A Time to Sow Read online

  Picard rose from his chair…

  …stepping forward until he stood directly behind the conn and ops consoles, as though the movement might bring him closer to the person pleading for aid.

  “Our reactor coolant tank has ruptured, and our environmental system has failed. Send any available transports for evacuation!”

  Picard’s eyes locked on the viewscreen and the uncounted asteroids drifting all around the ship, as if he might locate the caller by sight alone. Somewhere out there, among all the tumbling and drifting rock, someone needed their help.

  Current books in this series:

  A Time to Be Born by John Vornholt

  A Time to Die by John Vornholt

  A Time to Sow by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

  Forthcoming books in this series:

  A Time to Harvest by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

  A Time to Love by Robert Greenberger

  A Time to Hate by Robert Greenberger

  A Time to Kill by David Mack

  A Time to Heal by David Mack

  A Time for War, a Time for Peace by

  Keith R.A. DeCandido

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  An Original Publication of POCKET BOOKS

  POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  Copyright © 2004 by Paramount Pictures. All Rights Reserved.

  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.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  ISBN: 0-7434-8891-1

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  Acknowledgments

  We’d like to thank John Ordover, editor of the A Time To…series, for the opportunity to participate in one of these high-profile projects featuring the work of several authors. As readers and fans of Star Trek books long before either of us got the harebrained idea that we could write, we became accustomed to names like David, Friedman, Reeves-Stevens, and Carey as staples for efforts on this scale. That anyone might consider us capable of holding our own at the level established long ago by these fine writers is a reward unto itself.

  Thanks also to the other writers involved in this effort: John Vornholt, Robert Greenberger, David Mack, and Keith R.A. DeCandido. Everyone pitched in well beyond the efforts of simply writing their own story, offering insights and advice on one another’s manuscripts to make this entire affair a truly collaborative effort.

  Last but certainly not least, thanks very much to the many readers who’ve expressed their enjoyment and appreciation for the stories Kevin and I write. One of the most common questions we ask whenever working on a project is “What would a fan want to see?” That question and the mind-set it evokes influences everything we do, and we hope it shows in the stories that end up in your hands.

  Prologue

  Translated from the personal journal of Hjatyn:

  WRITING IS NOT SOMETHING I have practiced much of in the past, at least in any capacity that did not involve my work, but the crisis that is befalling us compels me to record my feelings and thoughts. I am sure that others, possessing superior education and clarity of thought, are at this very moment recording these events so that future generations might read and reflect on this time in our history. Still, I feel an obligation, almost a compulsion, to do the same.

  I know I should report to the school to conduct my scheduled classes, but I am finding it increasingly difficult to remain focused on my responsibilities. With each passing day, those things I once considered important and even enjoyable in life seem to be losing their significance. More than once, I have fought back the growing sensation that I myself am becoming progressively inconsequential.

  I am afraid.

  My wife, Beeliq, keeps telling me there is nothing to fear, yet with each new day she spends more and more time at the office of the colony administrator. She acts as one of his assistants, which puts her in a position to know if anything was wrong.

  What I am no longer sure of is whether she would tell me. Since our earliest days of courtship, she has never kept secrets from me, at least to the best of my knowledge. That she seems to be holding back now only deepens my anxiety. Is it possible she has been ordered to keep information even from her husband?

  Still, despite her best efforts, the worry in her eyes is unmistakable.

  It is a look that becomes more obvious on those rare occasions that we can share a meal together. Neither of us seems to have an appetite, however, and more often than not the food goes uneaten as we watch the latest news feeds from Dokaal. They seem to be on all the time now, even in our classrooms at the school. With the communications channels overloaded by everyone trying to reach family and friends, the feeds are our only other contact with our homeworld.

  At first, the images of destruction were rare, only one or two a season. Certain parts of the world had always suffered from quakes, after all. Such disturbances were given their just due by the media, appearing as part of the daily news broadcasts transmitted to the mining colonies from Dokaal. People worried about loved ones who might be living in affected areas, and memorial services were held on the rare occasions it was learned that relatives had fallen victim to tragedy. There might also be discussion regarding the type and amount of aid the various regional governments might provide, but ultimately, such news was usually forgotten quickly.

  Things are different now.

  Quakes seem to be erupting every few days at different locations around the world, and the effects seem to be getting worse each time. Barely a week ago, we received the news that the capital city of Wyjaed suffered widespread damage when a quake struck there in the middle of the night. Rescue efforts continue with unrelenting intensity just as they have since the beginning, but hundreds of thousands are feared dead.

  Last night’s broadcast brought news of the most recent incident. We sat aghast and watched journalists fight back tears as they reported the loss of the entire island nation of Saorquiln, destroyed by tidal forces generated as the result of a massive undersea quake. My friend Rueq and a few others living in our colony had relatives there, and we sat up through the night waiting for any word of survivors. According to the accounts we have seen, it appears that all of the island’s inhabitants were lost.

  The reports and images, coming from nearly every city now, are perhaps more disturbing because we are helpless to do anything. Out here, among the asteroids, we are days away even with our fastest ships. Besides, what would we do once we got there? Even those with the proper skills and knowledge do not yet seem to know what is happening.

  On another of the colonies, the wife of my friend Caesi has been in constant contact with the ministry on Dokaal, but even her position as colony administrator has gained her nothing. No one seems able to explain what the scientists are calling “recurring irregular seismic disruptions beneath the planet’s surface.” They do not yet know what caused the quakes to begin, why they continue, or whether they will get worse before they finally stop.

  One theory that seems to be gaining support in the scientific community is that this is
a natural geological phase for the planet. Many scientists are searching for evidence that such an event might have happened long ago, perhaps even before life evolved on our world, but I do not understand how this knowledge will help stop the quakes.

  What if they never stop?

  More alarming to many is the notion put forth by several prominent spiritual leaders: that this is “the Reckoning.” Many religious groups have long felt that our people have been drifting away from the principles Dokaa laid down at the start of our civilization. They believe she is angry at us and that the quakes are a punishment for abandoning our faith in her. Though this specific penalty is not recorded in our people’s most sacred texts, the wording is sufficiently cautionary that it is enough to send waves of concern through our more devout people.

  As for myself, while I have always attended services with Beeliq, I have never accepted these beliefs with her level of conviction. I know that she is seeking comfort and perhaps forgiveness in Dokaa’s embrace, much as she did after her brother died in the mines. Though I did not do so then, part of me wants to join her in prayer now.

  The colony administrators are doing their part to keep up a brave front. They repeatedly tell us to go about our lives as best we can, working in the mines or at the various stations supporting the miners and their families. Despite their efforts, the activity is doing little to ease everyone’s concerns. My friends and others talk before and after our classes, and I overhear conversations in the Concourse Module when we go to shop or eat. Everyone, everywhere, all across the different colonies, seems to be asking the same question.

  What is happening?

  2151

  Chapter One

  THOUGH IT WAS NOT UNUSUAL for him to be called to the bridge at such an irregular hour, Captain Vanik was still surprised at the summons. After all, given their current assignment, what could possibly be so pressing?

  Located well within the admittedly small sector of the galaxy that had been mapped and traversed by Vulcan ships, this area of space was one Vanik had traveled numerous times during his fifteen years as commander of the Ti’Mur. Other than its status as the location of a single minor conflict during the protracted war with the Andorians, the region offered little of interest. None of the planets in the area’s lone star system were habitable, and they contained nothing of scientific or strategic value. The only quality the area possessed, in Vanik’s opinion, was that it had few distractions to delay a vessel’s journey to some other, more appealing destination.

  Has this somehow changed?

  He had only just settled into his evening’s meditation when the message came from the officer on duty. Well aware of her captain’s routine, Sub-commander T’Lih would not have intruded on his private time unless she believed it was a matter for his attention. Whatever it was that had prompted her call, it must be quite fascinating indeed.

  Of course, Vanik reminded himself, further speculation serves no purpose. My questions will be answered in short order.

  The turbolift slowed to a halt and the doors parted to reveal the Ti’Mur’s bridge. Triangular-shaped, the command center was widest at the rear stations, with rows of control consoles to either side and angling inward until they met the immense viewscreen dominating the forward bulkhead. Unlike other areas of the ship, where lighting was adjusted in order to simulate the daily cycle on Vulcan, Vanik preferred the command center’s illumination to remain at normal levels regardless of the time of day.

  Each of the bridge’s key stations was manned despite the lateness of the hour, just as they would be during prime shift, yet the captain also noted a crew member operating the secondary science console. A visual inspection of the weapons station showed that the defensive systems were not active, meaning that no threats to the ship had been detected. Even from across the room, he could hear the two separate conversations taking place between members of the bridge crew and detected nothing untoward being discussed.

  Stepping from the turbolift, Vanik nodded in greeting to T’Lih as the subcommander noticed his arrival.

  “Good evening, Captain,” she offered as she rose from the command chair at the rear of the bridge. Like every other member of the ship’s complement, T’Lih wore the standard gray uniform of the Vulcan Space Service. Impeccably tailored to her physique, the uniform possessed no decorative accessories save for the small rank insignia on the left side of her collar. Like Vanik’s own, her features were lean and angular, but while his hair was gray and full-bodied, T’Lih wore her black locks cropped close to her skull in a manner that served to highlight the severe upswing of her pointed ears.

  “And to you, Sub-commander,” Vanik replied. “So, what is it that has attracted your interest?” Rather than take the proffered seat T’Lih had vacated, he chose instead to pace the room’s perimeter, walking a slow circuit with hands clasped behind his back as he waited for the subcommander to make her report.

  Moving to join her captain, T’Lih replied, “Fifty-two point six minutes ago, our long-range sensors detected an object traveling at warp one point three. A review of our data banks shows that it is of a type and configuration unknown to us.”

  “Life signs?” Vanik prompted.

  “No, Captain. The object appears to be an unmanned drone. It is transmitting a recorded message that repeats at intervals of four point seven minutes. Translation efforts are already under way, and I have also ordered an attempt to determine the drone’s origin point based on its current course heading.”

  Vanik nodded, pleased with the report and the subcommander’s initiative, which also logically explained the presence of additional science personnel on the bridge. “Is it close enough for visual inspection?”

  By way of reply, T’Lih summoned the attention of the junior officer working at the main science station. “Lieutenant Serel?”

  The object that appeared on the bridge’s central viewer in response to the science officer’s commands was unlike anything Vanik had seen before. It consisted of a bulky cylindrical module mounted above a trio of squat engine bells. The cylinder’s outer shell was composed of metal plating, and Vanik could see the join lines as well as the heads of dozens of fasteners that presumably attached the individual plates to a skeletal frame. Two antenna dishes were affixed to the cylinder’s flanks, one of which appeared to have suffered damage. In fact, pockmarks and other blemishes were clearly discernible across the surface of the small craft.

  “The damage is consistent with the effects of ion storms we have seen on our vessel’s hulls,” Serel reported from his station. “According to our scans, exposure to such a storm most likely occurred approximately eleven point six years ago.”

  “What have you learned about its level of technology?” Vanik asked.

  “Though we will have to retrieve the drone in order to complete a thorough investigation,” the science officer replied, “its propulsion system looks to be quite rudimentary. I would theorize that the warp drive was of an experimental nature, perhaps the first such test made by whoever constructed the object.”

  Interesting, Vanik thought. Given that the craft was obviously primitive, in all likelihood a first-generation deep-space vessel, that it had survived such an encounter relatively intact and still able to transmit data was a testament to its designers’ craftsmanship.

  Could this drone be the initial step toward first contact with a new species? Though he had worn the uniform of the Space Service for seventy-six years, he had participated in only one other introduction to an alien race. Vanik had to confess that the opportunity to do so again presented an intriguing notion.

  He heard a telltale tone from Serel’s console and turned to see the junior officer rising from his chair. “I have a report on the status of our translation efforts, Captain,” Serel said as he crossed the bridge to stand before Vanik and T’Lih. “The object has sustained considerable damage during its journey. Much of the message is garbled beyond our ability to decipher. However, I was able to isolate several passa
ges. The people who constructed the drone call themselves the Dokaalan, and the device itself was not launched from their homeworld as part of an exploration initiative. Rather, it seems that the message is a distress call.”

  Vanik’s right eyebrow rose in response. An entire planet calling for help? What could have prompted such a desperate act? “Did the message include a reason for their plea?”

  “Yes, Captain,” Serel replied. “Their planet was undergoing global seismic events that threatened to destroy it, and science specialists among their people predicted total obliteration within one of their years. Though they had discovered the ability to travel at light speeds, they possessed no space vessels capable of transporting people to another habitable planet. They therefore sent out a trio of unmanned craft in the hopes of contacting someone who could come to their aid.”

  Already beginning to surmise the likely outcome of this scenario, Vanik was nevertheless obligated to consider what course of action, if any, he could undertake in response to the distress call. “Are we able to determine where the object originated?”

  Turning to the secondary science station, T’Lih said, “Sub-commander Taren?”

  “According to our sensor scans of its onboard systems,” Taren replied, “it appears to have traveled on a constant course at a consistent speed for thirty-eight point three years. This places its likely origin point in an area of space that according to our databases is presently unexplored.”

  It took little effort for Vanik to comprehend the futility of the Dokaalan’s actions. Even if the drone had been able to travel at a faster speed, had its creators not understood the improbability of making contact with anyone possessing the resources to render assistance on such a scale? Perhaps they had, and yet the dire situation they faced nevertheless compelled them to make the attempt.