“ ‘When in Rome,’ Captain,” Roget said.
“I agree. Therefore I’ve decided I’m staying aboard the Slaytonuntil you finish up the preliminary business with the first away team. That’ll give me at least another full day here on the bridge before I have to join you down on the planet.”
Roget smiled knowingly. “You want to keep looking for those subspace distortions yourself.”
Blaylock didn’t smile back. Roget needed to know that she was deadly serious. “There’s more at stake here than my scientific curiosity. We already know that the Romulans will have a delegation on Chiaros.”
“That’s unavoidable, unfortunately, under the treaties.” Roget, too, was no longer smiling.
“Wherever you find Romulan diplomats, you’ll probably also find a cloaked Romulan ship nearby– certainlyup to no good.”
Roget regarded her with a silent scowl. He was giving her the lookagain. She knew that he had to be thinking, a cloaked Romulan ship that causes intermittent subspace distortions that can be picked up five sectors away?Fortunately, Roget was not one to question her orders in front of the crew.
Until I find out the answer,she told herself, I’ll be damned if I’m off this ship one second longer than I absolutely have to be.
At that moment, Zweller rose from his station and faced Blaylock, an eager expression on his face. Though he was in his sixties, his unbridled enthusiasm made him appear much younger.
“Captain?”
“Yes, Mr. Zweller?”
“If it’s all right with you and Commander Roget, I’d like to be part of the first away team. From what I’ve read about Chiaros IV, the place could keep a dozen science officers busy for years.”
Blaylock looked toward her exec, who nodded his approval. She turned the matter over in her mind for a moment, then rose from her chair and regarded Zweller approvingly. She liked officers who weren’t afraid to show a little initiative.
“All right, Mr. Zweller. Assemble a few of the department heads in the shuttlebay at 0800 tomorrow. You and Commander Roget will oversee the opening diplomatic ceremonies.”
Zweller thanked Blaylock, then returned to his station to contact his key subordinates. She had no doubt that Chiaros IV would more than justify his scientific curiosity. For a moment, she regretted her decision not to lead the first away team.
But she had a mystery to solve, and a ship to worry about. Needs must,Blaylock thought, when the devil drives.
Or the Romulans.
Sitting beside Roget in the cockpit of the shuttlecraft Archimedes,Zweller finished his portion of the preflight systems checks in less than five minutes. The eightperson craft was ready for takeoff even as the heads of the biomedical science, planetary studies, xenoanthropology, and engineering departments took their seats.
At Roget’s command, the triple‑layered duranium hangar doors opened, accentuating the faint blue glow of the shuttlebay’s atmospheric forcefield. The shuttle rose on its antigravs, moved gently forward, and accelerated into the frigid vastness of space.
The perpetually sunward side of Chiaros IV suddenly loomed above the Archimedes,presenting a dazzling vista of ochers and browns. Gray, vaguely menacing clouds surged over the equatorial mountain ranges. High above the terminator separating eternal night from unending day, Zweller could see the glint of sunlight on metal–Chiaros IV’s off‑planet communications relay, tethered to the planet’s narrow habitable zone by a network of impossibly slender‑looking cables. Zweller noticed that the portion of the tether that plunged into the roiling atmosphere was surrounded by transitory flashes of light.
Lightning?he wondered, then looked more closely. No, it’s thruster fire. If the Chiarosans didn’t compensate somehow for the motions of their turbulent atmosphere, that orbital tether wouldn’t last ten minutes.
Zweller took in this vista–the untamable planet as well as the tenacious efforts of the Chiarosans to subdue it–with unfeigned delight.
“Hail the Chiarosans, Mr. Zweller,” Roget said, interrupting his reverie. Zweller complied, immediately all business once again. His hail was answered by a voice as deep as a canyon, which cleared the shuttlecraft to begin its descent into the churning atmosphere. The computer received the landing coordinates and projected a neat, elliptical course onto the central navigational display.
“A pity we can’t just beam straight down to the capital,” Roget said as the Slaytonreceded into the distance.
Andreas Hearn, the Slayton’s chief engineer, spoke up from directly behind Zweller. “Between the radiation output of the Chiarosan sun, the planet’s intense magnetosphere, and the clash of hot and cold air masses down there, we can’t even get a subspace signal down to the surface–at least not without the orbital tether relay. I wouldn’t recommend trying to transport anyone directly through all that atmospheric hash.”
“Oh, enough technical talk,” said Gomp, the Tellarite chief medical officer, who was seated in the cabin’s aftmost section. “I want to know what these people are really like. The only things I’ve seen so far are their official reports to the Federation. Medically speaking, all I can really say about them is that they’re supposed to be triple‑jointed and faster than Regulan eel‑birds.”
“Then I wouldn’t recommend challenging them on the hoverball court,” Hearn said with a chuckle.
The Archimedesentered the upper atmosphere. On the cockpit viewer, Zweller watched as an aurora reached across the planet’s south pole with multicolored, phosphorescent fingers. Lightning split the clouds in the higher latitudes. Atmospheric friction increased, and an ionized plasma envelope began forming around the shuttle’s hull.
“Gomp makes a good point,” said xenoanthropologist Liz Kurlan, as though this didn’t happen very often. “All we know about these people so far is what they wantus to know.”
“So we’ll start filling in those gaps in our knowledge today,” Roget said with a good‑natured shrug. “That’s why we’re all here, isn’t it?”
Sitting in silence, he moved his fingers with deliberate precision over the controls. Then the shuttle hastened its descent toward the rapidly approaching terminator, the demarcation line between the planet’s endless frigid night and its ever‑agitated, superheated sunward side.
On the Slayton’s bridge, Blaylock heard an uncharacteristic urgency enter Glebuk’s voice. “Captain! The anomaly has reappeared!”
The bridge crew suddenly began moving in doubletime. Blaylock was on her feet in an instant. “Location!”
“Scanning,” Glebuk said.
Ensign Burdick, the young man at the forward science station, beat the Antedean to the answer. “A massive subspace distortion wave‑front has appeared . . . four‑point‑eight astronomical units south of the planet’s orbital plane.”
“Speed?”
“One‑tenth light‑speed in all directions. Speed is constant.”
“Transfer the coordinates to the helm,” Blaylock said.
“Coordinates received,” acknowledged Glebuk.
“That’s our heading, helmsman. Engage at warp factor two. Take us half an AU from the wave‑front, then full stop. Close, but not too close. On my mark, get the hell away at maximum warp.”
“Aye,” Glebuk said, altering the ship’s speed and direction. Blaylock could feel the slight telltale vibration in the deckplates.
“Ensign Burdick, record everything you can about those subspace distortions,” Blaylock barked, then whirled toward the tall, dark‑tressed woman who was working the aft communications station. “Lieutenant Harding, try to raise the Archimedes.”