"Okay, we need answers. Who are these people, where did they come from, and why did they attack a population who had absolutely no hope of organizing any kind of meaningful resistance?" Captain Stephen Maruu asked. In the conference room with him were Lieutenant Commander K'Lara Lataro, Lieutenant Commander Dana Maruu, Lieutenant Jennifer Antilles, Lieutenant JG Alysa Sinclair, Ensign Francesca Milano, and Major Johnny Chee. Kalmar was also asked to participate should he have any insights on the invaders.
"The medical scans of the hominids on the planet indicate a virus very similar to human tuberculosis or Klingon HuH SuSDeq'qIvon, or lung slime, has been used. It appears to be propagating at roughly five hundred to one thousand times the usual rate for such diseases. Based on what we know of the evolution of other races, tubercular diseases were major killers at this point in evolution. In fact, humans never fully overcame tuberculosis until after the Eugenics Wars," Dana explained. "This virus is not native to the system; the evidence Jenara was able to transmit to the ship showed at least seven amino acids which are not present in this planetary system except in trace quantities, and which play no role in the Alaran physiology. However, the virus appears to be specifically geared to the Alarans' bioreceptors. It is my considered medical opinion that someone is deliberately trying to exterminate this race."
"But why? They can't even make fire, much less a warp drive or a phaser! What threat could they pose?" the captain asked.
"On our last visit, the bioscans of the Alarans indicated the development of specialized glial cells which could one day make them superior telepaths. The glial cells are the cells which line the dendrites of all neurons.
Vulcans, Betazoids, Tanzarans, and all other telepathic races have very specialized glial cells which boost the power of neural transmissions so others may receive them under certain circumstances. Certain humans, Ferengi, and others have somewhat weaker capabilities; only the Klingons have no history or record of enhanced mental abilities at any point in their evolution, but that may be because they've never adequately studied the problem. Right now the Alarans don't have the mental development for it (the mean Alaran brain volume is around 450 cubic centimeters) but in another five million years they'll be at least as powerful as the Organians," Francesca reported. "It seems like a stretch, but perhaps the raiders represent a race who would like to stop a potential threat before it starts."
"Five million years is a bit of a stretch for some races, but Bajor had an advanced and enlightened civilization when humans were not much farther along than the Alarans," the captain replied. "No offense, of course. But we could be potentially dealing with a race for whom such a time frame is relatively close enough to present a threat. Kalmar, you're our resident expert on ancient races. What do you think?"
Kalmar paused for a moment. "Pharox. He is behind this. He never acts directly, but instead operates through other races. You saw this with the Visitors at Xenon III, whose benign efforts as missionaries were perverted to serve an agenda of domination. Neither race is aware of this, and will not be for several thousand more years, but the Borials and the Aody are both latent telepaths. In fact, less than 10,000 years ago these races had developed the telepahic abilities they now lack. Like the technology and civilization they once had, their telepathic ability has been lost, but it will come again. Ask not more on this issue for we will return to the present one. Pharox is extremely efficient: he will never use more force than absolutely necessary. The natural suspicion of outsiders among all sentient races was enough to set off the horrid civil war on Xenon III.
"The Tanzarans were more than likely destroyed because they are strong telepaths and were beginning to build a warp-drive civilization. At the time of their destruction they had relations with the major power brokers of the Alpha Quadrant of the time: the Federation and the Klingon and Romulan empires; the Cardassians were upstarts just beginning to flex their muscles but were still influential. An alliance of equals between the Tanzarans any of the three major powers would have eventually made that power nearly invincible; an alliance of the Tanzarans with the Cardassians would have resulted in the eventual displacement of the Cardassians from the head of their own empire. For an entity fearful of telepaths, the Tanzarans presented a major threat: telepathic power combined with advanced technology. For the greater threat, greater power."
"Our files on the Tanzarans indicate that they were pursuing alliances with all the major powers. They could also have stood pat, played neutral, and in their own way become a power: the Geneva or Helsinki of the Alpha Quadrant: the place where deals are made," Alysa added. "Such a vital node would have been indispensible to peace in the Alpha Quadrant. Earth's Cold War would likely have been much hotter without neutral countries such as Switzerland or Austria or Finland to act as intermediaries."
"That may be so," Johnny interjected, "but what about the telepathic races which were much more powerful at the time, like the Vulcans?"
"This is what troubles me about this incident. Pharox has many catspaws; one of these is a highly advanced race known as the Eriarti. They have extremely advanced technology, but they are cowards. They never fight a battle unless they know they can win without losses. Had either the Federation vessel Enterprise or the Klingon vessel Vengeance been closer to Tanzara than they were, the Eriarti would have aborted the attack. A direct attack on Vulcan would be both out of character and out of the question: though avowed pacifists, Vulcans are more than capable of defending themselves. And other powerful races such as the Humans, Andorians, and Tellarites would have quickly rallied to Vulcan's defense," Kalmar answered. "Hence this experimentation. Ms. Milano, if you consult your science database, along what lines do you believe the Alarans will evolve?"
Francesca typed a few commands into the workstation at her chair. "A schematic of the hypothetical evolution of an Alaran will appear on the conference room viewscreen. Keep in mind that this is only a hypothesis; future events in the Alaran system could change both the rate and direction of evolution," she explained.
The screen showed one of the hominids; a data display correlated the Alaran's bioreadings with those of several major races. At T plus five hundred thousand years, roughly when the Alarans would be making crude stone tools, using fire, and developing language, the similarities started to become appearant.
At T plus one million years, the Alarans, due to the presence of higher than normal radiation levels in their planetary system, had evolved to the point of using other materials such as bone and animal skins for their tools. The hair which had covered their bodies had almost disappeared, leaving behind naked flesh of a greenish hue. The ears were very slightly pointed.
At T plus 1.5 million years, the Alarans were beginning to domesticate animals. The similarity was now unmistakeable. Before the command staff of the Virgo was an entity which resembled a cross between Neandertal man and a modern Vulcan!
"So you see," Kalmar concluded, "the Eriarti, and their keeper Pharox, have not forgotten about the Vulcans. If you look at your displays you will note the remarkable similarity between the Vulcan and Alaran immune systems."
"He's right!" Dana exclaimed. "Even now there's nearly 85% congruence between the two!"
Kalmar continued. "This is only a practice for the main attack. The Eriarti could never survive a direct attack on Vulcan or any other Federation world. Under the guise of a trade or diplomatic mission, however, they could smuggle in substantial quantities of bioweapons. Within weeks every Vulcan in the Federation could be dead or dying. The Romulans could also be destroyed in the same fashion. Then Pharox would be free to stir up old animosities and set up his dominion in the Alpha Quadrant!"
"Then it's settled. We must track down the Eriarti vessel and rescue our people; more to the point, we need to deliver a message to them and their keeper," Captain Maruu announced. "They have just attempted to exterminate an entire race, with ambitions of exterminating two others. For that alone they are a menace. Anyone who's ever lived on Bajor during the occupation can tell you about what bioweapons can do! The fact that they have three, four including Jenara's baby, of our own makes this personal.
"Everybody has a part here. Ms. Lataro, I want you to analyze the reports written by Captain Kirk of the attack on Tanzara. Come up with a strategy for intercepting and defeating the Eriarti vessels. Ms. Sinclair, research any intelligence data we might have from the Klingons and any other races which may have had contact with the Eriarti, and share your findings with Ms. Lataro. All of the data, please. Doctor, you and Ms. Milano should coordinate on finding a cure for this disease. If we can save the Alarans, we must. They wouldn't be dying if the Federation didn't pose a threat to the Eriarti and Pharox. Major Chee, prepare your people for an interdict-and-board mission. Coordinate security arrangements with Lieutenant Sitto; I don't just want to defeat these bastards, I want to kick down their door and let them know never to mess with our part of the galaxy again!"
"Okay, let's get to work! Dismissed." With that, the meeting broke up.
Two hours later, after working up an operation plan and getting the captain to sign off on it, Johnny addressed his troops.
"All right, Marines, listen up!"
Johnny's platoon was assembled on the quarterdeck, including Zelansky who, for some reason, had been pursuing his duties with cheerful alacrity of late. Good to see he's straightening out his act, Johnny thought. I'll need everyone I can get for this!
"Three of our senior officers have just been abducted by a race known as the Eriarti. They are highly advanced and skilled in the use of biological weapons. In twelve hours we are going to interdict their vessel, board it, and rescue our people," he told them. My people, he thought to themselves, hoping and praying to Changing Woman, the Warrior Twins, and all the Holy People that Jenara and the baby were safe. "While on board, we will attempt to take prisoners for interrogation by Security. The Eriarti have used a biological weapon on the Alaran race, which is biologically similar to Vulcans. It is the Captain's considered opinion that they may be preparing to attack the Vulcan homeworld with such a weapon.
"We are not going to let that happen, are we?! We are going to board this ship, kick the Eriarti's butts, and take down some names for future reference!!!"
The platoon sounded off with an impressive "HOO-RAH!!!"
"We are thirteen hours away from the Eriarti vessel's estimated position. You will get at least four hours' sleep and a good meal before going in. You'll need every gram of strength you can get. This type of fight is frequently very short but extremely draining; the least bit of fatigue could mean you sleep forever! All personnel are to carry the Mark V compression phaser rifle with full battle armor. Your commanding officer, your platoon sergeant, your squad leaders and Privates Maxon and Van der Merwe will be carrying five photon grenades apiece," Johnny instructed them, using standard Marine third person impersonal. The pronoun "I" had no place in the Corps!
"In lieu of personnel from Medical, who are all working around the clock to find a cure for the bioweapon's effects, Private Zelansky is designated platoon corpsman. Private, you are to go immediately to Sickbay and draw a medical tricorder and full medkit," Johnny ordered. He wasn't entirely sure about this decision, but Zelansky was capable of operating field medical equipment and, most importantly, would not be carrying a weapon other than a sidearm. As much as he had improved, Zelansky was still the worst shot in the platoon.
"Aye, sir," Zelansky responded, turning smartly and double-timing it to Sickbay.
"The rest of you: get your equipment ready. We will be using insertion pattern Beta-9, which we've all drilled on until we know it in our sleep! Maxon, Sivak, report to my office at 2000 hours. Sergeant, dismiss the platoon!"
Johnny then turned and walked to his office. "Dismissed!" Barek ordered as Johnny left.
Once Johnny reached his office, he found both Francesca and K'Lara waiting for him. "We'd like a word with you, Major," K'Lara told him.
"Certainly, come on in. Is there a problem, Commander? Aside from the obvious problem, that is."
"It is the problem all three of us have been avoiding since this started," Francesca replied. "I know for a fact that you love Jenara very much. Even a Pakled's bright enough to see that one a parsec away! And although sometimes I wonder if he knows it, I love Benton. And obviously K'Lara wants her husband back. But I, for one, am not going to sit around and wait while the shooting goes on! I want in on your boarding mission."
Johnny thought for a moment. "Okay. I assume you've gotten clearance from the captain on this one, and that you have some training we can use."
"I've authorized it, as is my right as a Lieutenant Commander," K'Lara replied.
"And I've had Starfleet standard small arms training, and qualify every six months per regulations," Francesca added.
No way I'm getting out of this one, Johnny thought. Not that I blame her! "All right, then. Do you have any medical training?"
"Yes, sir. I'm qualified as a Level I Medtech."
"Good. I can use a second corpsman. That's the best thing you can do to aid this mission right now. Between the three of us as officers, I'm not entirely sure I trust the man I've assigned to the job with a hypospray any
further than I'd trust him with a phaser! But we're better off with two than one. Report to Sickbay and draw a field medkit and medical tricorder, then return to the quarterdeck and request that Sergeant Barek scan you for battle armor. Commander, I'm sure you can convince the quartermaster to put a rush on this order," Johnny replied.
"Of course," K'Lara answered.
"That is greatly apprecated. Francesca, once that's done, sit down with Private Zelansky and teach him anything he doesn't know about field medicine, which I'm sure is probably quite a bit. You won't be doing much shooting, but you'll be keeping the rest of us alive," Johnny said. "Now, get moving!"
"Yes, sir!" Francesca hurried out the door. Johnny wasn't quite sure, but he sensed an almost joyful attitude from her.
"One more thing, Major. I wish to join this mission as well. I cannot sit by at the helm while my Jonathan's in danger," K'Lara asked.
"Absolutely not, Commander. And the Captain will back me up on this one."
K'Lara was shocked, but held back somehow. "And your reasoning?"
Johnny could perceive her temper just below the surface, a temper which made the one he'd battled all his life a mere shadow by comparison. "Jenara lost her homeworld and nearly all of her race to these people; the Alarans could lose their shot at joining the rest of us someday in exploring the universe, or possibly sweeping up our ashes long after we've entered the ghost realm. And let's be honest: I may or may not have lost Jenara and the baby, Francesca may have lost Benton, and you may have lost Jon. But if I have anything to do with it, T'Lan will not lose his mother: even if it means stifling her desire for vengeance! There's been enough tragedy on account of the Eriarti."
K'Lara thought for a moment. "I suppose you're right. I was being selfish." She relaxed, then smiled a bit as she thought of her baby boy. "In a couple of weeks when you become a parent you'll find yourself at first thinking things can be the way they were before, and then suddenly reminded that they'll never be the same again. Still, though, is there anything I can do to help?"
"You're the helmsman; get us there and make sure we still have a ship to bring Jon back to!"
"Of that you may be certain," K'Lara answered. "And if you need any equipment or supplies not already on hand, you've my direct authorization. I'll make sure our unduly stingy quartermaster knows this as well. Do whatever it takes to bring my husband, and the father of my child, back alive!"
"I will. I promise," Johnny told her. As K'Lara left, Maxon and Sivak entered the office.
"Reporting as ordered, sir," Sivak said.
"At ease, Privates. One thing I did not mention earlier is a theory which directly pertains to both of you. The Eriarti are believed to be hunting down members of telepathic races; that may be one of the reasons Jenara was abducted. It seems fairly conclusive that Vulcan is a future target for the Eriarti. We don't know how much or even if the Eriarti know about Betazed, but if they find out Betazoids are telepathic it's a sure bet they'll be next on the target priority list.
"I cannot order you to go into a situation where you are likely to be used for illegal medical experimentation for the purpose of developing bioweapons to exterminate your respective races. If you do not wish to participate in this mission, let me know now, and I'll detail you to Lieutenant Sitto as part of shipboard security for the duration," Johnny explained.
Sivak spoke first. "Permission to speak freely, sir."
"Go ahead."
"I am a Vulcan. If the weapons we face are to be used against my people, then it is only logical that I should bear the risk of eliminating them. I am the only representative of my people in the platoon; to allow my comrades to bear a risk on my behalf which I am not willing to bear myself is both illogical and disingenuous," the Vulcan private answered.
"I thought you would say that, and I'm glad you said that. My faith in Vulcan integrity is once more renewed. How about you, Maxon?"
"I agree. Most other races see us as weak because Betazoids tend to be pacifists, by and large. We're the ship's counselors, the yeoman clerks, occasionally the engineers. But we are not known as warriors. Maybe these Eriarti will think twice about attacking Betazed if one of us were making them look down the business end of a Type V, sir."
"I like your thinking! Are you sure you're not Dineh?" Johnny asked. "Instead of a Type V phaser rifle, however, I want you carrying the Mark 22 photon antitank weapon. The captain wants to kick down the door; I want to do it with style! All right, men, dismissed!"
Despite his own orders, Johnny found himself unable to eat much. Jenara was in danger, and for the next ten hours there was little he could do about it except wait for the Virgo to get within range of the Eriarti ship.
As he retired to his sleeping quarters, Johnny regarded the Nine Sacred Glyphs. The sacred symbols of the Visitors of Xenon III were given to him by Glybothar, their High Mage and Keeper. Glybothar, and most of what were then called the Horde, weren't really bad people. They had been manipulated into doing things through a perversion of their original intent: to spread what seemed to them to be a good idea throughout the galaxy. How many other manipulations took place? Johnny thought. Were the conquistadores so manipulated? How about the billeganni (the white Americans) whom my people fought five hundred years ago? These thoughts stayed with him as he began singing the Enemy Way. As the only one of his people so far among the stars,
Johnny felt solace with the customs and ceremonies which tied him to his ancestry, his home...
The dream he would have that night, however, would provide Johnny with little solace.
He stirs, he stirs, he stirs, he stirs.
Now Talking God he stirs, he stirs.
Now his white robe of buckskin, he stirs, he stirs;
Now in old age wandering, he stirs, he stirs;
Now on the trail of beauty, he stirs, he stirs.
He stirs, he stirs, he stirs, he stirs."
- from the Navajo Enemy Way
Haske approached the ranchero with caution. The Mexicans had become one with the billeganni, the blue-robed warriors from the place where the sun dwells, and raiding had become much more dangerous. Word had recently spread from the village chief that the speaker for the billeganni, a man named Colonel Munroe, had decided not to raid the country of the Dineh. The Comanche and Jicarillo band of Apaches were expected to raid the white man's territory from the east, thus causing Munroe to cancel the campaign against the People. Without the white soldiers present to hound them, the People could once more raid the Mexicans for food and wealth. For once, the Comanche actually doing us a favor! Haske thought. No love had been lost between the Dineh and the Comanche ever since the bands which had wandered from northwestern Canada into New Mexico to become the Navajo and Apache arrived some nine hundred years earlier.
As Haske, and all the People, understood it, though, they had always been in this land. The Mexicans and the billeganni were interlopers, and the lords of the land which the white man called New Mexico would deal with them as they did with any raiders. Swiftly and decisively. Land meant sheep and horses, and sheep and horses meant wealth. Which was why Haske, barely fifteen summers old, was raiding this miserable excuse for a ranchero. A tiny flock of twenty sheep, and two old horses as good for food as for riding. But the twenty sheep and two horses were twenty sheep and two horses more than his village had.
The tiny adobe dwelling, however, was unusually quiet, even for night. The horses seemed unusually nervous, and the sheep were restless, but the rancher who lived on this property did not go out to investigate. The Mexicans grow wiser; they know I'll send an arrow through their hearts as soon as one of them exits that funny-looking hogan, Haske thought, chuckling to himself. Cautiously, however he approached the dwelling.
He got within three paces of the door when he heard whimpering inside. Haske peeped through the window and saw a Mexican man about twice his age huddled in the corner. He had no discernable weapons and was extremely terrified. I would be too, unarmed in this country with Apaches and Comanches and billeganni running around the way they were, Haske thought to himself, oblivious to the fact that somewhere an Apache was making the same comment about whites and Comanches and Mexicans and Navajo.
Something, though, was terribly wrong. Haske took a chance and entered the adobe. The man cried out. "Corre, indio, corre! Los brujos estan aqui!" That was Spanish for "Run, Indian, run! The witches are here!"
Sensing from the man's obvious emotion that this was no bluff, and there really were witches in the area, Haske turned to run, only to be stopped bya blinding light descending from the heavens.
Haske paid enough attention to the heavens to know of the sun and the moon and the grouping of stars his people called Dilyehe and the white man called the Pleiades which told them when to plant the corn and migrate to the mountains. But he had never seen anything like this! A gigantic silver triangle descending from the sky, and odd-looking people leaving it. If Haske hadn't known better, he would have sworn the odd-looking people were the kachinas for whom the Navajo's neigbors, the Hopi, danced and sacrificed cornmeal. But the Hopi never had anything like this!
Could it be the white man? Haske thought. No; as powerful as the billeganni were, they could not fly or build anything that could fly. This had to be another, yet more powerful tribe. Haske had absolutely no idea just how right he was...
This Mexican's been witched, Haske thought, and these strangers are going to witch me as well! For the first time anywhere in the long and bloody history of the Indian wars of the American frontier, an Indian actually wished the white man was there! But this was beyond even them.
One of the odd people who came out saw him and pointed at him, a sure sign a spell had been cast. Haske immediately ran behind the adobe and nocked an arrow in his bow. I will not let them make a ghost of me! he thought.
The odd people started to converge upon his position. Haske released his arrow. It flew straight into the heart of one of them! A lot of liquid like blood, except bluish purple in color, gushed out. One of his companions fired a weapon much like a pistol at Haske, but it glanced off the corner of the adobe, nearly disintegrating that part of the rude structure. Haske fired another arrow, and then began to run back to his village. The odd men entered what was left of the adobe and took the now nearly-catatonic Mexican out with them. Haske looked back. His second arrow had hit another of the strangers in the leg. Without knowing it, he had counted coup on aliens from the opposite side of the galaxy, and inadvertently stopped a planetary invasion!!!
But Haske didn't care. His only concern was to get back to his village, where a healer would be able to sing over him and counteract the witching he'd taken before it became too strong.
Haske had the full four-day sing, and a drypainting of Changing Woman was made by the men in his village to help drive away the evil spirits. To the day he died of consumption on a reservation some thirty years later, Haske never spoke of the incident to anyone.
The computer automatically sounded an alarm for Johnny to wake up, but he was already up and preparing for the battle ahead of him when the door chimed.
Who could it be at this hour? he thought. "Enter," Johnny called as he strapped on his armor.
In walked Kalmar, dressed in a Starfleet uniform. "Good morning, Johnny. I trust you slept well?"
"Slept well? Usually the night before a battle I don't dream at all. But I had the weirdest dream last night..."
"About something that happened over five hundred years ago back in the Navajo country?" Kalmar asked.
"Yes, how did you know?" Johnny asked, astonished.
"The Eriarti visited Earth, too. The man they took that night, Juan Garcia Mendoza, was a latent telepath, the strongest on the planet at the time, though the poor soul had no idea. He just thought he was having crazy dreams about witches from the sky, and drove the parish priest crazy with his incessant requests for an exorcism. And the Navajo raiding that ranch: he was your ancestor ten generations back. The Eriarti managed to get a genetic profile on him; the barbarian who killed one of them and wounded another convinced them to delay their plans for Earth another hundred years, but by that time humans had developed nuclear weapons and weren't afraid to use them.
"You're Haske's spitting image, although in much better health than he was at your age; tuberculosis is such a nasty disease. They'll be looking for you, Johnny," Kalmar said ominously. "Which is why I am going with you."