0 comments/ 3413 views/ 1 favorites Beauty Survives By: CaptainKirk Losira awoke with sweat dripping from her brow and a pounding headache. Rubbing at her temples, she found that her arms were numb and her fingers had a slight quiver to them. She blinked rapidly to clear her blurry vision. Oh, no; not now, not yet. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed to quickly get to her feet proved to be a mistake; the headache got worse and it made her dizzy. Pausing to get her bearings, she reached for the first thing to throw on before heading to the command center. It turned out to be her sleepwear. It had become so hot for her that wearing nothing was more comfortable while she slept. She winced as a cramp twisted her stomach; she hadn't been able to eat anything for cycles as her innards would revolt. Fastening the rank collar of her normal uniform around her neck, she rose off the bed slowly so as not to lose her equilibrium. Satisfied she wasn't going to fall flat on her face, she left her living chamber and walked with an even pace to the comm center. Losira giggled a little at the thought of walking through the base wearing almost nothing, the half tunic barely covering her chest and the flimsy fabric fluttering around her legs that she could almost feel against her skin. She chuckled even more when she realized that she didn't even need bother wearing anything and could have easily walked to the center nude. There was no one else there to see her; she was alone. Her eyes widened when she realized that she couldn't feel the leggings on her lower body. Her legs were numbing as well. Stage Three of the sickness, she thought; numbing of the extremities. I thought I'd have more time than this. All those treatments accomplished nothing but to prolong the inevitable. Losira forced herself to concentrate on the matter at hand and not what was to come. As the commander of the outpost, it was her duty to follow her orders and carry out the mission right up to the end. Who would have thought it would end like this, she mused as she entered the command center. * * * "When did it reach the outer warning guard?" The scanner control officer turned to his commander, knowing the question was directed at him, "It just came within range of our detectors only a moment ago." Commander Losira Bym'Rehm peered over the shoulder of her scan officer to see the white blip on his screen, indicating the position of the unknown guest, "Estimated time of arrival?" "If their course is unchanged, the vessel will reach orbital status within three quarter-cycles." "Good," said Losira with a grin, "that gives us time," then, turning to her operations officer, "Bring planetary reactors to full power. Prepare molecular transport array; set to one thousand sub-cubicans." Her Ops officer, Joman, turned sharply at the order, "Yes ma'am, but..." Losira glared at him just as sharply, "'But' what, Centorn?" The officer blanched a little at being addressed by his rank instead of his name. Being stationed here for many revols, the outpost personnel considered themselves more of a family than a station crew and had long abandoned the formalities of rank except when protocol demanded it. He didn't think this was one of those times; they were free to voice concerns over certain matters without fear of reprisals, if those concerns were serious and this one certainly was in his opinion. "Commander, at that range it will take them season-cycles to get back to their home space, if not a whole revol." "I'm aware of that," she answered curtly, "The situation regarding other species has changed. We need to keep all but Kalandan ships from nearing this outpost for the time being." "But why? Our standing order is to contact other..." "You have your orders, Centorn, carry them out!" The entire command center crew all started at the heated retort from the base commander; she had never needed to raise her voice to anyone... ever. "Yes, Commander!" Joman programmed the reactors to cycle up to full capacity and called down to the transport technicians to arm the array. "Once the vessel is in range, activate the array," Losira gave her Ops officer a sideways glance, "Send them back along the same course they were traveling, so they won't be too far from their home," her lip curled into a smirk, "Satisfied?" He swallowed hard and nodded as he complied with her orders. All eyes carefully watched Losira leave the command center, Joman's glare wrinkling his forehead. She's been acting this way for three season-cycles now, he thought. Something is wrong, and she's not telling us. "Any progress, Doctrate?" The elderly scientist swiveled in his chair to greet Losira as she entered the lab. "Yes... but it's for the worse, I'm afraid." "You haven't found a solution, Mika?" "There is no solution," he answered, turning back to his console and activating the screen on the wall in front of them, "I've found the reason for this station's instability, but there's no practical way to stop it." On the viewscreen, a breakdown of molecular patterns appeared as Mika continued, "When they first started making this planetoid, they were using materials from the immediate region only; ores, soils, different plant cells for the vegetation. But then they started using some of our natural resources to finish the job, that alloy they created to strengthen the crust and inner hull of the station." "Yes, I know the history," Losira sighed. Kalandan outposts were a combination of different materials molecularly bonded to create the perfect camouflage: an ordinary small planet, barely able to support live other than breathing. The topsoil used to cover the outer hulls, along with the faux vegetation, was just that; a cover. Only beneath the surface could water, warmth, and consumables be found. Once the main construction was finished, the inner hulls were covered with a strong, durable alloy called zetherbium made from fusing two very different metals that weren't suppose to go together. Once fused, the alloy was strong enough to resist high temperatures and any type of bombardment, from weapons fire to asteroid collisions. The Kalandan scientists that created this alloy hailed it as a success, giving engineers the opportunity to build stations more quickly and more durably than before during the colonization period. "What they didn't realize is that in creating this alloy, they made the structure of its new nucleus slightly unstable," Mika adjusted the view of the readings to focus on a particular section of the string of molecules, "There is an extra element in the mix, one that nobody detected because it's growth is so slow. It's moving away from the alloy's main molecule chain and migrating out of the outer hull of this station. That's why we've been getting tremors as of late; as it leaves the alloy, it destabilizes its molecule structure for a moment. The energy we use here keeps the destabilization in check for the most part, but the more we use power for the array or any other main system, that's just that much more power we're taking away from the energy used to keep this planetoid from shaking itself apart. Eventually, the zetherbium will stabilize itself once this new element is leeched away. The planetoid may suffer aftershocks here and there afterwards, but for now..." Losira stared at the readout, still confused, "Did they know this would happen?" "I doubt anybody knew," answered Mika in a pained sigh. "How did you find it?" "The plant life they created for the outer covering has the same molecule in it. It must have leeched into the soil and thus into the plants. This molecule seems to attach itself to organic forms much more rapidly than to inorganic materials." "So," Losira whispered, "you were right. Using materials from this region of space in combination with our own is what's making this station unstable." "That's only the half of it," Mika sighed again, changing the view on the screen. This time, the image showed a different string of molecules, "The element mixed in with the plant life created an organism that breaks down normal protein chains, stunting their reproductive processes." Losira just glared at Mika, "Do you know what you're saying?" He nodded slowly, "It acts like a disease, spreading itself through the system and blocking attempts to destroy it. There's no error in the data, no doubt anymore; any organic form is vulnerable... including us." Losira stared off somberly at nowhere in particular and said, "So... my decision to keep others away from this outpost was the correct one, after all." The whine of the power capacitors screamed through the station as the floors and walls shook violently for a moment or two. Steadying himself against his desk, Mika simply said, "And there goes another one." She then turned to her old friend and smiled, "I was hoping you were wrong this time." Mika just smiled back, "When was the last time I was wrong about any analysis?" Still smiling, she shook her head, "I can't remember that far back. You said there was no 'practical' solution. Is there an impractical one?" Mika nodded with a small laugh and answered, "Destroy the whole thing and start over, this time without the zetherbium." Losira chuckled, and then changed her look from consoling to sadness, "How long do we have?" "Could be revols, could be a matter of season-cycles." She then touched his shoulder, "And our ships that have already been here? Are their crews infected, too?" Mika shook his head, "Hard to say; they might not have been here long enough to contract the disease. We can't even contact them to warm them; they're too far out of range of our comm system, probably halfway to Kalandis Prime by now." "Is there anything we can do to stop it?" "There are a few treatments I can try; they might help." Losira straightened up, "Get on it. The sooner we eliminate this thing, the better." "I'll do my best." She left the scientist to his work and headed for her chambers, her head flooded with procedures and her brain trying to shuffle them into a correct plan of action. Losira snuggled up next to Pelor, laying her head on his shoulder and draping an arm across his chest. "You feel warmer than usual." Pelor looked into her eyes and said, "That's the usual result after doing what we just did." She smiled back at him and kissed his chin, "I'm hungry," and got out of bed. "That's another side effect," he laughed. Losira peered over her shoulder with a smirk, "We weren't that aggressive this time." Pelor sighed and raised himself up into a sitting position, "I'm tired for some reason; more so than usual." "You want something to eat?" He shook his head, and found that it ached a little, "Haven't been eating too much, either; my stomach's upset." Just then, the comm signal blared from the speakers, "Lab Station Two to Commander Bym'Rehm; respond." Losira huffed in disgust, "Always when I'm eating." She hit the comm panel and replied, "Losira; go ahead." "It's Mika; I need to see you down here, right now." "On my way," she clicked off the comm and quickly donned her uniform, "Go to the Health station; see if the physicians can give you something for your stomach. I'll be back later." Pelor nodded and got out of their bed as Losira left their chambers. As she made her way down the corridors, she nodded to others passing by on their way to their next assignments. But some of them looked different, she noticed. A few looked okay, but were moving a little slower than usual; others were at a normal gait, but looked pale. A couple even winced slightly and rubbed at their abdomens. Losira entered the lab and was surprised to see Mika and another doctrate hovering over someone lying on an examination table. The technician looked unconscious, her body draped with a sheet and it rose and fell slowly with every labored breath. Perspiration rolled off her brow and her skin looked almost ash colored. "It's starting," he said, knowing who was behind him, "The other station techs said they found her at her console like this; she had been complaining about feeling off for the past few meca-cycles." "And nobody said anything?" Losira asked, aghast. "According to the Health station, the physicians gave her some medication to ease her symptoms and they seemed to work for a while. Then she started getting worse over the next few dura-cycles; fatigue, inability to hold down food, fever..." he reached to touch one of her arms, but produced no reaction, "and now, numbness in the arms and legs that could lead to paralysis." Losira looked down at the poor girl, gently brushing hair off her forehead and feeling the heat from it, "Those treatments you mentioned; can they help?" "We're combining the meds that Health gave her with something that I've been working on. The serum I've come up with doesn't cure the disease, but rather keeps it in check. That combined with the meds Health developed might do the trick," Mika carefully took the technician's hand, "We've just administered the new serum mix; we'll find out in the next few cycles." "And in the meantime..." Mika gave Losira a hard look, "In the meantime, I suggest you find another way to take care of any 'uninvited guests'. Draining away any power that keeps that element from producing the disease will only make things worse. We have to keep our exposure to it at a minimum if we're going to have any chance against it." Losira nodded, "That means we'll have to implement our secondary defensive protocols," she paused to give Mika a foreboding look, "You do know what that means." Mika nodded solemnly, "Given the choice between our high statute of preserving live or the possibility of spreading this disease and infecting other Kalandans as well as other species, I don't see that we have any alternative." "Agreed," Losira gave one last glance at the tech lying on the gurney, "Keep me updated on her progress, Mika." He nodded, still keeping close watch on the health monitors that hovered around his patient, as Losira left the lab. * * * She entered the command center and looked around, out of reflex more than anything. The consoles were still unmanned, the view screens were still dark, and the lighting was only at half power along with the rest of the main systems. The only brightened area was the console that operated the outer warning guard, able to detect any approaching vessel within a thousand cubicans. It had remained silent for many season-cycles. The numbness in her legs was becoming more pronounced; she knew paralysis was the next phase in the disease's third stage... then Stage Four, the final stage: death. Her final duty had to be performed, and soon before the disease overwhelmed her. She went to the center's lavatory to make herself more presentable; if she was going to leave any last message for the Kalandan forces that were sure to follow and take over the station, she'd be damned if they were going to see a recording of her in such a disheveled state. She washed at her face, more to cool the fever welling up inside her than anything, and then properly smoothed out her hair as best she could. She had to leave it long, for she had no clips to hold it in its usual, tightly coiled, coif. Once done, she stared at her reflection and noted the slight discoloration of her skin. Her fair beige cheeks were now fading to a light ash gray, and her eyelids were showing signs of fading as well. Pelor looked like this when he... Losira shut her eyes tight, wanting to blank out the images that swirled in her mind for dura-cycles, but they wouldn't go away. * * * "Pelor?" He heard her voice next to him, muffled and vaguely distant. He could not answer her, his tongue was numb and he couldn't make his lips move. "I am here, my dearest," Losira whispered, a tear tracking down her cheek. Pelor was crying, too. He could see that his beloved was holding his hand, but he could not feel her touch. Mika stood next to them, carefully perusing the readings on the monitor over Pelor's gurney. The sadness in his eyes already told Losira what was to come. "The treatments aren't working anymore," the old scientist grumbled, "We've managed to hold off the effects of the disease up to now, but it's become stronger and more resistant to anything we can throw at it." He turned away from Pelor, rubbing at his forehead, "If only we had discovered this disease earlier, we might have been able to..." Losira smiled a little at her old friend; she knew he was just trying to be consoling, and very sweetly. "Don't punish yourself, Mika. No one saw this coming; you said so yourself." But the scientist couldn't help beating himself up for this, "The treatments were working. We should have been able to hold off the progression of the disease until the supply ship arrived with the proper medicines," he pounded his fist on his desk, "Why didn't it work?" Losira's heart ached for her friend; he was taking this personally and he shouldn't be. "The treatments kept us going this far," she said, "Without your help, we'd all be dead by now." For almost a season-cycle, the treatments were doled out to the station personnel and became routine. At first, the explanation for the treatments was kept simple as to not panic the station crew. But as the Health stations began filling up with more and more infected, the truth of the matter could no longer be kept secret. By then, the entire twenty-four hundred crew compliment of the station knew what was happening. The deaths started only a few meca-cycles ago; Pelor would be the eighteenth. "We were just prolonging the inevitable," Mika sobbed, "It was only a matter of time before..." He leaned against his desk, his hand cupping his face. Losira jumped when Pelor's breathing became erratic and labored. She leaned into him, gently brushing away the perspiration on his hot, ash colored brow. "Pelor," she whimpered, still holding his hand, "I'm here. I love you, my dearest... I love you." Pelor couldn't reply, couldn't feel her presence. But in a final gesture of love, even though he couldn't feel it, he had found the strength to squeeze her hand letting her know he had heard her last endearment. His body shook for a moment and his lungs blew out his last breath, his body becoming still. Losira laid his hand down and leaned over to kiss him one last time, one of her tears splashing his cheek. The alert whistle sounded, followed by a call from the command center. "Commander Bym'Rehm, report to comm center immediately." Losira saw the pain in Mika's face as he looked sorrowfully at her beloved mate, now dead, "Dispose of the body, Mika; standard containment measures." "Losira..." "It's all right. We have to follow proper procedures, no exceptions; you know that." "But to incinerate him without a formal ceremony? He was a high ranking Kalandan official." "We must destroy the disease wherever possible," Though it didn't show on her face, Mika could hear the anguish in Losira's voice, "You, yourself, set the standards on how the bodies should be disposed of; it's the only way to be sure the disease gets no farther than it already has. I would expect you to do the same for me," she pointed to Pelor's body, "He would." "The entire station is infected, already," Mika replied, exasperated, "What difference could it make now?" "I was thinking of others who will come here after we're gone and not just our people." Mika shook his head, "We don't even know if the disease will affect other species the way it has affected us; they may be immune." "Are you willing to take that risk?" Losira hissed, "We have a duty to our fellow Kalandans, but we also have an obligation to other life forms. We may not have to interact with them, but we cannot let them carry this disease beyond this station. It could potentially decimate species throughout this sector of space. I may leave this existence, but I will leave it with a clear conscience. Will you?" Beauty Survives Mika's bottom lip trembled as he contemplated the disastrous results the disease would leave if it spread to other worlds and infect other species besides Kalandans. He stole one last, heartfelt look at Pelor and said, "I'll take care of him; standard procedures." "Thank you, Mika." She walked to the comm panel and punched the button, "This is Losira; I'm on my way," then left the lab, forcing herself not to take a last heart breaking glance back at the man she loved. "The craft is landing now, Commander." The scan officer adjusted the screen to show the small scout craft kicking up loose soil as it gently touched down on the surface. "Activate secondary defensive protocols." Losira ordered. She watched as the hatch of the craft yawned open to allow its passengers to exit. They were thin beings, segments of caprices covering their bodies. Waving around handheld instruments in their clawed appendages, their large yellow eyes perused the readings they were sending. With their antennae twitching about atop their heads, the beings looked insect-like. "Commander," said Kimel, Joman's replacement as Ops officer when he died four dura-cycles ago, "defense protocol computers have scanned the beings and are ready to send the simuloids." "And their mother ship?" Kimel nodded, "One simuloid is on 'stand by', ready to board if necessary." Losira nodded back, "Activate simuloids; keep the one on 'stand by' until further orders." "Yes, ma'am." Kimel's hands fluttered across her console to comply. Losira and the comm center crew watched the screen as four simuloids appeared just out of sight of the equal number of insect beings now approaching the station's camouflaged entrance. The simuloids were nothing more than projections of simple forms of matter guided by tractor field emitters imbedded in the surrounding rocks and under the topsoil cover. Their bodies were merely sophisticated puppets with invisible strings, guided by the station's main defense computer which thought and spoke for them as well. The ones that could be sent to vessels were integrated with their own internal power source and mobility frame work, since the tractor field emitters couldn't reach beyond a certain point. The boarding simuloid could operate independently from the main computer's control, even at hundreds of sub-cubicans distance, but only for a limited amount of time. Using molecular re-sequencing, the computer could change the density of their forms to repel any attack and transform their hands into any defensive weapon it felt necessary to guard the station. Its main weapon disrupted certain cells in life forms to render them unconscious so as to more easily disarm and/or return them to wherever they came from. The victims were scanned at the molecular level in order to match the exact chromosome pattern to that of his/her simuloid opponent in order to disrupt their cell patterns and put them to sleep quickly. But the system wasn't fool-proof; some of the beings it was used upon didn't stun them, it killed them by not disrupting a few cells, but all of them. And since the diversity of life was so wide spread throughout this part of space, the computer couldn't always discern between which life forms were able to withstand the disruption or succumb to it. It wasn't the fault of the computer, nor its creators and handlers; this sector of space was new to the Kalandans and they had not had time to fully investigate and analyze all of the surrounding worlds and their inhabitants. Losira deplored the killing of life, as did all Kalandans, but the disease left them no choice. They couldn't allow the deadly organism to spread and, not knowing if others could be affected by it or not, weren't taking any chances. A member of the insectoid landing party suddenly pointed towards the general direction of the entrance, announcing to the others that a life form reading had appeared on its scanning device, a huge one sending the gage indicator right off the scale then disappearing just as quickly. The defense computer purposely sent out the false reading in order to confuse visitors that weren't welcome, for when the group of simuloids came within sight of the landing party, their instruments gave off no readings of them. No biological readings, no mechanical readings... nothing, as if they weren't really there. One of the simuloids, a male, approached the group and spoke. "My fellow travelers," he (it) said, in the clicks, chirps, and whistles of what the computer said was their language after scanning them, "though we wish to welcome you to our station, we cannot allow you to remain here." A member of their group stepped forward, apparently the leader, and chirped out an introduction and asked, "Why? Is there a danger?" "There is indeed, my friend," the simuloid answered, "There is a disease on this station that we have not yet been able to combat. We cannot risk others contracting it and carrying it back to worlds to infect others. You must leave at once... please." Another member of the party stepped up and addressed his superior, "Drone Primus, we have standing orders to take possession of this planetoid," then, turning to the simuloid, "Your small world, your 'station', whatever it is, is in our space. We claim this world in the name of the Crykk'tyr'n Directorate Territories." "Then you will be claiming a world of the dead," the simuloid responded with a pained look, "and if the disease affects you, you will carry it back to your Directorate and destroy yourselves. You must leave now." The objecting insectoid motioned to the rest and all raised their weapons to the Kalandan greeters. With a loud click/order, the insectoids fired. But they attacked the simuloids to no avail, for the bright yellow beams of energy bursting forth from their weapons merely bounced off their forms. The lead simuloids sadly shook his head and slowly approached the landing party, the others following suit. The insectoids kept firing up to the last second. But when one of the simuloids touched the leader of the party on his shoulder(?), the being let out a high pitched squeak. Its whole body stiffened up, and then simply dropped to the ground. Two others followed their leader and the last of the party, the objecting one, stared dumbfounded at his comrades lying at his feet. "I'm sorry," the lead simuloid said, "but this was necessary for your own safety. Take them back to your craft and leave; they will regain consciousness by the time your mother ship is at least one hundred of your clectirs away from this world. Please... go." The remaining insectoid's eyes widened as far as they would go when the simuloids flattened out their appearances into something like a two-dimensional image, thinning themselves into one-dimensional straight, vertical lines, and then shrinking into nothing, disappearing as if they were... ghosts? One by one, the insectoid hurriedly carried his comrades back to their landing craft and, a short while later, blasted the engines to lift the craft off in a cloud of dust and vanishing into the dull lavender sky. Losira turned to the Ops officer once the simuloids disappeared on the screen and asked, "Did the sim-scanners reveal any damage to the life forms?" The woman at the controls shook her head, "The life forms' biological structure was too complex to get an accurate reading, Commander. Their cell structure may or may not have been able to tolerate our disruption defense; I don't know if the insectoids were unconscious or injured," she adjusted her controls again, and, "Bio-scanners can't determine whether or not they contracted the disease, either." Losira cursed under her breath, a particularly vile and tasteless one at that, then turned to her scanning officer, "Status of the craft?" "They are now coming within range of their mother ship; they'll be docking with it momentarily." "Keep tracking it until it leaves the outer guard's periphery." As she turned to leave the center, her Ops officer called to her in a hushed and worried voice. "Losira... do you think they..." She shook her head, already knowing the rest of the question, "I don't know, Kimel. We can only hope they didn't contract the disease. If they did and take it back to their home worlds..." The rest didn't need to be said; everyone knew what would happen. Kimel bowed her head, saddened at the thought, and a tear ran down her face as Losira left the center. That tear was not shed in vain. Unknown to the Kalandans, the disruption defense did indeed kill the insectoids and their bodies were infected with the deadly organism. By the time their mother ship reached its home port, the entire crew was infected. Over the course of three of their years, the disease spread across their home world and eventually to their colonies, thanks to the unsuspecting crews of other ships. Within ten years time, the entire Crykk'tyr'n race was wiped out, erased from the universe with only the remains of their bodies, cities, and technologies to bare witness and testimony to their once great empire. Losira waited until she was within the confines of her chambers before she broke down and cried. Not for the Crykk'tyr'ns; she had no way of knowing their fate. But for her beloved, who had created the simuloid process and the technology behind it. The lead simuloid used was in the image of Pelor. Another season-cycle went by, and over two-thirds of the station's personnel were gone. There wasn't a dura-cycle that went by that the incinerators weren't in use, disposing of corpses... and still they waited for help to arrive from their home planet. The outpost had only one other visitor since the incident with the Crykk'tyr'ns. A particularly belligerent race of beings that resembled felinoid carnivores landed on the station and claimed it for their own, in an attempt to expand their territory and savage influence. Scanning the invaders' minds revealed that they subjugated other races for their own gain to replenish their home territory's dwindling resources. Dispatching them in the same manner as the Crykk'tyr'ns, the Kalandans found the species also vulnerable to their disruption defenses and the deaths of their comrades only enraged them. Bombarding the outpost with their ship's primitive particle weapons proved fruitless, thanks to the station's zetherbium outer covering. But when the marauding felinoids decided to smash the planet with one of their auxiliary craft loaded with powerful explosive compounds that would rip away the planetoid's atmosphere, the Kalandans had no choice. Bringing their reactors to full power, they hit the ship with the molecular transport array and sent it back the way it came. Unfortunately the felinoids, who used their own molecular transporters to escape back to their ship, had been infected like their Crykk'tyr'n counterparts and had taken the disease back to their home territory as well. Within twelve of their years, almost ninety percent of their species was eradicated, the remainder surviving only due to the fact that a cure was found, but found too late to save the bulk of their race. Over half of their subjugated races survived exposure as well having being immune to the disease, with the exception of one that discovered the cure far more rapidly than their overlords and only suffered less than five percent casualties. The Kzinti, having lost most of their population, spend the next few ten thousand years or so rebuilding and relearning their culture, becoming less belligerent and more productive. And their underling worlds, no longer under the tyrannical heels of oppression due to the Kzinti's diminished forces, were allowed to flourish and come into their own. Including a strong and vigorous race of humanoids with dark skin and ridged foreheads, who strived to tame and nourish their turbulent world of Qo'noS. No other ships approached the station since and near the end of the revol, less than eighty Kalandans were left alive. Every attempt to stem the disease met with failure, their scientists and physicians unable to find a cure that some of their visitors had already discovered. Losira found Mika asleep at his desk, exhausted. He heard her enter the lab and slowly lifted himself off the desktop. "There's nothing more I can do, Losira," he said, his voice coarse and strained, "We only have so much of the serum left, and I'm certain that it's not helping anymore. It's only a matter of time, now." "How much longer?" Mika looked somberly at her and taking her hand said, "Maybe another season-cycle, but not much more than that. Are you going to tell the others?" "No," Losira answered in a whisper, "They must hang on until the last moment, until help arrives. I won't dash their hopes." "Help won't get here in time, will it?" Mika asked, though they both knew it wasn't really a question. Losira simply shook her head, "I don't think so." Mika just nodded and reached over to pat a recording module, "I've dictated the last of my logs, professional and personal; they're all in here. There's nothing more to do, so... there's nothing more to say." He then rose from his chair and headed for the door, "I'm going to my chambers to lie down; it's getting hot in here. Check in with me from time to time, will you?" Losira smile slightly and nodded as her old friend sauntered out of the lab. That was the last time she saw him alive. * * * It had been as Mika predicted; almost a full season-cycle passed by when she placed the last of her fellow Kalandans into one of the last remaining incinerators that were still working properly. She cried as she silently said goodbye to Kimel, watching the hatch close and conceal her lifeless body inside the disposal unit. The young Ops officer had held onto life longer than any of them, save herself of course. And once the incinerator signaled the process finished, Kimel was gone... and Losira was alone. That was two meca-cycles ago. For the dura-cycles that followed Kimel's disposal, Losira simply wandered in a haze attempting to tend to the duties of keeping the station operational. But it was more to keep her busy than anything; the station's main controls were set to tend to the rudimentary systems automatically at reduced power consumption, and there was little else to keep an eye on after that. And now, with her limbs going numb, her stomach cramping, and her temperature rising, it was her turn to join the others in death. But she wouldn't leave this life, not just yet; there was one final duty to perform. After applying some coloring to cover the small blemishes of light gray around her eyes and cheeks, Losira forced herself to be calm and gathered the last of her strength before going back into the command center. Standing off to the side of the doorway that led to the station entrance foyer, she called out to the air, "Computer; activate recording/projection module." A cube of frosted glass lowered itself out of the ceiling and focused its energies on the only remaining being in the room. "Scan life form present." The cube hummed out a warble of soft tones, and a thin line of pale blue light washed up and down Losira's body, scanning her form and recording her mind's impulses. A tiny chime sounded, indicating the scan was complete. "Hold scan in simuloid stasis." The cube hummed at her again, and then fell quiet. Losira walked over to the defenses console and set the controls to their proper sequence if the station was ever unmanned for whatever reason. She walked back to her original position and, taking one last calming breath to steady herself, she said, "Activate log recording." Again, the cube warbled a tone and she began her final message. "My fellow Kalandans, welcome." "A disease has destroyed us; beware of it. After your long journey I'm sorry to give only a recorded welcome, but we who have guarded the outpost for you will be dead by the time you take possession of this planet." "I am the last of our advanced force left alive. Too late, the physicians discovered the cause of the sickness that kills us. In creating this planet, we have accidentally produced a deadly organism. I have awaited the regular supply ship from home for medical assistance, but I... I doubt now whether it will arrive in time." "I have set the outpost's controls on automatic; the computer will selectively defend against all life forms, but our own. My fellow Kalandans... I, Losira... wish you well." Closing her eyes and exhaling slowly, she said to the cube, "End recording and store in protective memory." She knew that the recorded message would automatically play if and when the simuloid was shut down and no longer needed. Again, she called out, "Computer, use stored template and create simuloid." The cube hummed again, louder this time, and a solid line stretched out in front of her. The line expanded sideways, then again to encompass three dimensions. "Activate simuloid." The false being's eyes fluttered, then opened to see the commander of the station. Losira put aside the eerie feeling of staring and addressing... herself; the simuloid was a perfect copy of her own form. The computer would use her image and personality to greet anyone arriving at the station. "Simuloid, this is a priority directive from the commander of this outpost: you are to guard this station against all life forms. Do not allow any life forms to penetrate the station's interior, except for any Kalandan personnel. The station's reactors can now be powered up to full capacity now that no one is left to injure or incapacitate. Use any means at your disposal to safeguard this outpost, including the molecular transport array. You may duplicate your existing form to defend against multiple opponents, if necessary. Scan all forms that arrive and activate secondary defensive protocols if needed; board any vessels and use the array only when the situation warrants it. Above all, do not kill any life form unless protocol demands it," Losira paused to collect her thoughts and continued, "And finally, when my body ceases to function, you will place it in the incineration unit and dispose of it. Once done... you will be in command of this station until relieved by the Kalandan forces that will arrive in due time to take control. Do you understand?" The Losira-Sim nodded, "I understand, Commander." "Good. Now... help me... to my chambers..." And with that, Losira swayed and almost lost her balance. The simuloid reached for her and held her upright, slowly walking her to her quarters. Once there, the simuloid gently laid Losira down on her bed, her labored breathing becoming more erratic and her skin fading to a dull ash gray. "Simuloid," Losira huffed out, "my life is nearing its end. Carry out your directive; guard and protect this station. Our forces will... will arrive soon," she held out her hand, and the simulation of herself gently grasped it in her own, "Thank you... Commander..." Her arm went limp, her hand slipping from the simuloid's hand. "Computer, scan life form in this chamber." At Losira-Sim's beckoning, a smaller cube dropped out of the room's ceiling and hummed to life. A pale green line played over the body lying in the bed and, after a moment or two, the light changed from green to red and the cube beeped out one long, subdued tone. "End scan." The cube retreated into its cubby hole and deactivated. The simuloid looked at the body with just a hint of sorrow. Losira was dead. After disposing of her former commander's body, Losira-Sim returned to the command center and, after checking the controls one last time to make sure they were at the proper settings, she addressed the chamber. "Computer, power down all non-essential systems. Maintain outer warning guard detection grid, continuous scan. Surface simuloid tracking systems on 'stand-by', until further notice. Secure all entrances to station's interior." She paused for one final look around, then, "Store template of present simuloid in protective memory and save." Beauty Survives One by one, overhead lights went dim, control panels winked out, and hatches leading to the surface hissed closed and locked, their rock camouflages grinding into position. And once all was complete... "Deactivate simuloid until outer warning guard is breached." Losira-Sim flattened out into two dimensions, thinned to a single line of matter, and then shrank into nothing. The overhead monitoring cube hummed an almost silent tone, its swirling lights and the dim lighting from the defenses console the only illumination in the now quiet, empty room. The computer standing in mute isolation... waiting. * * * "It's really sad, you know?" "C'mon, we've seen and heard our share of extinction stories." "It's still depressing, Mike; waiting all that time for a ship that would never come." "I know, I know... but there's nothing anyone can do now. They're gone, but we can still learn about them from what they left behind." It was the third time Fisher tried to console Le Roy with this statement, he being the practical one and his friend the sentimental type. After the Enterprise sent its report on the Kalandan outpost, long abandoned and left empty for an estimated ten thousand years, Star Fleet Command wasted no time in investigating the artificial planetoid. They dispatched the U.S.S. Bridger and Crockett, two of the Hermes class scout ships, along with all the science and engineering personnel they could carry to the outpost for study. They felt that fully equipped scout/science vessels could analyze the planetoid more efficiently than one Constitution class starship, and also added the fact that the Enterprise had a patrol schedule to keep. Once Fisher and Le Roy beamed down from the Bridger, along with one hundred and sixty others from both scouts, they were all over the station immediately, like bees on pollen. After a few days, the Bridger reported to Command that they would need more support in order to cover the vast station and all it contained. Star Fleet answered with one of the new Coventry class cruisers, the Coventry herself, loaded down with the latest scientific equipment and all the science personnel it could hold. Le Roy joked a little about the new cruiser design, poking fun at it saying, "It almost looks like one of the Ptolemy class transport tugs." with its warp nacelles slung just beneath its extended primary hull. "Ah, it doesn't look that bad, Frank," Fisher had retorted, "Wait till they add the weapons pod on top of it, then it'll be something to see. They're planning that for that new Miranda class ship they've been gossiping about." "You just want them to add that roll bar for looks," Le Roy chuckled, "We've got enough ships as it is loaded down with weapons, already." Fisher just shrugged, smiling, "Say what you will, but you just wait; the new refit designs I've seen on the engineering comm net updates are going to blow everyone away." "I have seen some of them; they're going to need better materials to work with, what with that new warp nacelle design they have in mind." "Why do you think we're here?" Le Roy smirked, "Good point," then rolled his eyes at the schematics he had seen, "I still say they look like weird, skinny toothpicks all lit up to look pretty." Fisher just laughed, "Always clinging to the old, traditional stuff; Francis, my friend, you're too much of a romantic." They both laughed as they went back to the tasks at hand. Fisher, being the engineering specialist, was diving into the inner workings of the station checking over controls consoles, power relay systems, and especially the materials used in creating the outpost in the first place. Almost one hundred other engineering team members were doing the same, going over the station with finely tuned tricorders and scanners inch by inch, but Fisher had the honor of analyzing the metal the Kalandans used to build the station. The rust red colored metal was a composite alloy, a combination of diburnium and osmium. The diburnium was extremely resistant to weapons' fire due to its dense molecular structure, and was rarely found in that section of explored space until recently. Osmium was common enough; it was used mainly for the primary shielding in warp nacelles, among other vital areas of starships. But when combined, the alloy produced a new element that, if not removed, would reach toxic levels over a period of time and slowly migrate out of the alloy to affect its surroundings. The migration would disrupt the composite's atomic structure, making the alloy unstable and dangerous. The alloy would stabilize itself once the toxins were gone, but on its own it would take a considerable amount of time to reach that point, on the order of centuries if not longer. "They didn't realize the affects diburnium and osmium would have if the toxins weren't removed," Fisher muttered. As advanced as they were, he really couldn't blame the Kalandans for the oversight. Because of its extremely slow growth rate, the toxic element could easily be missed if you didn't know what to look for. Federation scientists learned that lesson long ago, and learned it the hard way, when they first experimented with the two metals. They too unknowingly created the toxin when the alloy was produced and they had discovered it, and an anti-toxin to combat it, before it could do massive harm. But they didn't discover it in time to save the two hundred and nine scientists, technicians, and students that were infected and died as a result of their experiments. A tragic event, but a 'learning experience', none the less. Force field attractor equipment and repulsor beam technology was used in removing the toxins from the alloy. They could be disposed of rather simply, but Star Fleet Command's science division had deemed the process 'impractical' because of the months it took to extract the dangerous element. Now with improved techniques, it was just a matter of hours to make the alloy safe and with this, Star Fleet was 'reconsidering' the element's use in their new engine designs. But the toxic element had already done its damage there at the outpost; the deadly organism it produced when it bonded with organic compounds was still imbedded in the vegetation. This was Le Roy's part of the investigation. The bioscience specialist, along with his friend, was now on the surface analyzing the meager plant sprouts that dotted the soil while Fisher examined the rock formations after checking out the station's interior. Having been inoculated with the anti-toxin before leaving the scout ships, he and the rest of the landing parties were safe from the deadly effects of the element. "The reports were right," Le Roy uttered, "This organism is all over the place; the plants, the soil... and none of this vegetation should be here." He held out a few of the sprouts to Fisher, his friend's dark brown skin and black hair contrasting sharply with the bland beige coloring of the plant stalks, almost the same color as his own hair, "A couple science team members reported the same thing the Enterprise's geologist found, and it's the same thing I'm getting on my tricorder: there hasn't been any rainfall on this planetoid to promote vegetation growth... ever! Even the rocks show signs of water erosion, and they shouldn't!" Le Roy dropped the plants in exasperation. Fisher nodded in agreement as he carefully scrutinized a small part of a rock formation, "Their chief science officer surmised the same thing their landing party did: the whole surface is manufactured camouflage; it's all fake, even the dirt." The science officer aboard the Enterprise discovered that the planetoid was only a few thousand years old, almost twelve thousand according to the Crockett's sensor readings. The blink of an eye, time wise, considering it took billions of years for planetary bodies to form much less create a viable life sustaining atmosphere and surface. It was approximately the size of Earth's moon, and the science officer had deemed it 'impossible' for such a small body to develop a Class M atmosphere and indigenous plant life in such a relatively short period of time. Le Roy added, "I think their chief medical officer was right about his theory, too." The Enterprise's chief physician, another member of the landing party, surmised that the Kalandans must have contracted the disease when they were delivering supplies during and after the station's construction. The supply ships unknowingly carried the disease back to their home territory and infected others, spreading it throughout their sphere of influence from their colonies to their home world, and effectively destroying their civilization over the course of many years. Losira, or rather her recorded image, had been waiting thousands of years to deliver her greeting to a great people who were now extinct, and had been for centuries. "Like I said," Fisher said somberly, "we've seen it before. That race of insectoids in the Elindrum sector; their territories covered a vast area of space, according to the records the archeologists found on their home planet. Maybe the same thing happened to them." "Maybe," Le Roy muttered back as he adjusted his tricorder to replay the readings it recorded so far, "The Kzinti's historical records mentioned something about a 'plague' that nearly wiped them out, too. I wonder if it was the same type of disease the Kalandans contracted." "We'll never know, Frank. It happened so long ago, even the Kzinti don't remember. And as far as the Crykk'tyr'ns go," Fisher shrugged a shoulder, "There aren't any more of them left to ask." "Was there any record left behind mentioning other species visiting this place?" asked Le Roy with a lilt of hope in his voice. But it was extinguished when Fisher shook his head, still picking away at that certain spot in the rock face with precision examination tools, and answered, "I'm afraid not. The computer analysis teams found the computer equipment not functional because of non-use, with the exceptions of the imaging processor and the defense grid controls. Their transporter array worked, but just barely. I would've loved to have been on that investigation team." Fisher smiled to himself at the thought of getting into the guts of such a sophisticated, technological marvel as the Kalandans molecular transport array. "But all the logs and recordings made here had degraded to the point of 'non-retrievable' status; there are a few technical logs left somewhat intact, but the whole record of their time here... gone. They should have done what the Crykk'tyr'ns did: recorded their data and logs on some kind of hard copy, like... what's that stuff called again? Paper?" Le Roy huffed out a laugh and answered, "Yes," in a rolled eyed, exasperated voice. "Right, paper. The Crykk'tyr'ns were smart; some of their records survived that way." Le Roy raised an eyebrow to him, "That's right, Mike; the old tried and true, 'traditional' methods. Now who's the one being a romantic?" Fisher conceded the point with, "Okay, you got me with that one." Le Roy chuckled, knowing he scored a point for 'traditionalism', and then stared at what his friend was looking and digging at, "What exactly are you looking for? I thought you were finished with the alloy analysis." "I am," Fisher answered as he managed to break away a good size chunk of the false rock. He couldn't get at the super strong alloy that made up only part of the formations, but the composite material that was thrown together to look like rock flaked away from the surface with little effort. "This is something else, something just as important." "What is it?" Le Roy stepped back a bit as Fisher finally managed to chip away a piece of the 'rock' in order to reveal the entire component he knew was there. Gesturing with a wave of his hand, he said, "This... is a tractor beam emitter." Le Roy's eyes widened and peered more closely at the silvery reddish mesh of metal pieces and small pipe-like conduits connected to it, "Get outta here! That small?" "We make 'em smaller than that for surgical instruments," Fisher countered. "Yeah, but why would you put something like this out here?" Le Roy waved an arm around to encompass the outdoor surface. "To operate their sentries." Le Roy matched Fisher's smug smile with his own confused one. "I went over their imaging processor units," Fisher explained while he waved his tricorder over the now exposed emitter, "They're capable of creating automatons from the scanned templates of the station's personnel; that was in one of those 'somewhat intact' technical logs I mentioned. They're like mannequins, simple forms of matter held together by tractor beam and force field manipulation," he pointed to the device in the rock, "and this is one of the emitters used to control them. I traced the power conduits' paths all the way out here; there are millions of these things all over the place, even inside the station, too." Le Roy glanced at the readings being digested on his friend's tricorder and said, "The earlier reports said that the image that attacked them was resistant to phaser fire, just like the alloy." Fisher nodded, "The main defense computer could alter the density of the sentry, making it almost invulnerable to weapons' fire. And it could transmit an energy burst that would disrupt cell structures." "Yeah, I read that too. That's how some of their crew died; every cell in their bodies was exploded from the inside out," Le Roy shuddered at the thought of such a gruesome death, but couldn't think of any good way to die either. "But how the Hell did their computer manage to get one of those things aboard their ship, and at almost a thousand light-years distant?" "Nine hundred and ninety, point seven light-years, Ensign," came the correction from behind the pair of specialists, who snapped to attention as Commander Tovan approached, "You must be more precise in your facts if your investigation is to have any merit." Le Roy nodded to his superior, the Bridger's chief science officer, "Yes, sir." "As you were, gentlemen," Tovan then addressed Fisher, "Please continue, Lieutenant; do you have a theory that would explain such an occurrence?" "I do, sir," he answered, returning his tricorder to the emitter, "I believe the computer used the transporter array to sent one of its sentries to the Enterprise. If it's capable of flinging a starship that far away..." Tovan nodded, "I concur, Mr. Fisher. This is the current theory the team investigating the array agree upon, as well." "But why didn't the array send the Enterprise away when it returned?" The Vulcan turned to the young Ensign and answered, "It would appear that the array ceased to function after it retrieved its sentry. Because of its dormant state throughout the centuries, and due to the absence of any engineering personnel and lack of proper maintenance, the array fell into disrepair. I surmise that was reason for the Enterprise being reassembled slightly out of phase after transport." After getting their bearings, the Enterprise crew checked the ship for any damage and, finding none, they headed back to the planetoid at top speed. However, their chief engineer wasn't quite convinced that the ship was in working order and reported the 'feel' of the vessel was wrong. While repairs were being made to the engines that were sabotaged, the science officer scanned the ship, comparing its present condition to its ideal one, and found the phase discrepancy. "The final use of power to the array damaged the already degraded components of its inner mechanisms and rendered the entire system useless, practicality-wise. The investigating team is still examining the device for future study, but the array itself is no longer functional. And I presume due to its age and degradation, will remain in that state." "That," Fisher said sadly, "is a loss, Mr. Tovan." Tovan had to agree, "An incalculable one, Mr. Fisher, however the examinations of the mechanism itself, as well as the other findings here, should prove to be most interesting and valuable to science division at Star Fleet." "Like this one," Fisher pointed to the emitter, "With your permission sir, I'd like to continue studying this component and its main systems; I believe it warrants further analysis." Tovan perused the readings being recorded on Fisher's tricorder and raised an eyebrow, "Fascinating... very well, Mr. Fisher; you may proceed with your analysis, provided it is approved by your superior." "My full report on the alloy has been sent up to Bridger along with the rest, sir," Fisher then grinned, "and I'm certain Chief Engineer Farnsworth will approve. It'll take years to go over the data I'll be collecting." "Indeed; a complex engineering challenge, to be sure," Tovan then turned his attention to both officers, "But I'm afraid further investigations will have to wait. Captain Cho feels we should... "call it a day" as he puts it. You may continue your analyses tomorrow morning, gentlemen." Fisher and Le Roy smiled at that and packed up their equipment, readying it for transport. "Just think about it, Frank; the things we could do with this technology." "Like what? Make fake people?" "Exactly. Right now, we use simple holographic images to change appearances... like in the Recreation Room. But they're just images, nothing more," Fisher pointed back at the emitter, "But with something like that, you could make an actual, solid re-creation of something, or someone. You could change the shape of an object to resemble anything; a rock, a tree, even a fictional character out of a book. You could re-create whole different scenes, if the room you put the components in was big enough; forests, meadows, beaches, different worlds whether real or imagined... your own bridge where you get to be the captain! The possibilities are endless!" Le Roy didn't want to put a damper on his friend's enthusiasm, but he had to interject a bit of reality, "Mike... developing something like that in our lifetime?" Fisher just shrugged, "Probably not, but I'm gonna have a lot of fun getting there. This little gem," again, he gestured at the emitter, "is a thing of beauty." "The Bridger is ready to beam us up, gentlemen; stand by." All three officers stood ready for their trip, their packed equipment ready for transport. Before he signaled for beam out, Tovan turned to Fisher and said, "I have found that 'beauty' is often transitory, Lieutenant." Fisher grinned and replied, "In this case, I respectfully disagree, sir," and stole once last glance at the little marvel in the rock face, just waiting to be examined with loving care, "Even here, after all that's happened, beauty... survives." Tovan raised his eyebrow again, flipping open his communicator, and had to admit that Fisher did have a valid point, however illogical it may be. "Tovan to Bridger; three plus equipment to beam up." "Transporter Room, acknowledge; ready for transport, Commander," was the reply. "Energize." The three men, along with their gear and the big smile still plastered on Fisher's face, marking an excited eagerness to return, disappeared into the sparkling quantum mist of the transporter beam.