“And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.”
T. S. Eliot, The Waste Land (1922)
Prologue
Chaa't'ka fled, and the Dragon chased him.
He knew he could never escape the flames – the Dragon was eternal, unyielding, and he was but a simple acolyte. But the treasure he carried was too precious to leave to the fire. The edges of the heavy box dug into his flesh, drawing blood that fell on the baked ground and sizzled. Waves of heat shimmer transformed the grove into a nightmare of wavering ghosts, twisted husks that had once been beautiful trees heavy with fruit. Now the branches were bare, scorched blacker by each pass of the Dragon.
Chaa't'ka's one good eye searched desperately for safety – much longer exposed and he would end up just like the trees. He frantically searched the base of the ridge, pushing against the stone, raising and breaking blisters on his hands until one of the stones tipped aside, revealing a dark passage.
He pushed through the narrow opening and pulled the stone back into place, thankful to be shielded from the Dragon's sight. The heat was relentless, even protected by rock, and the air was thick with sulfur. He turned to the others, the ones who had found this shelter – and froze in horror.
Lying around the spring in the center o the chamber were a dozen still forms. The spring hissed and spluttered with steam, filling the chamber with toxic fumes, and Chaa't'ka knew that they were already dead. Numb, he let the treasure slip from his grasp – it was useless now, worse than useless.
He was the last of his kind.
Chaa't'ka slowly got to his feet and approached the opening, pressing his hands to the stone and pushing with all the strength he had left. The stone tipped, slowly at first until gravity took over and sent it crashing to the searing ground. He looked up, his single good eye looking up at the sky and its terrible heat.
He would die facing the Dragon.
USS Pathfinder
Sector Nineteen, enroute to Revala Two
May 27, 2163
Lt. Tegan Webb drummed her fingers on the helm console and did her best not to yawn.
The Pathfinder was a magnificent machine, even after her recent battle, but all too often that meant things worked too smoothly. Webb barely had to monitor her station at all as the ship cruised along at a healthy Warp 4 – a cursory check every now and then was enough to ensure everything was functioning normally. To her, that wasn't piloting – it was babysitting. "Hell, at least give me a rogue planetoid or something," she muttered. "Maybe a healthy ion storm."
"If you're bored, I'm sure Commander Amara could use a spare set of hands," came Beaumont's voice from right behind her. "Maybe scrubbing the plasma vents?"
How the hell does she do that? Does that brain implant of hers have some kind of microphone, too? Webb thought, and not for the first time. Beaumont had a talent for overhearing her various offhand remarks, some more colorful than others. Nothing worthy of disciplinary action, but the fact that the first officer could so easily sneak up on her was starting to get on her nerves. "No, Commander," she replied carefully. "Not bored at all."
"Good," Beaumont replied, the ghost of a smile curling the corners of her lips as she sat in the command chair and checked a data slate.
At the Navigation console, Lt. Marakis chuckled, his blue antennae swiveling toward Webb at the same time he glanced over. "Ever get the feeling she's keeping an eye on you?"
"Only every day," Webb replied.
She looked around the bridge at her fellow officers, still mostly strangers to her (except for Sarria and Beaumont, of course.) Next to her was Marakis, the Andorian navigator whose perpetual cheeriness stood at odds to the typical dour demeanor of his kind. Off to her left was the science station, with Chief Science Officer Andrei Kassin at its controls, neither a speck of dust nor a smudged fingerprint anywhere in sight.
On the far side of the bridge was T’Vril, the Vulcan tactical officer, her long black hair secured in a tight ponytail. Vulcans were exceedingly rare in Starfleet thus far; only one had been in her Academy graduating class. To have already reached the rank of Lieutenant Commander spoke highly of her skills. And then there was Ensign Sarria, the communications officer… and her Andorian bunkmate. While Webb took a leisurely approach to routine housekeeping, Sarria was positively stuck-up about her space. It had only taken her a matter of hours to designate ‘her side’ of their shared quarters; any of Webb’s clutter crossing into that space was quickly nudged back out. It was getting to the point Webb placed items there deliberately, just to see her bunkmate’s irked reaction.
A soft beeping came from Marakis' console. "Commander, we are approaching the Revala system."
"Prepare to drop to impulse," Beaumont said, putting aside the slate. Quiet notifications sounded from the ship's internal speakers, alerting the crew to be ready for deceleration. "Disengage warp drive."
"Aye, sir," Marakis said. On the main viewer the star-streaks of warp speed resolved into the pinpricks of individual stars. Pathfinder trembled as the warp field dissipated, leaving the ship to make its way into the star system at a relative crawl under impulse power.
"Set course for Revala Two, full impulse," Beaumont said.
Webb looked out at the Revala system on the main viewer. At this range, the only visible feature of the star system itself was its star, a larger pinprick among the thousands of smaller ones. But hanging ominously just beyond the gravitational boundary of the Revala system was the Veil, a massive cloud of thick black dust that stretched almost half a light year in every direction, blotting out half the stars that should have been visible.
At the science console, Lt. Cmdr. Kassin was already crouched over the scanner hood. "Nothing unexpected at first glance," he said. "Local space is quiet except for us."
"Hardly surprising," Webb said. "Only thing out here worth looking at is the Veil, and once you go inside it all looks the same – pitch black. Even the Tellarites never did more than a fly-by."
Kassin spared her an annoyed glance, despite the fact that she was partly correct. The Revala system was less than unremarkable – it was almost insignificant, certainly less interesting than even the familiar assortment of planets of his home system of Sol. No gas giants, no asteroid fields, and of the four rocky planets that orbited the star, three had long ago lost whatever atmosphere they might have had and were now scoured black. Only the second planet in the system had anything of interest – a viable Earth-like atmosphere.
The turbo-lift door slid aside and Captain Teague emerged, followed closely by Chief Medical Officer Ranik, clutching a data slate in his porcine, fur-covered hand. The Tellarite waved the slate in Teague's face, saying, "...Starfleet Regulation Sixty-One, subsection A, clearly states that all crew disembarking to a planetary surface receive a full set of up-to-date inoculations." He shoved his portly frame in front of Teague. "And speaking of regulations, a third of the crew has yet to report to Sickbay for their initial physical examination – which we were forced to delay due to the abrupt nature of our launch." Ranik folded his arms across his chest. "This situation is unacceptable, Captain. I will not permit any personnel to disembark until I am satisfied they are fit for duty – including yourself."
Teague held up his hands in mock surrender – no doubt Ranik was thoroughly enjoying his arguments, practically daring the Captain to challenge him when the doctor knew damn well he was in the right, but Teague was in no mood to indulge him. "Very well then, Doctor. Set up a schedule as you see fit."
"Including yourself?"
Teague opened his mouth to argue but stopped himself – I already stopped by for my physical, he was going to say, until he realized that was just the old lie he'd used time and again in the past. Behind him, Amara hid a smile beneath his hand.
After a long moment Teague nodded. "I'll report to Sickbay at your convenience."
Ranik eyed him warily. "Very well, Captain. I'll expect you tomorrow, 0800 sharp." With a curt nod Ranik returned to the turbo-lift and was whisked away.
Teague turned to Amara, who had wisely hung back until the Doctor had finished his business. "Something funny, Commander?"
“Nothing – sir," Amara replied, a laugh barely hidden behind his light Nigerian accent. "Just admiring your performance. Very smooth."
"Could have been worse. For a second there I thought he might just haul me down to Sickbay right now." Teague turned to Beaumont. "Ship's status?"
"All systems normal, sir. Our ETA at Revala Two is - "
Without missing a beat, Marakis said, "Four hours, twenty minutes, sir."
At least he quit with that 'Captain on the bridge' nonsense, Teague thought as Beaumont vacated the command chair and he settled in. "Very good. Open a channel to the science team."
Several moments passed before Sarria finally replied, "Aye, sir."
Teague turned to the Andorian ensign, taking note of the drooping antennae poking out through her silvery hair. "Is there a problem?"
"No, sir," Sarria replied, shooting a glance at Webb as she bit back a yawn. "I have the outpost on speaker."
"Revala Outpost, this is Captain Teague of the Starship Pathfinder. We are inbound and should make orbit in just over four hours."
"Oh, that's excellent news!" an excited voice replied. "We'll require a full sensor sweep of the planet at maximum resolution, as well as spectrographic analysis of the local star. And then -"
"I'm sorry, Doctor -?" Teague said, confused. Their task at Revala Two was a simple supply drop and check-up on the science team. Detailed scans were not part of the plan.
"Jahnavi, Professor Avila Jahnavi," she replied. "And we'll need a scientific team on the surface, gathering samples and running serial grid searches."
"Doctor – Professor – I'm afraid we haven't been briefed on your current situation," Teague said. "We understood this to be a routine supply drop. I take it that's changed."
"You could say that, Captain," the voice replied. "Our situation is that there's life here, life on this long-dead world."
The briefing room was filled with muted conversation as Beaumont made her way to the chair to the captain's right. Their mission had been simple – check in with the science team on Revala Two, drop off supplies to last them another six months, and proceed to Septimus Six before heading deeper into Sector Nineteen. Providing detailed scientific support had not been part of the plan. Not that she was annoyed – scientific exploration was fundamental to Starfleet's mandate – but they would need far more detailed information to be of any real help to the science team.
Teague sat at the head of the conference table and tapped a button. "Professor Jahnavi, can you hear me?"
"Loud and clear, Captain," came her voice. "We should have the video feed up in just a moment." After a few seconds the wallscreen lit up, displaying the interior of a prefabricated living module. A dark-skinned woman in desert gear was centered on the screen. "How's the image?"
"Just fine," Teague replied. "Professor, maybe you should brief us on your mission here before we get to the matter at hand."
"Of course. Revala Two is on the short list for terraforming. It's lorana-class – dry and hot, but with an oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere. Equatorial temperatures can reach fifty-six degrees Celsius; temperate zones are about ten degrees cooler." Jahnavi paused and wiped the mix of sweat and dust from her forehead with a rag. "Almost makes Vulcan look like a vacation spot."
Commander T'Vril arched an eyebrow as Jahnavi continued. "The planet was surveyed by the Andorians a century ago – too hot for them to even attempt to colonize, so they ceded control to the Colonial Authority. Initial scans revealed minimal life – algae, simple flora and fauna – but nothing more. We've been here six months collecting data for our final report to Starfleet. Until six days ago, that report would have been an unqualified approval for terraforming."
"What changed?" asked Beaumont.
Jahnavi opened a crate and pulled out a ceramic container. "One of our survey teams found this in a crevasse. Scans show it's approximately thirty thousand years old, and isotopic ratios prove it was produced locally." She placed the container back in the crate. "That leaves us at an impasse, Captain. We now have proof of an intelligent civilization existing here thousands of years ago... and virtually no trace of who they were, or what might have become of them. Under these conditions, it's hard to believe any sentient life could evolve."
"Orbital shift, perhaps," Kassin said. "If the planet is in a very slightly elliptical orbit, it could take centuries to notice any significant change."
"That's just one reason we need your help," Jahnavi said. "We only have two shuttlepods, and our transport isn't built for scientific work. We need a detailed planetary survey to get some idea of what happened here."
Teague looked at his senior staff. "Ensign Sarria, please contact Starfleet Command to apprise them of the situation. Pass along our apologies, but our next stop will be delayed."
"Aye, sir."
Teague turned back to the wallscreen. "My XO and science officer will coordinate with you. We'll begin scanning as soon as we reach orbit."
"Thank you, captain," Jahnavi said. "I'm looking forward to working with you."
The screen blinked off, and Teague turned to his staff. "Commander Kassin, you're in charge of the planetary scans. Identify likely sites for the ground teams to search and pass that information to Commander Beaumont – she'll be coordinating on the surface." He paused. "I also want you to keep an eye out for anything... out of the ordinary. We don't know what happened here."
He stood, a sign that the briefing was over. "I'd rather whatever happened to this planet not happen to us as well. Dismissed."
Revala Outpost
May 27, 2163
As the shuttlepod hatches swung open, the dry, thin air of Revala Two rushed into the pod like a blast furnace, carrying with it dust that instantly coated everything in a fine gray layer. Beaumont's eyes instantly began to water, and she quickly pulled down the dark goggles to protect her vision. It was hardly a historic moment. Nevertheless, this was the first world besides Earth that Beaumont had set foot upon in almost four solar years, and the sensation of alien ground beneath her soles felt good.
Huge, skeletal rock formations jutted up from the ground, worn smooth by time and the unceasing combination of wind and dust. Nestled in the lea of one outcropping were the half-dozen huts that were the home of the science team, domed modular structures that could be assembled in minutes once they were on the ground. Easily shipped and just as easily abandoned, if need be. The gray polymer shells were already pitted and scored by erosion after just a few months and turned dusky brown by the thick layer of grime that clung to them. Atop the nearest hut, a pair of scientists were scooping handfuls of dust out of the air-cycler vent.
At one of the huts further down the line, the hatch opened and an arm gestured for the group to come inside. By the time they complied, a fresh layer had been deposited over the interior, puffing back into motion with every step the landing team took. "I see you've already been greeted by the welcoming committee," Professor Jahnavi said, passing out well-used but clean rags for the landing team. "The dust is everywhere, can't keep it out. Most of our gear wasn't designed for this."
"At least it's a dry heat," quipped Beaumont.
"On the surface. There are deep underground aquifers, saturated with sulfur, but that can be filtered," Jahnavi said. "And the Oort cloud has enough cometary bodies to provide at least some surface water – not as much as we'd like, but enough to create temperate zones after a few decades. It'll be like living in the Mojave." She looked at the half-dozen new arrivals. "Welcome to Revala Two."
"Thanks," said Beaumont. "Hard to believe this place is suitable for colonization."
"Beggars can't be choosers," Jahnavi said, prompting T'Vril to raise an eyebrow at the unfamiliar phrase. "With the demand for habitable space, even marginal worlds like this one are of tremendous value. It will take several generations to terraform, but Revala can eventually become a garden world."
"Which begs the question as to why it is not one at present," T'Vril said.
"Exactly," Jahnavi nodded and brought up a series of scans on the desk terminal. "We've found evidence of cyclical heating and cooling in geological core samples, turning the planet from jungle to desert and back again. Whatever is happening here, there's definitely a pattern. We just need to find it."
"The Pathfinder has already started scanning the planet," Beaumont said. "They should be finished within the day. In the meantime, we can get started looking for candidate sites using the data you already have. Hopefully we can find some answers."
"Very good, Commander," Jahnavi said. "We've made some progress at translating some of the writing we've found on the fragments. It's reminiscent of the pictographs used by ancient Egypt and the Talok-vas of Andoria." She opened a crate and showed them a crumbling ceramic pot, inscribed with symbols. "Most of the fragments we've found were painted and glazed. Not much left of their coatings. This one was different – much thicker material, and the symbols were deeply inscribed. The ceramic itself is also of different composition, heat and erosion resistant."
"A time capsule?" Beaumont said.
Jahnavi nodded. "That's our best guess. Some kind of record of what happened to the people who made it – if we manage to translate it. So far, it's the only intact example and there's precious little else to compare it to."
"We'll send your scans up to the ship, run them through the linguistics data-banks," Beaumont said. "Our communications officer might be able to help."
"Good. We're hardly experts on linguistics or xeno-archaeology," Jahnavi said. "We're geologists and meteorologists, mostly. We're pretty far out of our depth – nobody was expecting to find remnants of civilization here."
"Good thing we dropped in, then," Beaumont said. She looked closely at the pot. "Was it hollow when you found it?"
"It was filled with sand," Jahnavi replied. "We took samples as we emptied it. If the pot held anything of relevance, it's long gone. Why do you ask?"
Beaumont pointed to the rim, where the remnants of a dark substance clung stubbornly. "I think that's pitch. Whoever made the jar intended the contents to remain sealed from the outside."
"Or inside. Whatever it was, it's long since been scoured away," Jahnavi said.
"You said you had managed to translate some of the symbols," T'Vril said.
"Yes," Jahnavi said. She brought up a series of images on the terminal. "We've identified symbols representing 'drought', 'fire', 'water', and 'death', among others. But this one seems to be the most prevalent." She focused in on a circle with lines radiating from it, a dark spot in the center. "In context, this symbol represents fire from the sky, or a devouring beast that leaves nothing but ash in its wake. The closest translation is 'dragon'."
"Fitting," Beaumont said.
"Fictional," T'Vril added, frowning.
"Either way, an enigma," Jahnavi said. "One that needs to be solved. The Colonial Authority would never allow development of a potentially unstable planet. Eighteen months of work would all be for nothing."
Beaumont nodded and stood. "We'll find your Dragon."
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