Star Trek: The Next Generation - 119 - Armageddon's Arrow (16 page)

Picard replied, “And yet, here you are, having traveled through time. We know what your mission is, or at least what it was supposed to be.” When Jodis said nothing, the captain continued, “My people have managed to access your computer data and determined that you’ve been in hibernation for a very long time. You failed to awaken after your ship made the jump from the future, and therefore you’ve missed your objective. The war began and continued while you slept, Jodis.”

“I know,” the Raqilan finally said. “Your doctor was kind enough to show me information from our computer. The war has raged for nearly one hundred cycles. My people and the Golvonek have already inflicted enough destruction on each other that it will take generations to repair, but all is not yet lost. There’s still a chance.”

“A chance for what?” Picard asked. “To carry out your original mission? That’s rather unlikely. You’re a prisoner. Even as we speak, Fleet Legate Mynlara is preparing to have this vessel moved to one of her military bases so that it can be studied. Don’t you see what that means? Even if you were freed to carry out your mission in some manner, your ship’s temporal displacement equipment has been damaged beyond repair. You’re stuck here, Jodis.”

“That was always a reality we faced, Captain,” Jodis said. “We trained with that knowledge for many cycles, knowing that if we survived our mission, we would be forced to build new lives for ourselves on the world we saved.”

Picard was not so easily swayed. “The Golvonek may, in time, learn all the secrets of the advanced technology this ship carries. They may be able to adapt its weapons for use against
your
people.”

Jodis said, “That does not have to happen. You can help me.”

“Out of the question,” Picard countered. “I will not be an accomplice to genocide.”

“So what do you propose?”

“Peace.”

To Picard’s total lack of surprise, Jodis laughed. “Are all of your people possessed with the gift of humor, Captain?”

Undeterred, Picard pressed his point. “At this moment, the leaders from both your worlds are trying to negotiate a peace treaty. I’ve been asked to address them. This vessel’s very existence should be a deterrent. It should be the impetus to motivate your leaders to find a lasting solution and end this war, before greater damage is done to both planets. There’s still time, Jodis.”

“Even if we do manage to find a way for them to embrace peace,” said the Raqilan, “what about the future? How do we know this entire cycle will not simply repeat itself?”

Picard frowned. “Are you saying your people—or the Golvonek—are incapable of anything other than war?”

“No,” Jodis said. “What I am saying is that someone, somewhere, will always find a
reason
for war. It does not even need to be a legitimate reason, but rather simply one which can be made to appear legitimate, and which can recruit supporters to its cause. That is easier if one has the weapons to wage such conflict, the will to use them, and no one to stand in their way.” He paused, looking around. “This entire vessel is such a weapon, built to demonstrate for all time our military superiority. The power this ship holds is intoxicating, Captain, and no matter which side controls it, someone will become hopelessly enraptured by what it represents.”

“So, we’ll destroy it,” Picard suggested, “or at least render it incapable of harm.”

Once again, Jodis laughed. “Do you not understand, Captain? My people are already building this ship,
now
, in
this
time period. It will take dozens of cycles to complete, but the work is under way. Eventually, Mynlara or one of her superiors will realize this, and it will not matter if you destroy this vessel. Eventually, they will have access to another one.”

Temporal mechanics
, Picard reminded himself.
It always finds a way to complicate everything, doesn’t it?

16

“I don’t think I’ve had this much homework since I graduated from the Academy.”

Swiveling her seat away from the workstation that had been the focal point of her existence for nearly four hours since first entering the
Enterprise’
s main computer lab, T’Ryssa Chen rose from the chair and reached for the ceiling, reveling in the stretching of muscles in her back, shoulders, and neck. She groaned in relief before commencing a series of torso twist exercises.

“You should try this. It feels great.”

From where he sat at an adjacent station, Taurik replied, “I am in excellent physical condition, and as such I am not easily prone to muscle strain and fatigue.” He turned from the console and its set of six different display monitors that he had configured so that each provided him with its own distinct, continuous scroll of data. Folding his hands, he placed them in his lap. “In addition to maintaining a proper posture while sitting or standing for long periods, I also employ a variety of ergonomic exercises which work to mitigate discomfort.”

“You’re doing some of them right now, aren’t you?”

“Indeed I am, and have been since we began this assignment.”

Chen smiled. “Of course you have.”

“It seemed logical, given the time and effort we are likely to expend on this endeavor,” Taurik replied. “Analysis of data stored within an unfamiliar computer system is often time-consuming, as well as mentally taxing, even with the tools at our disposal.”

“You know I love it when you talk like that, don’t you?”

The engineer replied, “I am aware that you take amusement in a great many things which do not typically invoke similar responses in others.”

“So, you’re saying I’m special?” Chen asked, casting an impish grin in his direction.

“That you are a unique individual has never been a matter for debate.”

With dramatic flair, Chen placed the back of her right hand on her forehead and closed her eyes. “Oh, Taurik. You always know just what to say to sweep a girl off her feet.” His sole capitulation to her gentle baiting was the raising of his right eyebrow before returning his attention to his workstation, eliciting from her a small giggle.

“All right, I can take a hint,” she said. “Back to work.”

With a large percentage of the data stored in the
Arrow
’s onboard computer databases now transferred to work space in the
Enterprise
’s main computer lab, Commander La Forge and Lieutenant Elfiki had tasked Taurik with breaking through the encryption protecting the bulk of the information. Elfiki had theorized that direct access to the starship computer’s vast array of data decryption and search tools, rather than employing them over a connection to the derelict craft’s systems, would produce quicker results and without the added threat of somehow triggering some other potentially dangerous process aboard the Raqilan ship. The chief engineer, Chen knew, had taken to heart the earlier, harsh lesson to which they had been subjected, and wanted to avoid any repeats of that episode.

Treating herself to one more stretch before returning to her seat, Chen asked, “How’s it coming, anyway?”

“I am continuing my efforts to access what appears to be the main repository of technical information pertaining to the vessel’s construction and capabilities,” Taurik said, “as well as any information which might pertain to its tactical directives.” He looked up from his computer terminal. “I believe it may be helpful to obtain some insight and context into the orders given to Jodis and his crew and the mission they apparently were sent to undertake.”

Chen nodded. “I’m still trying to get some background on how this thing was created in the first place.” She had been instructed by Commander Worf, acting on direction from Captain Picard, to retrieve any information that might help to locate where the
Arrow
had been built, as well as any historical records to be found within the alien vessel’s vast computer data banks. With the revelation from the Raqilan commander, Jodis, that the vessel was—in this time period—in the early stages of its construction, the captain and Commander La Forge had begun to wonder how creating a ship of such immense size and complexity fit with the Raqilan’s current level of technology.

“Based on what little we have been able to glean from our sensor scans,” Taurik said, “the techniques employed to construct the
Arrow
seem consistent with what I have been able to infer about their future technological prowess. Even the temporal displacement equipment, though perhaps somewhat fanciful when considered alongside the more conventional demonstrations of their research and development abilities, does not appear to be the result of outside influence or aid. All of the components and materials used to fabricate it are consistent with the metals and ores I believe can be found either on the Raqilan homeworld or one of the other uninhabited planets or moons within System 3955.”

Chen was not convinced. “Yeah, but come on, Taurik. This ship is
gigantic
. I didn’t find anything in any of their data files that even hints at a vessel remotely like it. And don’t even get me started on the enormous cannon at the heart of this thing.”

“The
Arrow
’s primary weapon bears several similarities to the ship’s other armaments,” Taurik countered, “as well as those of Raqilan ships of the era from which they traveled.” The Vulcan stopped, as though reconsidering what he had just said. “However, you are correct that the antiproton technology appears to be without precedent with respect to Raqilan weapons technology. Still, it might be explained as an experimental design, developed specifically for this vessel, which as we all agree was intended to inflict destruction on a planetary scale.”

“Also, this bit with having only eight people to run the whole show? That’s not consistent with how the Raqilan crew their other warships. If anything, they cram too many people into their ships. They don’t rely on technology like we do. They’re more like we were a century or two ago, with enough people to run three or four duty shifts around the clock.” She frowned. “Something’s not adding up here.”

Before she could continue her thought, Taurik’s workstation emitted a string of almost lyrical tones, and the engineer returned his attention to the cascading streams of information scrolling past on the different screens. One of the monitors had stopped its feed and when she looked over Taurik’s shoulder, Chen saw that one line of data had been highlighted and centered on the display.

“What is it?” she asked.

His fingers moving across the console’s interface, Taurik replied, “I instructed the computer to alert me in the event certain search arguments resulted in matches from the
Arrow
’s data banks. It would appear one of my parameters was satisfied.”

Chen moved to her own workstation. “Hang on. Now that you’ve isolated the data string, I can help you sort through it.” The Vulcan said nothing, his fingers almost a blur as they moved over his console. As she sat at her own station, each of its monitors went blank, erasing the data she had been reviewing and replacing it with an identical message: “Station Deactivated.”

“Taurik, what are you doing?”

“I have locked out your access,” replied the engineer, “as I have done with everyone else currently attempting to interact with the computer.”

Scowling, Chen pushed herself from her chair. “And why exactly in the name of hell did you do that?” When he did not answer, she pressed, “Taurik? Answer me.”

“One moment please.” He kept his attention on his monitors, eyes moving from screen to screen as he input string after string of commands. It took all of her concentration for Chen to keep up with the flurry of instructions he was feeding to the computer.

“You’re locking out an entire sector of core memory,” she said. “Why?” Then, seeing that Taurik was moving—not copying—data from the repository they had brought over from the
Arrow
, she began to comprehend what he was doing. “What did you find in there? Taurik, talk to me.”

Ignoring her increasingly aggressive questions, the Vulcan continued to work for several more seconds before his station’s central monitor cleared and flashed a blinking message: “
DATA TRANSFER COMPLETE. SECURITY LOCKOUT ENABLED
.”

“What did you do?” Chen asked, realizing as she spoke that her voice had risen in volume and pitch. She cleared her throat in exaggerated fashion as he turned in his seat, then she prompted in a more controlled voice, “Taurik, you’re not working and playing well with others right now.”

The engineer nodded. “I apologize for my brusque behavior, but I felt that speed was of the essence. As you have discerned, I have isolated a sector in the main computer’s core memory and secured it with a fractal encryption code which can only be bypassed with the proper key, which I alone possess.” He pressed another series of controls on his console, and Chen watched as her own workstation unlocked and restored to its monitors the streams of information she had been studying.

“You don’t think that’s going to get somebody’s attention?” Chen asked, crossing her arms. “You know, like Commander La Forge? I’m going out on a limb here, but I’m betting the captain won’t be too keen on you locking him out of his own ship’s computer.”

Rising from his chair, Taurik replied, “I will explain myself to the captain and Commander La Forge at a more appropriate time, once our current situation is resolved. In my judgment, decisive action was required before soliciting approval.”

“What the hell are you going on about?” Chen said. Then her gaze drifted past him and to his computer station and its blinking message. “Data transfer complete,” she read from the screen. “Security lockout enabled. What could possibly be so important that . . .” The rest of her question died on her lips, and she reached up to put a hand to her mouth. “Wait. Taurik, you found something about the future in their files, didn’t you? What is it?”

Taurik’s expression, as usual, was all but unreadable. “You know I cannot tell you that. I cannot tell anyone, including the captain.”

“You just can’t keep something like this to yourself, Taurik,” Chen said, feeling her unease beginning to rise.

The engineer replied, “I am duty bound not to reveal anything I have seen which may prove disruptive to future events.”

Now feeling agitated, Chen snapped, “Why would it matter if you saw something about the Raqilan? We already know where they come from, and what prompted them to come back here. The captain, at this very moment, is working with that Golvonek commander to alter what should be their future, if that maniac Doctor Crusher woke up is any indication.” She halted herself, as her mouth was threatening to outpace her mind as she pondered various scenarios. “Come to think of it, what does anything that happens to these two planets matter one way or another to us? If the Federation had been that interested in this area of space, they wouldn’t have waited fifty years to send a ship. What does another century matter?”

And then it all clicked.

“Wait. You found something about us, didn’t you?” Chen held up her hands. “I don’t mean
us
us, but Starfleet, or the Federation, or both. Somehow, in the future, we’re involved with either the Raqilan or the Golvonek. That’s it, isn’t it?”

Taurik replied, “I have already said more than would be considered prudent. However, I will say that I did not study the files, or even review them long enough to note anything which might answer your questions in any meaningful detail.”

“Who needs detail?” Chen asked. “I’ll take vague generalities.”

Shaking his head, Taurik released a small sigh, his first emotional response since his apparent discovery. “You know I cannot divulge such information. I fear that I may already have violated the Temporal Prime Directive. The security lockout is to prevent any further potential breaches, by me or anyone else.”

Though she could understand his point, Chen was still perturbed. “Why not just purge the data from the memory banks? Why go to all this other trouble?”

“I need to verify that all related data is included in such a cleanup effort,” Taurik replied. “I will do so at the earliest opportunity.”

Chen started to make an offer of assistance, but stopped herself. Her friend had already made it clear that he would be keeping to himself whatever it was he had seen in the computer data. In theory, this would minimize possible disruption of future events and the number of investigations this was sure to trigger within the Department of Temporal Investigations, who she knew would soon be receiving some kind of report from Taurik and Captain Picard. “What about the original files, on the
Arrow
?”

“I have already sent an alert to Commander La Forge and Lieutenant Elfiki, warning them of the possible hazards.” Once again, the Vulcan’s right eyebrow arched. “I trust that their experience and self-discipline will overcome any temptation they may have to view the information.”

“Hey,” Chen countered, “if I can control myself, I know they can.”

His expression unwavering, Taurik replied, “Indeed.”