Star Trek: Voyager: A Pocket Full of Lies Page 18

  “Not that they would admit to me,” Fife replied. “What about Rilnadaar VI?”

  “It’s different for them. Some of them still have family members living on Sormana. They have a tradition at the annual festival of asking for volunteers to return and join the fight. But they are also absolutely convinced that peace is coming to Sormana and they await that eventuality with a confidence that is both heartening and inconceivable.”

  “What has led them to believe that?” Fife asked.

  “Counselor?” O’Donnell said.

  Fife turned toward Cambridge, who seemed disappointed at having to terminate his studies and join the discussion. “I have no idea if any of this can be substantiated, but it is absolutely one of the most fascinating cultural relics I have ever examined,” the counselor began.

  “What is it?” Fife asked.

  “It’s part mythology, part devotional.”

  “There’s more in there than the story of the two brothers?” O’Donnell asked.

  “Much more,” Cambridge replied.

  “The two brothers?” Fife asked.

  “There is a legend among this group of the diaspora that has been handed down for several hundred years,” O’Donnell said. “I’m not sure how seriously the rest of the Rilnar take it, but for the residents of Rilnadaar VI, it is almost a sacred belief. We reenacted it with them as part of the festival.”

  “Approximately two hundred years ago, if this document is to be believed,” Cambridge said, picking up the story, “just after the slaughter at Batibeh—think Wolf 359 or the Azure Nebula, acts of violence so extreme that they stand out among others for their depravity and devastation—there was a moment when it appeared, that the fighting on Sormana might come to an end once and for all.”

  “Batibeh was an ancient Rilnar city, one that had never been attacked, despite its value and significance to the Rilnar,” O’Donnell explained. “Its destruction sent shockwaves through both the Rilnar and Zahl colonies. It was a line no one believed anyone would ever cross. It horrified the colonists who had left Sormana and at the time it did a great deal to turn them against the conflict entirely.”

  “Two brothers from different settlements came to Batibeh. One was supposedly Rilnar, one Zahl. Don’t ask me about their parents or how they could possibly have been brothers because there’s nothing here on it, so we’ll just have to take them at their word,” Cambridge reported bitterly.

  “What were their names?” Fife asked.

  “Also lost to history,” Cambridge replied, “which makes me wonder if they actually existed.”

  “I think they did,” O’Donnell said.

  “Yes, well, you haven’t read this while sober have you?” Cambridge asked.

  “I was exaggerating my condition for the benefit of Griveth,” O’Donnell insisted.

  “The brothers came to Batibeh,” Cambridge continued with a wry nod toward O’Donnell. “There was a stone table that survived the destruction in the center of a park. They began to speak publically about the possibility of peace, the necessity of ending the war. Soon enough the public outcry they fomented began to spread and led the civilian and military leaders on Sormana to enter into serious peace negotiations.”

  “Roving diplomats?” Fife asked.

  “They were inspirational speakers—prophets, if you will,” Cambridge offered him. “But their timing couldn’t have been better. After Batibeh, the bloodlust that had driven so much of the conflict was momentarily spent. Both sides were exhausted and demoralized. And both the military and civilian leaders of the time seem to have had more sense than most.”

  “Tell him about the pools,” O’Donnell suggested.

  “Yes, well, this is where the story starts to really get interesting,” Cambridge said. “The brothers told the Rilnar and Zahl leadership that they could prove to them the futility of eternal war. They claimed to be able to see Sormana’s future in these sacred pools hidden somewhere on the planet—again, their location lost to history.”

  “You’d think something that important, somebody would have left a map or at least dropped a few bread crumbs,” O’Donnell noted.

  “The brothers took several leaders from both sides to visit these pools. When they returned it was as if the scales had fallen from their eyes. A new peace accord was to be established. Sormana was to be evacuated. It was to be left to heal from the damage its residents had inflicted upon it and to serve future generations as a reminder of how close they had come to complete annihilation. Apparently whatever they saw in those pools scared the living daylights out of them.”

  “When did this happen?” Fife asked.

  “Two hundred years ago, give or take,” Cambridge replied. “What we have here is a series of journal entries, secondhand accounts of what the brothers said and did. The oldest sources had only heard rumors about the sacred pools. But it doesn’t matter. Before the peace accord could be finalized, the two principal Rilnar and Zahl commanders were murdered. The brothers vanished from Batibeh and history. Both sides accused the other of treachery. The stone table was broken, and the war continued.”

  “What do the residents of Rilnadaar VI believe?” Fife asked.

  “They think these brothers might have been more than men. Not gods. No one goes that far. But exceptional beings. They say that the brothers departed Sormana on the eve of the accords, believing their work was done. The hope is that one day the brothers will come back and finish what they started. So once a year, the people of Rilnadaar VI set the stone table and eat and drink to peace, calling out into the void and begging the brothers to return.”

  “Why not eliminate the middlemen and just end it?” O’Donnell asked. “And why the hell would they send their children to fight in a war they believe to be futile?”

  “As long as the war persists, they will not abandon the cause,” Cambridge replied. “But as far as I can tell, these are the only people on either side of this equation who honestly believe that one day peace could prevail.”

  ZAHLNA II

  “No, no, no, you misunderstand,” Frem Albrec insisted. “Rahalla has never been given the credit that he is due, but one day that will change.”

  The Doctor and Seven had already spent the better part of an hour listening to Albrec wax rhapsodic about the Zahl scientist. Albrec’s faith was something, especially when one considered that he had never in his life so much as laid eyes upon a single chroniton particle.

  “Rahalla had seen the chroniton particles. He was never able to transport them off Sormana, nor was he able to bring others to the surface. The conflict deterred even the most devoted of his followers. But the theories he developed for their potential uses were profound. We have yet to be able to apply them, as no one has ever located other chroniton particles, but it is only a matter of time, no pun intended, of course.” Albrec chuckled to himself.

  “And you are certain that the Zahl military is not conducting experiments based upon Rahalla’s findings?” Seven asked.

  “With the military, nothing is certain,” Albrec admitted. “But were they so inclined, they would certainly be utilizing the skills of myself or some of my colleagues, and that has never happened. We’ve shared our theories in hopes that the science officers aboard our vessels will seek out other sources of chroniton particles. But nothing has come of it.”

  Seven and the Doctor exchanged perturbed glances. Albrec seemed sincere and equally misinformed if the denzit’s story was to be believed.

  “Do you believe that the particles Rahalla discovered might still be on Sormana?” Seven asked.

  “They’re incredibly unstable in a natural state, so it’s hard to know so many centuries later. Personally, I doubt it,” Albrec replied.

  “Where did Rahalla go after he left Sormana?” the Doctor asked.

  “To spread word of his discoveries. I’m afraid our people were not terribly accommodating. He was written off as something of an eccentric. But he found fellow believers among other species. Even
some Rilnar scientists attended a few of his symposiums.”

  “Are there extant records of any of those gatherings?” Seven asked.

  “A few. We have pieced together fragments of data acquired from other reference materials, but nothing Rahalla touched or left behind has survived.”

  “Why not?”

  “Rahalla traveled on a small ship he had been given by the Zahl science institute. It was lost, along with all of his research, two hundred years ago.”

  “Could we look at those fragments?” Seven asked.

  “How long will you be here?” Albrec asked. “Our records would take weeks, if not months, to properly review. They have to be understood in context.”

  “Did Rahalla ever make contact with the Krenim?” Seven asked. “We’ve heard from others that it is believed the Krenim have some facility with temporal mechanics.”

  “So they claim,” Albrec said, clearly dismissing the notion. “They share nothing, convene no appropriate interdisciplinary conclaves. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Krenim simply allow these rumors to flourish in order to discourage Zahl territorial expansion.”

  That one of the Zahl’s most prominent academic proponents of the study of temporal theories could make such a claim was dispiriting. It did suggest to Seven that there was a distinct line between Zahl civilians and military officers. Why the two would be completely segregated made little sense. It was common in the Federation for civilian scientific institutes and Starfleet to share research and findings. But it was also possible that the Zahl military recruited only the best and brightest to further their knowledge of temporal theory. Albrec, while clearly enthusiastic, was neither of these.

  Seven checked the chronometer on Albrec’s wall. Rukh would be departing the planet in a little less than an hour. Nodding toward the Doctor, she said, “Thank you so much for your time, Mister Albrec.”

  “A moment, please,” he requested, and began to tap quickly at his data console. After an excruciating wait he continued, “I’ve written my own treatise on every known individual or institute that mentioned direct contact with Rahalla either during his life or within a hundred years of his passing. Most of the citations have only single sources, which I know is insufficient by academic standards, but nothing else has survived or yet come to light.”

  Seven accepted a small data card from him with thanks and assurances that should they have any other questions, they would be in touch.

  “Please do,” Albrec said, beaming. “I do allow a select number of exchange students to audit my upper level courses. Both of you would be welcome.”

  “You are too kind,” the Doctor said. Seven understood that he was speaking ironically. Fortunately, Albrec did not.

  LILLESTAN

  The infirmary’s waiting room was filled with unhappy people. None were suffering from severed limbs or anything resembling an emergency, but a fair number obviously nursed nasty respiratory ailments and a few moaned softly, bent over in their chairs.

  Commander Clarissa Glenn didn’t feel right about asking these poor souls to wait while she interrogated the local doctor. But she had no intention of lingering among them long enough to catch whatever alien bugs had attacked them.

  She ordered Velth to wait outside the room, then moved briskly from the entrance to the front desk, where a weary young man barely glanced at her before handing her a small, flat device.

  “What’s this?” Glenn asked.

  “Your evaluator,” he replied. “Place your palm flat on the panel and this will check your vitals and scan your system for infections. Your priority on the waiting list will be determined by the results of this scan.”

  Glenn gently pushed the device aside and said, “I did not come here for treatment. I came to speak with the infirmary’s chief physician.”

  The young man’s eyes finally lifted to meet hers. “The doctor doesn’t take meetings. If you have any general questions, you should visit Lillestan’s public safety division. I’m sure they’ll be more help to you than us.”

  Glenn had come prepared for this eventuality. Nonetheless, she chaffed at the transactional nature of places like Lillestan.

  “Does the doctor accept donations to his infirmary?”

  The young man’s eyes widened.

  Glenn handed him a padd that listed several items from Galen’s stock she would trade for the intelligence she required. It had taken her less than a day at Lillestan to understand that nothing was freely offered here.

  After perusing the list, the man made a notation on his data terminal. “The doctor will see you momentarily,” he advised her almost cheerfully.

  Less than ten minutes later, Glenn was ushered into an examination room with musty gray walls. There were automated diagnostic systems and a data terminal, but to her well-trained eyes, the facility was barely adequate. A fine layer of grime rested on most surfaces and a foul stench mingled with the burn of a cleaning solution filled the air.

  The doctor who eventually entered, knocking softly before the door slid open for him, was an unfamiliar alien species. He was a dozen centimeters shorter than Glenn and a shock of spiked white hair sat atop a long face that bore two distinct demilune-shaped structures framing it on either side. His flesh was mottled gray and black and a flat pointed tongue flicked rapidly over thin lips.

  He moved immediately to his data panel to call up her identification, then turned toward her puzzled. “I am Doctor Pakho,” he said in a high, nasal voice. “You have questions for me?”

  “I do.”

  “The generosity of your donation is sufficient to purchase five minutes of my time, Miss . . . ?”

  “Commander Clarissa Glenn,” she replied, choosing not to offer the designation of her ship. She hadn’t spent much time on places as unsavory as Lillestan, nor was she accustomed to subterfuge on this level. But her gut told her that the less she said the better. “I’m curious about a patient you might have examined a few hours ago. He collapsed in a corridor near two of my crewmen and was almost immediately transported out. He seemed quite ill . . .”

  “And you want to know if there’s any chance your men caught what he had?”

  Glenn nodded, despite the fact that this was not her concern at all.

  “Obviously I cannot reveal the patient’s history or condition to you,” Pakho began. “Privacy is a valued commodity on Lillestan.”

  Glenn made a notation on the padd she held and offered it to Pakho, who reviewed it and emitted a long, slow hissing sigh.

  “The illness is not communicable,” Pakho said. “It is species specific. Your men are in no immediate danger.”

  “He was Zahl,” Glenn said, showing a few of her cards. “If I decided to visit one of their colonies, should I be worried about contracting this infection there?”

  Pakho stared at her briefly, then grabbed the arm of a device extending from the examination table and pointed it toward her. “Don’t move,” he ordered.

  Glenn stepped back immediately.

  “It’s a level-six bio-scanner. It will not hurt you.”

  Glenn moved back into the scanner’s range. A pop and a click completed the evaluation and Pakho paused for a moment to study the results. Finally he said, “Neither you nor anyone else sharing your quantum signature is at risk, Commander.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Quantum scans were familiar to her, but she was amazed to see them integrated into this room’s standard functions.

  “I can’t tell you more about the illness, Commander.” She lifted her padd again but Pakho raised a hand to stop her. “It’s not a question of willingness. I simply don’t have the resources here to analyze it properly. Doesn’t matter. It’s fatal. The man your people encountered died a few minutes after he arrived here and was immediately incinerated. It’s our standard protocol in these cases.”

  “How many do you see?”

  “Maybe a hundred each year. It only affects the Zahl deserters with variable quantum signatures.”

  “
You’re telling me that there are Zahl present here who originated in different quantum realities?” Glenn demanded.

  “I’m not telling you anything,” Pakho reminded her.

  “Can you give me copies of your evaluations? I don’t need to know the identity of the patients, just their physical condition upon admission. I might be able to analyze them more thoroughly and should a treatment regimen present itself, I’d be willing to share it with you.”

  Pakho stared at her, his tongue playing over his lips. He then took her padd and made a few notations of his own. Glenn blanched when he handed it back to her. He had just requested ten times the supplies she had already offered.

  It was worth it. Glenn nodded her consent.

  “Don’t bother with the cure, if you find it,” Pakho added as he started to retrieve the files she had requested.

  “You wouldn’t help them, even if you could?” Glenn asked, surprised.

  “The Rilnar wouldn’t like it.”

  “I thought Lillestan was neutral territory.”

  “It is. And we’d like to keep it that way.” A small chip emerged from the data panel and Pakho handed it to Glenn.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “No, thank you, Commander. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.”

  By the time Glenn and Velth had returned to the Galen, Seven and the Doctor had arrived. Glenn turned the records Pakho had given her over to the Doctor and asked him to begin evaluating them immediately. She ordered the helm to advise the station that they were departing and to set course for the fleet’s rendezvous point.

  Glenn then retreated to her quarters and took a very long sonic shower. She’d seen worse in her travels than Doctor Pakho’s moral and ethical depravity. The intelligence she had gained might prove critical to the fleet’s efforts on Sormana. But the means she had used to acquire it left her feeling filthy, long after her flesh had been scoured clean.

  14

  SORMANA

  Tuvok awoke several hours before the first shift’s duty chimes sounded. He spent that time in meditation, clearing his mind of the unwanted and dangerous emotional responses that had stirred during the previous evening’s conversation with the denzit.