Balance of Nature Read online

  Other eBooks in the Star Trek™: Starfleet Corps of Engineers series from Pocket Books:

  #1: The Belly of the Beast by Dean Wesley Smith

  #2: Fatal Error by Keith R.A. DeCandido

  #3: Hard Crash by Christie Golden

  #4: Interphase Book 1 by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

  #5: Interphase Book 2 by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

  #6:Cold Fusion by Keith R.A. DeCandido

  #7: Invincible Book 1 by David Mack & Keith R.A. DeCandido

  #8: Invincible Book 2 by David Mack & Keith R.A. DeCandido

  #9: The Riddled Post by Aaron Rosenberg

  #10: Gateways Epilogue: Here There Be Monsters by Keith R.A. DeCandido

  #11: Ambush by Dave Galanter & Greg Brodeur

  #12: Some Assembly Required by Scott Ciencin & Dan Jolley

  #13: No Surrender by Jeff Mariotte

  #14: Caveat Emptor by Ian Edginton & Mike Collins

  #15: Past Life by Robert Greenberger

  #16: Oaths by Glenn Hauman

  #17: Foundations Book 1 by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

  #18: Foundations Book 2 by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

  #19: Foundations Book 3 by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

  #20: Enigma Ship by J. Steven York & Christina F. York

  #21: War Stories Book 1 by Keith R.A. DeCandido

  #22: War Stories Book 2 by Keith R.A. DeCandido

  #23: Wildfire Book 1 by David Mack

  #24: Wildfire Book 2 by David Mack

  #25: Home Fires by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

  #26: Age of Unreason by Scott Ciencin

  #27: Balance of Nature by Heather Jarman

  COMING SOON:

  #28: Breakdowns by Keith R.A. DeCandido

  #29: Aftermath by Christopher L. Bennett

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination 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 © 2003 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.

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  ISBN: 0-7434-7593-3

  First Pocket Books Ebooks Edition April 2003

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  Chapter 1

  Fear consumed her, muting her voice, bleeding all color from her vision. P8 Blue clung to a railing as the mother-tree world trembled and heaved. In her mind, she cried out to her friend Zoeannah, encouraging her to hold on tight so she wouldn’t fall, but her throat trapped the words. A shadow sliding past caught her eye. Instinctively, without thought to the danger, she released one limb, catching the duffel strap before the bag went shooting over the edge. My legacy…

  Indifferent to the chaos, evening breezes wafted lazily through the open sides of the passageway, stirring fine splinters and dirt into blinding breath. Unwilling to release her grip to rub the dust out of her eyes, Pattie blinked rapidly, trying to clear her vision. She winced at the sharp pains caused by the scraping scratch of dirt trapped in her eye membranes. Letting go would be easy. To curl into her protective shell was her instinct, but doing so would certainly mean death. She gripped tighter with each drunken sway.

  A flash of flame, a metallic buzz, and all lights within seeing distance were snuffed out. The inky silhouettes of the surrounding rain forest blurred in the deepening darkness. Flickering green power surges crackled angrily, offering only the stingiest light to see by. Even if they survived this quake—the first in her lifetime, the first in several Nasat lifetimes—Pattie worriedly wondered what damage the township had sustained: from cracked struts to bearing beams, delicately balanced between branches, collapsing as structural weight shifted, every possibility was an engineer’s nightmare. If I make it through, there’ll be work to be done.

  The shaking stopped. Silence squeezed into the void left by the quake, swallowing all sound and filling the empty space.

  The fleeting pause gave P8 Blue a moment to breathe. And another. She allowed herself to relax enough to consider more than survival. Maybe it has passed,If she’s been injured… Pattie clicked worriedly. Zoeannah would have been home in her paddock if she hadn’t met my transport. She would have been safer there with walls that surround and protect her. She cursed whatever stupid shell architect had decided that leaving a few open-sided corridors contributed to the township’s aesthetic. A misstep here would send one careening hundreds of meters through a tangle of vines, fungi, flowers, and animal nests into the understory layer, several kilometers below the township. Zoeannah could have fallen. And what about Tarak? What will I say to him? She shook off the troubling thoughts, knowing that guilt and worry could be paralyzing. If only she could reach the tricorder on her belt, she might be able to scan for Zoë’s Betazoid lifesigns—

  A tremor erupted, sending the mother-tree lurching from side to side. Each sway dislodged transport carts from the tracks and tossed carrypacks into the air like flotsam. Feeling a slight give in her grip, she strengthened her hold. Her fear-sharpened senses absorbed the sickening crunch of shells hurtling into kiosks, the acrid smoke rising from exploding consoles. Falling building debris hit those Nasat too startled to curl into defensive postures or maneuver out of the way.

  She mustered up enough humor to be darkly amused by the placid computerized voice reciting an emergency message over the comm system, alternating between lingual clicks and Federation Standard. “Please remain calm while Central Services examines the situation. Automated systems will be restored to full capacity as soon as possible. Thank you for your cooperation and have a nice dark cycle…”

  Startled by an ear-shattering crack, Pattie swiveled her gaze toward the forest. A severed tree limb plunged like a battering ram toward their corridor. A quick mental calculation placed impact within thirty seconds. A breath and we’ll be obliterated, she thought. Time staggered, slowed.

  Please be calm while you’re being squashed flat. Resistance is futile…she thought, putting her own spin on the computerized message.

  There has to be an escape route, she thought. A passageway, less than a hundred meters ahead, cut through the mother-tree core to an adjoining branch sector. Assuming they could reach the passageway without being thrown into the forest, they would be out of the path of the oncoming limb. As the tree deck beneath her convulsed, she nixed that idea. Other options. Heading back up the conveyor to the canopy-side transport station? Same problem. So P8, her friend Zoeannah, and others unlucky enough to have chosen this traveling route were effectively trapped. Nothing they could do would prevent the impending blow. With luck, they might survive impact.

  After all she’d been through of late, Pattie had to believe in survival. She stared at the ton of devastation plunging toward them, growing closer, ever closer by the second, unable to look away.

  A few more steps. We only need to make a few more steps. Galvan VI should have taken me. To end this way feels like an epilogue, she thought, amazed at fate’s arbitrary whims. Any second now it’ll hit…

  The broken limb
gained speed and momentum the closer it came. Undeterred by the back and forth swaying, the ridiculous message repeated. If Pattie could reach her phaser, she’d take out the comm system speaker without hesitation. There was something ignominious about facing death while a computer calmly insisted there was nothing to worry about. Breathing deeply, she braced for impact—

  The quaking stopped.

  With a jerk, the creaking mother-tree righted itself into a solidly vertical position.

  The tree’s abrupt shift counteracted the limb’s momentum; a resounding thwack, a twitch, and it tumbled leadenly down through the surrounding tree layers.

  No one moved or spoke.

  Relief was slow in coming. Pattie waited. Watched.

  The breeze tossed leaves with a silvery rustle. Branches bowed. Avian squawks echoed in the distance, punctuated by the whirr of furry laito monkeys swinging from vine to vine collecting a nocturnal snack of fruit and seeds.

  Time elapsed.

  Though it appeared that normalcy had been restored, Pattie sensed that no one—herself included—dared move, fearing the quake would resume. She was loath to be the first to risk it; she would wait.

  The sound of limbs shuffling along the floor came from behind a tipped-over maintenance terminal. A panicked clicking from a Nasat looking for a missing friend followed. Rubble fell from the ceiling. Reinitiated conduits whined, gradually revving up until the familiar hum throbbed steadily. The computer message sped up to garble, then halted mid-sentence; a new message replaced the old one. “Planetary science council has issued an all clear. No apparent seismic activity in the area. Repeat: no apparent seismic activity. The cause of the quake is unknown. Please return to your paddocks for safety lockdown and to receive up-to-date reports on township status.”

  A fleshy humanoid hand touched her primary pincers.

  Inhaling sharply, she closed her eyes, her limbs quivering with relief. She’s alive. Pattie’s respirations came quickly and irregularly as she at last allowed herself to process the emotions that she’d pushed aside since the quakes started. We’re alive.

  “Pattie—” Zoeannah coughed, involuntarily clutching tighter “—you all right?” Without letting go of Pattie’s hand, she crawled up closer where they could talk face-to-face. Planting her elbow on the floor, she rested her chin in her palm. “Not like I would notice a dent or two in your shell in this light.”

  The warm weight of Zoë’s hand comforted Pattie more than anything else could have. Gratitude filled her. She’s fine, she thought, repeating the phrase over and over for reassurance. Pattie reciprocated the squeeze, touching her antennae to Zoë’s forehead. “What about you? Are you hurt?” She twisted her head to get a better view. A piece of plating that had fallen on Zoë’s lower body worried her; Pattie pushed it aside. Her acute vision, now adapted to the darkness, scanned her teacher-friend for broken bones, bleeding, or any other evidence that she’d sustained serious injuries. She looked her over again—and again—before allowing herself to relax. Though she needed a tricorder to confirm her assessment, she could discern enough to determine that Zoë had suffered nothing more serious than a few scrapes and a head-to-toe coating of dust and dried moss. Pattie reached over and plucked a twig out of her friend’s tangled curls. Humanoids required so much maintenance. What a nuisance it must be to have all your fleshy parts on the outside! “Your telepathy must be short-circuiting if you need to ask me how I’m doing.”

  Zoë half-coughed, half-chuckled, her shoulders shaking. “It’s always good manners to ask how someone is feeling—even if I already know, Pattie.” Rolling over on her back, she pulled an arm across her chest in a stretch, repeating the gesture with the opposite arm. “As for being uncomfortable, I just need some ointment for my sore hands. Honestly, I didn’t know whether I could hold on any longer.” She paused, brushed her fingers through her hair, dislodging bark flecks. “And a bath. I’d really like a bath.”

  Pattie didn’t know why the fleshy species bothered with their multitudes of cleaning rituals; a coating of rotted bark dust and fungus on their epidermal layer might improve their natural state. In the years she’d served around humanoids, she decided no amount of sonic waves, water, oil, perfume, soap, or scent improved upon the sour musk that permeated every corner of their living spaces. But she’d adjusted. Being tolerant of the quirks native to other species was expected of a member of a multiworld community. There was a reason, however, why the Nasat avoided living too close to Zoë and Tarak’s lab and it had nothing to do with them being noisy neighbors. “The evening rains will start soon,” Pattie said, noting the rising mists, the slight shift in air pressure. “You won’t even have to go back to your paddock. Take a walk on the verandah over there—” Pattie cocked her head toward a porch protruding off the walkway “—and wait.”

  “That’s not a bath, that’s asking to be encapsulated in mud.” She massaged her hands, alternating between right and left. “Pattie…do you think you could use your communicator to check in with Tarak? He usually keeps the transmitter on when I’m out.” Her voice quivered slightly.

  Pattie touched her combadge. “P8 Blue to Dr. Tarak.”

  A crackle, static, and then: “Tarak here. Because you have contacted me, I presume that you have survived the quake in fair condition, but Dr. Xanfer—is she also well?”

  “Yes, Doctor. She’s fine. Dirty, but fine.”

  “The minimal inconvenience of filthiness is preferable to other, more potentially serious injuries to her person. I wish you both continued health and clear thinking. I will anticipate your presence when circumstances allow it. Tarak out.”

  Sighing deeply, Zoë placed a hand over her heart. “I sensed that he was fine, but I couldn’t be certain if my wishes for his well-being had misled me.” Contented, she sighed again, her shoulders slumping with relief.

  She’s in love, Pattie realized with happy surprise. She’d seen something of humanoid romantic relationships lately, and recognized the signs. What a time to find out. She had questions for Zoë, but they would wait for a more opportune moment.

  Zoë assumed a cross-legged position, brushed dust off her tunic and craned to see what was going on around them. “Are these quakes common? And if they are, will there be more tremors?”

  “Haven’t had one in my sixteen seasons—or eight years by Federation reckoning. If memory serves, it’s been more than a score of seasons since we’ve had any kind of serious tremors.”

  The groan of circuitry far below announced the power systems restarting. The groan also informed Pattie that she could feel safer about resuming an upright posture. Zoë followed her lead, scrambling to her feet.

  Beyond the obstacle of an overturned kiosk blocking their path, Pattie saw some Nasat uncurl; others hobbled toward the closest exits. Most were too dazed to move, let alone escape to safety. A few cowered against a railing, trapped behind a dangerous power surge arc between computer terminals; either machine could explode without warning.

  “You think we should stay put? Wait for security services to evacuate us?” Zoë asked.

  “I’m not sure.” Pattie carefully picked her way around the kiosk, holding on to the sides of the structure for balance. Zoë followed behind.

  Without the kiosk to block their view, they discovered more than a dozen injured Nasat—a few fatally.

  “We’ll need to help,” Zoë said, stating it as a fact instead of a request.

  Pattie nodded.

  “I’ll start assessing the wounded. My telepathy might help us where our training won’t.” She jerked her head in the direction of the public information terminals. “You see if we have any medical supplies to work with. I wouldn’t have a clue as to where to look.”

  Pushing aside debris covering the floor, Pattie searched for any signage that indicated compartments where emergency medkits might be stored. I hope the government implemented the latest building regs in their recent reconstruction. Drawing on her years spent studying Federation constructio
n and building codes, she made a guess where the supplies might be and found them where she would have expected to find them on Vulcan, Trill, or Andor. At least we’ve standardized a few things since joining the Federation. Nasat tended not to fuss over details. She opened up the floor panel and removed a couple of wrist-lamps, the medkit, and a medical tricorder.

  Zoeannah took a wrist-lamp proffered by Pattie, clicked it on, and muttered, “What a mess!” when the beam illuminated their surroundings. She knelt down beside an unconscious Red Nasat who had lost chunks of his chorion shell. “Quite a dramatic entry you made, Pattie. Maybe bring a bottle of Ktarian merlot or a piece of Risan pottery next time. Save the theatrics for the engineering corps,” Zoë said dryly.

  “And to think I was worried you wouldn’t like the show. I admit that a quake’s a bit dramatic, but the homeworld hasn’t seen one in a while,” she deadpanned. “I always liked to shake things up.”

  “I’m not even going to comment on that pun.”

  Pattie answered with her equivalent of a wink: curling one of her antennae in Zoë’s direction.

  Zoë felt for a pulse in the shell’s forehead. “Sarcasm suits you, P8. I always suspected you’d be witty once you mastered communication basics.” She sat back on her heels, looked over at Pattie, and grinned. “Either that, or spending time around ‘softs’ is rubbing off on you.”

  Tamping down a snappy retort, Pattie paused reflectively. Various scenes from her life over the last three years flashed by in an instant; it had been a long journey—not without complications—but she’d triumphed. She said quietly, “If I gained anything from spending time around softs, it would be the belief that I could do anything I put my mind to. Being around softs is what gave me the confidence to join Starfleet in the first place. Thank you.”

  Zoë’s eyes smiled. “Of course.”

  * * *

  They settled into a pattern of business intermingled with small talk as they attended to the wounded. Working with Zoë—to whom she owed so much—made Pattie’s tasks much less stressful. Pattie hadn’t enjoyed Starfleet’s required medical training course when she enlisted, nor had she discovered a natural knack for it during her time in the S.C.E. To have Nasat lives dependent on skills she hadn’t enthusiastically cultivated would have been nerve-wracking without Zoë’s steady, even-tempered approach. Pattie, knowing more about Nasat physiology than Zoeannah, focused on the mechanics of fixing injuries while Zoë used her telepathic skills to ease shock and sense pain. Her offer of comfort and kindness to the traumatized made Pattie’s task easier.