tight so she wouldn’t fall, but her throat trapped the words. A shadow sliding past caught

her eye. Instinctively, without thought to the danger, she released one limb, catching the duffel strap

before the bag went shooting over the edge.My legacy …

Indifferent to the chaos, evening breezes wafted lazily through the open sides of the passageway, stirring

fine splinters and dirt into blinding breath. Unwilling to release her grip to rub the dust out of her eyes,

Pattie blinked rapidly, trying to clear her vision. She winced at the sharp pains caused by the scraping

scratch of dirt trapped in her eye membranes. Letting go would be easy. To curl into her protective shell

was her instinct, but doing so would certainly mean death. She gripped tighter with each drunken sway.

A flash of flame, a metallic buzz, and all lights within seeing distance were snuffed out. The inky

silhouettes of the surrounding rain forest blurred in the deepening darkness. Flickering green power

surges crackled angrily, offering only the stingiest light to see by. Even if they survived this quake—the

first in her lifetime, the first in several Nasat lifetimes—Pattie worriedly wondered what damage the

township had sustained: from cracked struts to bearing beams, delicately balanced between branches,

collapsing as structural weight shifted, every possibility was an engineer’s nightmare.If I make it through,

there’ll be work to be done.

The shaking stopped. Silence squeezed into the void left by the quake, swallowing all sound and filling

the empty space.

The fleeting pause gave P8 Blue a moment to breathe. And another. She allowed herself to relax enough

to consider more than survival.Maybe it has passed,If she’s been injured… Pattie clicked worriedly.

Zoeannah would have been home in her paddock if she hadn’t met my transport. She would have been

safer there with walls that surround and protect her. She cursed whatever stupid shell architect had

decided that leaving a few open-sided corridors contributed to the township’s aesthetic. A misstep here

would send one careening hundreds of meters through a tangle of vines, fungi, flowers, and animal nests

into the understory layer, several kilometers below the township.Zoeannah could have fallen. And what

about Tarak? What will I say to him? She shook off the troubling thoughts, knowing that guilt and worry

could be paralyzing. If only she could reach the tricorder on her belt, she might be able to scan for Zoë’s

Betazoid lifesigns—

A tremor erupted, sending the mother-tree lurching from side to side. Each sway dislodged transport

carts from the tracks and tossed carrypacks into the air like flotsam. Feeling a slight give in her grip, she

strengthened her hold. Her fear-sharpened senses absorbed the sickening crunch of shells hurtling into

kiosks, the acrid smoke rising from exploding consoles. Falling building debris hit those Nasat too

startled to curl into defensive postures or maneuver out of the way.

She mustered up enough humor to be darkly amused by the placid computerized voice reciting an

emergency message over the comm system, alternating between lingual clicks and Federation Standard.

“Please remain calm while Central Services examines the situation. Automated systems will be restored

to full capacity as soon as possible. Thank you for your cooperation and have a nice dark cycle…”

Startled by an ear-shattering crack, Pattie swiveled her gaze toward the forest. A severed tree limb

plunged like a battering ram toward their corridor. A quick mental calculation placed impact within thirty

seconds.A breath and we’ll be obliterated, she thought. Time staggered, slowed.

Please be calm while you’re being squashed flat. Resistance is futile…she thought, putting her own spin

on the computerized message.

There has to be an escape route,she thought. A passageway, less than a hundred meters ahead, cut

through the mother-tree core to an adjoining branch sector. Assuming they could reach the passageway

without being thrown into the forest, they would be out of the path of the oncoming limb. As the tree

deck beneath her convulsed, she nixed that idea.Other options. Heading back up the conveyor to the

canopy-side transport station? Same problem. So P8, her friend Zoeannah, and others unlucky enough

to have chosen this traveling route were effectively trapped. Nothing they could do would prevent the

impending blow. With luck, they might survive impact.

After all she’d been through of late, Pattie had to believe in survival. She stared at the ton of devastation

plunging toward them, growing closer, ever closer by the second, unable to look away.

A few more steps. We only need to make a few more steps. Galvan VI should have taken me. To end

this way feels like an epilogue,she thought, amazed at fate’s arbitrary whims.Any second now it’ll hit…

The broken limb gained speed and momentum the closer it came. Undeterred by the back and forth

swaying, the ridiculous message repeated. If Pattie could reach her phaser, she’d take out the comm

system speaker without hesitation. There was something ignominious about facing death while a computer

calmly insisted there was nothing to worry about. Breathing deeply, she braced for impact—

The quaking stopped.

With a jerk, the creaking mother-tree righted itself into a solidly vertical position.

The tree’s abrupt shift counteracted the limb’s momentum; a resounding thwack, a twitch, and it tumbled

leadenly down through the surrounding tree layers.

No one moved or spoke.

Relief was slow in coming. Pattie waited. Watched.

The breeze tossed leaves with a silvery rustle. Branches bowed. Avian squawks echoed in the distance,

punctuated by the whirr of furrylaito monkeys swinging from vine to vine collecting a nocturnal snack of

fruit and seeds.

Time elapsed.

Though it appeared that normalcy had been restored, Pattie sensed that no one—herself

included—dared move, fearing the quake would resume. She was loath to be the first to risk it; she

would wait.

The sound of limbs shuffling along the floor came from behind a tipped-over maintenance terminal. A

panicked clicking from a Nasat looking for a missing friend followed. Rubble fell from the ceiling.

Reinitiated conduits whined, gradually revving up until the familiar hum throbbed steadily. The computer

message sped up to garble, then halted mid-sentence; a new message replaced the old one.“Planetary

science council has issued an all clear. No apparent seismic activity in the area. Repeat: no apparent

seismic activity. The cause of the quake is unknown. Please return to your paddocks for safety lockdown

and to receive up-to-date reports on township status.”

A fleshy humanoid hand touched her primary pincers.

Inhaling sharply, she closed her eyes, her limbs quivering with relief.She’s alive. Pattie’s respirations

came quickly and irregularly as she at last allowed herself to process the emotions that she’d pushed

aside since the quakes started.We’re alive.

“Pattie—” Zoeannah coughed, involuntarily clutching tighter “—you all right?” Without letting go of

Pattie’s hand, she crawled up closer where they could talk face-to-face. Planting her elbow on the floor,

she rested her chin in her palm. “Not like I would notice a dent or two in your shell inthis light.”

The warm weight of Zoë’s hand comforted Pattie more than anything else could have. Gratitude filled

her.She’s fine, she thought, repeating the phrase over and over for reassurance. Pattie reciprocated the

squeeze, touching her antennae to Zoë’s forehead. “What about you? Are you hurt?” She twisted her

head to get a better view. A piece of plating that had fallen on Zoë’s lower body worried her; Pattie

pushed it aside. Her acute vision, now adapted to the darkness, scanned her teacher-friend for broken

bones, bleeding, or any other evidence that she’d sustained serious injuries. She looked her over

again—and again—before allowing herself to relax. Though she needed a tricorder to confirm her

assessment, she could discern enough to determine that Zoë had suffered nothing more serious than a few

scrapes and a head-to-toe coating of dust and dried moss. Pattie reached over and plucked a twig out of

her friend’s tangled curls. Humanoids required so much maintenance.What a nuisance it must be to have

all your fleshy parts on the outside! “Your telepathy must be short-circuiting if you need to ask me how

I’m doing.”

Zoë half-coughed, half-chuckled, her shoulders shaking. “It’s always good manners to ask how

someone is feeling—even if I already know, Pattie.” Rolling over on her back, she pulled an arm across

her chest in a stretch, repeating the gesture with the opposite arm. “As for being uncomfortable, I just

need some ointment for my sore hands. Honestly, I didn’t know whether I could hold on any longer.”

She paused, brushed her fingers through her hair, dislodging bark flecks. “And a bath. I’d really like a

bath.”

Pattie didn’t know why the fleshy species bothered with their multitudes of cleaning rituals; a coating of

rotted bark dust and fungus on their epidermal layer might improve their natural state. In the years she’d

served around humanoids, she decided no amount of sonic waves, water, oil, perfume, soap, or scent

improved upon the sour musk that permeated every corner of their living spaces. But she’d adjusted.

Being tolerant of the quirks native to other species was expected of a member of a multiworld

community. There was a reason, however, why the Nasat avoided living too close to Zoë and Tarak’s

lab and it had nothing to do with them being noisy neighbors. “The evening rains will start soon,” Pattie

said, noting the rising mists, the slight shift in air pressure. “You won’t even have to go back to your

paddock. Take a walk on the verandah over there—” Pattie cocked her head toward a porch protruding

off the walkway “—and wait.”

“That’s not a bath, that’s asking to be encapsulated in mud.” She massaged her hands, alternating

between right and left. “Pattie…do you think you could use your communicator to check in with Tarak?

He usually keeps the transmitter on when I’m out.” Her voice quivered slightly.

Pattie touched her combadge. “P8 Blue to Dr. Tarak.”

A crackle, static, and then:“Tarak here. Because you have contacted me, I presume that you have

survived the quake in fair condition, but Dr. Xanfer—is she also well?”

“Yes, Doctor. She’s fine. Dirty, but fine.”

“The minimal inconvenience of filthiness is preferable to other, more potentially serious injuries to her

person. I wish you both continued health and clear thinking. I will anticipate your presence when

circumstances allow it. Tarak out.”

Sighing deeply, Zoë placed a hand over her heart. “I sensed that he was fine, but I couldn’t be certain if

my wishes for his well-being had misled me.” Contented, she sighed again, her shoulders slumping with

relief.

She’s in love,Pattie realized with happy surprise. She’d seen something of humanoid romantic

relationships lately, and recognized the signs.What a time to find out. She had questions for Zoë, but they

would wait for a more opportune moment.

Zoë assumed a cross-legged position, brushed dust off her tunic and craned to see what was going on

around them. “Are these quakes common? And if they are, will there be more tremors?”

“Haven’t had one in my sixteen seasons—or eight years by Federation reckoning. If memory serves, it’s

been more than a score of seasons since we’ve had any kind of serious tremors.”

The groan of circuitry far below announced the power systems restarting. The groan also informed Pattie

that she could feel safer about resuming an upright posture. Zoë followed her lead, scrambling to her feet.

Beyond the obstacle of an overturned kiosk blocking their path, Pattie saw some Nasat uncurl; others

hobbled toward the closest exits. Most were too dazed to move, let alone escape to safety. A few

cowered against a railing, trapped behind a dangerous power surge arc between computer terminals;

either machine could explode without warning.

“You think we should stay put? Wait for security services to evacuate us?” Zoë asked.

“I’m not sure.” Pattie carefully picked her way around the kiosk, holding on to the sides of the structure

for balance. Zoë followed behind.

Without the kiosk to block their view, they discovered more than a dozen injured Nasat—a few fatally.

“We’ll need to help,” Zoë said, stating it as a fact instead of a request.

Pattie nodded.

“I’ll start assessing the wounded. My telepathy might help us where our training won’t.” She jerked her

head in the direction of the public information terminals. “You see if we have any medical supplies to

work with. I wouldn’t have a clue as to where to look.”

Pushing aside debris covering the floor, Pattie searched for any signage that indicated compartments

where emergency medkits might be stored.I hope the government implemented the latest building regs in

their recent reconstruction. Drawing on her years spent studying Federation construction and building

codes, she made a guess where the supplies might be and found them where she would have expected to

find them on Vulcan, Trill, or Andor.At least we’ve standardized a few things since joining the

Federation. Nasat tended not to fuss over details. She opened up the floor panel and removed a couple

of wrist-lamps, the medkit, and a medical tricorder.

Zoeannah took a wrist-lamp proffered by Pattie, clicked it on, and muttered, “What a mess!” when the

beam illuminated their surroundings. She knelt down beside an unconscious Red Nasat who had lost

chunks of his chorion shell. “Quite a dramatic entry you made, Pattie. Maybe bring a bottle of Ktarian

merlot or a piece of Risan pottery next time. Save the theatrics for the engineering corps,” Zoë said dryly.

“And to think I was worried you wouldn’t like the show. I admit that a quake’s a bit dramatic, but the

homeworld hasn’t seen one in a while,” she deadpanned. “I always liked to shake things up.”

“I’m not even going to comment on that pun.”

Pattie answered with her equivalent of a wink: curling one of her antennae in Zoë’s direction.

Zoë felt for a pulse in the shell’s forehead. “Sarcasm suits you, P8. I always suspected you’d be witty

once you mastered communication basics.” She sat back on her heels, looked over at Pattie, and

grinned. “Either that, or spending time around ‘softs’ is rubbing off on you.”

Tamping down a snappy retort, Pattie paused reflectively. Various scenes from her life over the last

three years flashed by in an instant; it had been a long journey—not without complications—but she’d

triumphed. She said quietly, “If I gained anything from spending time around softs, it would be the belief

that I could do anything I put my mind to. Being around softs is what gave me the confidence to join

Starfleet in the first place. Thank you.”

Zoë’s eyes smiled. “Of course.”

* * *

They settled into a pattern of business intermingled with small talk as they attended to the wounded.

Working with Zoë—to whom she owed so much—made Pattie’s tasks much less stressful. Pattie hadn’t

enjoyed Starfleet’s required medical training course when she enlisted, nor had she discovered a natural

knack for it during her time in the S.C.E. To have Nasat lives dependent on skills she hadn’t

enthusiastically cultivated would have been nerve-wracking without Zoë’s steady, even-tempered

approach. Pattie, knowing more about Nasat physiology than Zoeannah, focused on the mechanics of

fixing injuries while Zoë used her telepathic skills to ease shock and sense pain. Her offer of comfort and

kindness to the traumatized made Pattie’s task easier.

Think of them as sentient machines,she thought.Medicine is just engineering the physiology of a biological

organism. They had been working almost a half hour when the first security services officer rode down

the conveyor from the transport center.

“Evacuate the premises,” the Yellow shell clicked authoritatively. “Township Council wants all open

areas cleared. Proceeding to lockdown mode as soon as all public areas are secure. Move along.” The

Yellow shooed several limping Nasat toward a mother-tree passageway before meandering over to

where Pattie and Zoë had set up a makeshift triage station.

“Proper medical attenders will be dispatched shortly. You can leave them be,” the Yellow said to Pattie,

using secondary limbs to indicate those Nasat yet to be examined. “On behalf of the Council, thank you.

Be on your way now. Follow proper evacuation procedures and return directly to your paddock by the

shortest possible route.”

Pattie continued working. “I’ve had field medic training, Officer. I can be useful until the attenders

arrive.”

“Best to comply with the Council’s orders,” the Yellow insisted. Squatting down on his haunches, he

plucked the medical tricorder out of Zoë’s hands and dropped it into the medkit. After collecting

chemsutures and exo-plaster and depositing them alongside the tricorder, he snapped the kit shut,

scooting it close to his forelegs.

With one of her limbs, Pattie nudged the kit across the floor until it rested beside Zoë.How dronelike is

this officer? I’d forgotten how mindlessly compliant some shells can be, she thought, reopening the kit.

She tossed the tricorder back to Zoë, who continued working. “I’m confident the Council wants to save

lives.”

The Yellow’s throat bristles tensed, his antennae curled downward. “Naturally. But they have more

knowledge than you or I do.”

“If we can contribute to the emergency efforts, we will. ‘With many small limbs large tasks are done.’”

She quoted a Nasat proverb. Sorting through the hypos in the medkit, Pattie settled on one that would

stabilize the respirations of the wounded Nasat.

The Yellow waddled past Zoë and tapped her on the shoulder. “Reason with the Blue, or I’ll call for

backup.”

Zoë and Pattie exchanged glances. The Betazoid shrugged, yawned. “She’s in charge.”

Pattie appreciated Zoë’s vote of confidence. Her teacher would stand by her if she decided to be

stubborn; Pattie knew that from experience. But she didn’t want to cause trouble; few softs lived in this

township. A disgruntled peace officer could make it difficult for Zoë to approach potential subjects or

access semirestricted databases. She stood upright; Zoë followed suit.

“Fine, then, but let me leave my paddock code with you so that the Council can contact me when the

repairs start,” Pattie said. “My career training will be useful to them.”

“Cocky, aren’t you, Blue?” The Yellow’s mandibles twitched with suspicion as he grudgingly removed a

scanner from his utility vest. “Designation?”

She paused for a minute, shifting her thought processes out of standard into the clicks, chirps, and pitch

of Nasat. The Yellow wouldn’t find a Nasat record for “Pattie.” “P8 BlueTS27Q6. Starfleet Corps of

Engineers.”

He tapped her name and waited for the computer to retrieve her ID file. “Starfleet doesn’t have

jurisdiction in local matters, but I’m supposing their training should be mostly applicable here.” Clutching

his scanner in his pincers, the Yellow swiveled his eyes from the data on the screen toward Pattie.

“Hmmmm. Haven’t been home in a bit, P8. Suppose it’s understandable that you’ve forgotten how things

are done around here.”

Choosing to ignore the Yellow’s personal insinuations, Pattie persisted in constructively dealing with the

emergency situation at hand.Give me a terminal with access to the sensor data and I could map out every

weakened bearing branch or cracked floor, she thought. “My training would be invaluable in determining

whether the township’s sustained any damage from the tremors,” she protested—though she’d have

better luck arguing with a replicator than a Yellow. Eons of natural selection had given the Yellows their

steady, methodical ways. From time to time, she’d heard stories of Yellows that had abandoned their

larvae instead of finding a nursery, or those who’d up and left the township to hitch a ride on a starship.

Those exceptions notwithstanding, you went to Yellows when a task required relentless, often repetitive,

perseverance.

“Confirming ID,” he said, activating the neuro function on his scanner and waving it over her forebrain to

confirm her bioelectric signature with the population database. His antennae shot up. “Interesting. Chatty

for a ‘quiet’—”

If the officer had continued nattering on, Pattie hadn’t heard it. She froze, rooted where she stood, her

blood chilled. She willed her mouth to move. Her thoughts stuck and stuttered. Hearing it again after so

many years shouldn’t matter.It shouldn’t matter. One cycling thought refused to go away; she grasped it,

clung to it.Quiet? I have conquered that! But her mouth refused to comply with her will to speak, and a

sinking sense of humiliation drained her energy. She stood before the Yellow, helpless.

If I can pull up my record in the township database, I can prove to him that he’s mistaken!She stepped

toward the officer, gesturing with her limbs, attempting to communicate that she wanted to borrow his ID

scanner.

The startled Yellow misread her intentions as aggressive and staggered back. He pulled his limbs tight

into his abdomen, preparing to curl into a protective ball; his reactionary behavior further fueled her

frustration.

She took another step toward him.I can make him understand. I mean no harm. If only I can find the

words. I know how to say this!

At the crest of her frustration, her mind blanked.

In a breath her muscles relaxed, her limbs collapsed to her sides like snipped puppet strings. She

breathed deeply, blinked, and shook her head. A wide-eyed Zoë held her tightly with her trembling hand

pressed into a soft spot beneath Pattie’s mandibles; she hadn’t had to do this since Pattie’s early learning

days. Pattie, as a young Nasat, had been so conditioned to anxiety whenever her fellow Nasat

misunderstood or humiliated her, that Zoë had worked extra hard on helping Pattie overcome the

emotional reactions that interfered with her cognitive processing.

Today, the technique worked the same on her adult body as it had on her nymph body. Steady pressure

on the nerve bundle acted like a circuit breaker, forcing Pattie to relax. Interrupting the anxiety allowed

the instinctual emotional/biochemical reaction triggered by the Yellow’s words to ebb. If Zoë hadn’t

intervened…

Cognition of what she might have done dawned on her. She glanced off at an angle, away from Zoë, into

the dark rain forest.I’ve gone and given credence to the very point I was trying to dissuade him from

believing: that “quiets” are misfits. She muttered a potent curse she’d picked up from Corsi, doubting if

the officer could claim the ability to curse in multiple languages. Ironic.

She winced inwardly when she saw the officer had backed up against a wall, all limbs extended, poised

for offense—his aspect indicating he still anticipated Pattie to attack. He clicked an angry warning,

jabbing a pincer toward her. He was a shadow of hundreds of other fearful Nasat that Pattie had met in

her youngest seasons.

But he had nothing to worry about. Pattie had never intended to harm him—or lay a pincer on him.

Persuading the Yellow to believe her was another case entirely. Worried, she looked at Zoë, who still

held her loosely. She willed her Betazoid friend to interpret her conflicting emotions.

With a gentle smile, Zoë briefly touched her thumb to the center of her forehead, then placed the same

thumb on the thin, sensitive tissue behind Pattie’s antennae. That her teacher so easily employed the

Nasat gesture of affection comforted her immensely.

Zoë whispered, “Let me handle this.” She squared her shoulders and extended a hand to the officer.

Tentatively, he placed a limb in her palm, indicating he would listen, though his eyes darted frequently in

Pattie’s direction.

“P8’s not a ‘quiet,’” Zoë explained. “At least not as you understand quiets to be. She has full lingual

abilities—both of communication and comprehension—after graduating from the Federation’s

neural-electric linguistics project. A physiological marker might register her as a quiet on your scanner,

but I assure you that’s a technicality.”

The officer’s eyes darted between Zoë and Pattie several times before he spoke. “I’ve heard rumors

about that neural-electric memory process. So it isn’t just Federation sap and fog. P8 seems to be able

to communicate just like the rest of us.”

“Obviously,” Pattie retorted. “Or we wouldn’t be able to have this conversation, would we?”

Zoë shot a warning frown in Pattie’s direction, but the sarcastic tone appeared to have been lost on the

officer.

“Learn something every day. Guess membership in the Federation has its perks.” The Yellow shell

clicked his scanner back onto his utility strip.

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