Star Trek: The Next Generation "Purely Alien"
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Subject: "Purely Alien" by Rob Darwin
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Star Trek: The Next Generation
"Purely Alien"
by Rob Darwin
Copyright 1992
* Prologue *
Commander Dallas Ripley regarded the Vossan system with his
customary mix of disinterest and disdain. Like most of the
places the _Tromonos_ was sent, it fit the literal definition of
space backwater. Located far from the populated centers of the
Federation, it was also roughly equidistant from Federation
borders with any potentially hostile civilizations as well. To
Ripley, it was the epitome of the no-risk, no-reward assignments
that had been his steady diet since graduating towards the bottom
of his academy class. Now in middle age, his chances of
achieving captaincy of any mainline ship grew dimmer with every
day he remained captain of this miserable mapping and survey
vessel.
He snorted to himself as he remembered the orders, filtered
through some automated bureaucrat in Starfleet's science
division. "Proceed to Vossan system at best speed. Investigate
electromagnetic phenomena in sixth planetary cluster and report."
He'd been on missions like this...invariably some inorganic
noisemaker, some weird distortion of a planet's field caused by
extreme gravitational positioning. The science types (and how he
ESPECIALLY detested them, his substitute for a REAL Starfleet
crew) would hem, haw, ooh, ah, make a few important looking
notations and promptly scuttle off to write an obscure article
for some equally obscure scientific journal while he was left to
report another dry hole. At least in transit he could imagine
himself on some mission of real importance, matching wits with a
crafty Romulan and...
"Sir?", came his navigators voice, startling him from his
reverie. He glanced up, and the officer continued. "Sir, we're
entering the planetary cluster. Estimate arrival time to
standard orbit in 40 minutes." "Thank you, lieutenant. Notify
Science Survey Team One to be on standby in case we find
something." He managed to keep his voice from betraying his
opinions on the abject uncertainty of that occurring. "Put the
planet on screen. Science, any readings on the electromagnetic
disturbances yet?" He turned to look at his science officer,
Vanessa Kiel, a young lady whose skills, like most of his crew,
were just slightly below par. She was glancing over her panel
with a puzzled expression.
"Sir, we're reading it now. This is...apparently the survey
probe wasn't very specific when it reported these readings.
This..." Her voice trailed off as she bent over a particular
readout. Ripley pursed his lips. "It's what?", he snapped.
"Commander, the signal is within the radio spectrum. It is
constant, both in terms of interval and transmission strength.
It is also emanating from the surface of the planet, rather than
the atmosphere or magnetic field. In short, sir, it seems to be
a beacon." She gazed steadily at his disbelieving expression.
"Are you suggesting that we're encountering intelligence of some
sort?", he challenged. She held his stare unwaveringly, and
replied, "That seems to be the only likely explanation." She
paused. "Request permission to join the survey team." He
considered for a moment, then, "Granted. Join them in
transporter room two in twenty minutes."
As the turbolift doors closed behind her, Ripley stared at
the advancing shape of the planet. It seemed so cold and
lifeless, no different than anywhere else...he turned to the
ensign who had taken Kiel's place. "Put the signal on speaker,"
he ordered. The pinging noise sounded almost at once. A short
wait, then again it came. "The signal sounds at twelve-second
intervals, sir", the ensign piped. Unhearing, he turned back to
the viewscreen, his heart beginning to pound. Maybe this would
be his big chance. Maybe here there would be something to
finally make his superiors take notice and get him off this
miserable ship. He thumbed his chair intercom. "This is
Commander Ripley. Science Survey One, report to transporter room
two immediately. Signal response positive, we'll beam you to the
site. Ripley out." He allowed himself a half-smile. Handle this
one right, and maybe those Romulans had something to worry about
after all.
* Chapter One *
Science Officer Kiel was in a hurry, relatively speaking.
The planet they were about to descend to was far from class M:
the atmosphere was poisonous, the temperatures extreme, all
factors which necessitated heavy protective equipment. Her legs
were short to begin with, and with all this extra weight, her
hurry was like most people's stroll. The suits were
climate-controlled, but her anticipation made it cling to her
with sweat. Finally! A chance to make the kind of discovery you
dreamed about during all those endless hours of study and
laboratory work; a chance to become the one all the textbooks
would write about. She pulled absently at the suit as the doors
to transporter room two swished aside.
The low murmur of conversation stopped as she entered.
Science Survey One was a standard Starfleet scientific away team.
There was a geologist, a xenobiologist, an astrophysicist, a
medical officer, and the inevitable security officer. She would
head the group, since all of them were ensigns, and as science
officer she was senior at any rate.
She decided to begin her briefing, since there were a few
minutes left before they were due in orbit. "We've detected a
signal of constant strength and interval coming from the surface
of the planet. The transmission is emanating from a large,
metallic object, possibly...", she paused, "...possibly a
spaceship of some kind." The murmuring resumed. Xenobiologist
Phelps asked, "Have the signals been run through the linguistics
programs for any sort of meaning?" "No, and they should be.
Thank you, ensign." Kiel tapped the wall communicator. "Kiel to
bridge. Have science station run a linguistics check on the
signals." Ripley's voice came crackling back through. "Will do,
lieutenant. We're just entering standard orbit, so you can beam
down as soon as your team is assembled." "Aye, sir. Kiel out."
She nodded at the survey team. "You heard the captain...let's
get on those pads!"
The transporter shimmer barely cut through the howling wind.
Kiel clicked on her suit's communicator. "Survey team, recon
formation. We'll have to get closer to see the ship." All around
them, dusty particles were swirling, blocking vision farther than
three meters or so. The geologist's voice came through the
speaker. "My tricorder indicates the ship is less than 500
meters straight ahead." Kiel moved, and the survey team followed
silently, each checking their own instruments. "I'm getting low
level life signs, possibly some form of dormancy or hibernation,"
said Phelps. There was no answer, because at that moment, the
wind died down for a moment, and it was as if a veil was drawn
away, because the ship was suddenly there, in front of them.
Kiel could only gape. The ship was huge, easily the size of
a frigate-class vessel, but the design...the astrophysicist's
voice confirmed her impression. "Lieutenant, this vessel's
configuration matches nothing I've ever seen, Federation,
Klingon, Romulan...no non-allied race...this ship is...well, it's
alien." That final word rang in their ears. Alien! New!
**************************************************
Back aboard the _Tromonos_, the young science officer
studied his panel with concern. The linguistics program had
failed to determine any sort of language pattern, but had advised
a mathematic analysis. Sometimes, numerical universals could
communicate when no other property was constant enough...at
least, with Earth's earliest attempts at extra-terrestrial
communications, simple equations whose meanings were apparently
friendly and inviting were included with our deepest space
probes. Luckily for Earth, the first race to encounter these
probes were Vulcans, a race he thought wholly suited to numerical
conversation.
The results began to come through. He skimmed the report,
which detailed the paths of computation, which formulae were
derived and applied...then the conclusions froze him. "Captain?"
he said cautiously, "Sir, the computer has reached some
conclusions about the nature of the transmission. There is some
possibility that it is just a beacon of some kind, perhaps
activated in distress. There is also the possibility it serves
as some kind of navigational marker, acting as a reference point
for calculations of relative distance and..." Ripley couldn't
listen to more of this. "And what, ensign?" he said in an acid
tone. "Do you have conclusions, or just a number of
indeterminate options? Or has the computer generated a multiple
choice quiz for us? Can I choose all of the above? Always,
sometimes, never?" The ensign's face turned red, but he
controlled his voice. "Commander, both of those solutions
carried a statistical probability below 3 percent. The most
likely conclusion, according to the computer, is that this signal
is meant to be some kind of warning."
Ripley felt heat rising from his collar as his face matched
the ensign's. "Thank you, ensign." He felt the bridge crews'
eyes on him as he considered. "Communications, warn the survey
team that the planet may contain hostile or dangerous actors."
The stakes were higher now. Losing an away team was as sure to
end a career as discovering new life forms was to revitalize it.
His comm officer's next words didn't make things any easier.
"Sir, I'm not able to make contact with the away team. I'm
getting some sort of structural interference...too much for the
signal." Dallas shook his head. This was getting out of hand
quickly. Best to regroup and try again with more
preparation...he wished they'd taken time for a full sensor array
before beaming down. "Notify transporter room to beam them up as
soon as we reacquire their signal. Let's play it safe this
time." As the comm officer did so, he turned back to the screen.
Inanimate objects didn't have personalities, but the planet which
had seemed to carry so much hope now seemed almost oppressive.
He drummed his fingers impatiently...that away team had better
not screw this one up...
**************************************************
"We're nearly on top of it, Lieutenant!" Phelps' voice rose
in his excitement. The readings had grown steadily stronger as
they'd progressed down this latest corridor. The ship had proven
easy enough to enter, since deposits of dust and silt had built
the ground up to the entranceways at several points. This vessel
had been there a long time, long enough to settle and age, but
still life signs flashed from the special tricorder the
xenobiologist carried. It had taken them fifteen minutes or so
to get used to the twisting pathways, curiously circular in shape
and dusty where holes in the hull let the elements in. As they
rounded the next bend, a jagged hole in the roof and floor let
some light and wind in. Phelps stopped. "Here," he said, with
finality. "They're here, whatever they are. Readings indicate
about a twenty meter drop to the floor below, and a large
concentration of individual readings." She shined her light into
the hole. "I can't see anything from here. Permission to go
below, lieutenant?" Kiel hesitated long enough for the security
officer to chime in. "We don't know what's down there. I don't
think it's wise for just one of us to go." Phelps glared at him.
"We only have one grapple and harness, and I am the most
qualified for first contact." Kiel burned at the last, but she
knew it was true. She cursed her aversion to the life sciences
as she granted Phelps' request.
The wind caused the rope to sway, so Phelps' attention was
focused on the surface below him. He nudged himself out a little
wider, and his tricorder found an unoccupied spot. "Lower me
slowly", he called. Grunting, he began to time his swings. As
the ground became visible, he swung a little harder, and his feet
touched solid ground. "All clear. Give me a few meters of line
for mobility." He felt the tugging of the line subside, then
began to shine his light around as he checked his tricorder. A
layer of dust covered the entire surface, but the life signs were
still there. He tracked across to where a reading should have
been. Leaning over, he pulled out a small fan. As it whirred,
the dust flew off in layers, revealing an object that looked like
nothing so much as an egg. Gray and leathery, it caused his
tricorder to reel off an array of visual data. He moved the fan
around, and two, three, four more ovals became visible. "Sir!"
he called, forgetting himself. "It's...it's a hatchery! There
must be hundreds here!"
Kiel leaned over the hole. "Don't disturb them. Let's just
take a sample and get back to the ship." She felt out of
control...maybe if she studied these remarkable objects, she
could make some observations that would ascribe her a clear role
in the find. She wasn't going to lose this chance now...
Phelps laid down his tricorder and extracted his sample box
from his pack. Designed for small geological or botanical
samples, its secure, aerated seal allowed for easy transport back
to the lab. He slid the lid back, then chose a pair of tongs he
used for delicate specimens. The egg gave a little, but he was
able to lift it without trouble. He was bracing himself with his
left hand, but as he leaned toward the box, the dust under his
hand shifted, and it flew out from under him.
Panicking, he caught himself on his elbow. It jarred him
painfully, but the egg was unhurt. He pulled his hand back
quickly and saw that he'd disturbed one of the other eggs. It
seemed unhurt, so he concentrated on lowering the egg into the
cannister. He extracted the tongs and closed the lid, feeling
the box shift a bit...must have just been the weight of the egg.
He glanced over at the tricorder and saw readings flickering
across its screen. His eyes widened as he peered at them.
"Lieutenant, life form readings are intensifying...bring me up!"
He grabbed the tricorder, and as he did, something behind him
moved. He whirled to face it as the rope tightened behind him,
and caught only a blur of motion. Something thumped against his
facemask. "Kiel", he yelped, "there's something...aAhhhHggGhhh!"
The facemask bulged in, and his scream was cut off as the
nightmare violated his throat.
The rope kicked and jerked as Kiel watched it being winched
in. Nothing prepared her, though, for what she was
hearing...slurping, sucking noises, hisses and low growls--or
maybe whimpers. Phelps was still convulsing as his body
appeared. The blood drained from Kiel's face as she saw the
yellowish horror attached to the ensign's face. "Get it off!",
she shrieked. The burly security man leaned over and tugged, but
the harder he pulled, the more tightly it contracted in his hand.
"Lieutenant, we've got to get him back to the ship! I can't use
a weapon at this range, and it's killing him! Someone grab his
legs!" The geologist leaned over and grabbed them as they hurried
toward the entrance they'd used. Kiel fought panic...this wasn't
what was supposed to happen! She should have gone...and yet,
looking at Phelps...she felt the blood leave her head and fought
dizziness. That could have been her! It could have been any of
them...
* Chapter Two *
Ripley looked across the small conference table grimly.
Less than two hours had passed since they had entered standard
orbit around this planet, and already a crisis had begun that
would determine the course of his career. His executive officer
was there, along with the members of his away team...well, all
but one. Phelps was still in quarantine in sickbay. They'd
tried to remove the creature from his face, but doing so, they
were sure, would kill him, and the creature seemed to be
deliberately keeping him alive. A parasite, the doctor had said,
as the biologists nodded grimly. Some parasite- seeing it
clinging to the ensign's face had made him shudder with disgust.
This thing was alien, all right...but not novel, not exciting-
just foreign and malevolent.
He turned his attention to his officers. "Has anyone
examined the other specimen Phelps brought back yet?", he
queried. Kiel spoke up. "Sir, I've done some preliminary
scanning, and the cannister seems to contain another of the
parasites. Apparently motion awakens the eggs from dormancy, and
they immediately begin searching for a host." The last words
trailed off as she realized their impact. Ripley continued with
difficulty. "Are there any indications as to whether the
creature is intelligent?" "No, sir. Higher brain function is
largely absent. This is a creature of reflex, a creature
designed for one purpose only...to join with a host.", Kiel
answered. "But why? What is it doing? Is it...feeding?", he
demanded. "No, sir, at least not according to what the
medscanners can tell us. It seems to be modifying some of his
internal organs and depositing some tissue in his tracheal
region...." Dallas cut her off. "Tissue? What is it DOING to
him?"
Whatever speculation she might have had was cut off by the
communicator sounding from the wall. Ripley walked over to it
and signalled his reception. It was sickbay. "Sir, you'd better
get down here. The parasite de-attached itself from Phelps, and
he's CONSCIOUS, sir!" "We'll be right down," Ripley answered, and
shut off the comm. He turned to his XO. "Set course for
Starbase Three. Whatever this thing is, we're not going to deal
with it alone. And let Starfleet in on what we're dealing with."
He walked out quickly, before the scientists could protest. Cut
your losses, that's what his father had always said. Cut your
losses, before you lose it all.
**************************************************
Sickbay was carefully controlled chaos. Teams of scientists
milled around the observation window that looked into the
quarantine chamber where Phelps sat on the end of his medical
table, looking groggily around. The masked and gloved doctor
inside waved a diagnostic wand over him. "Medscanner says you're
in good shape...pulse a little low, respiration a little labored,
blood oxygen level out of balance..." The physician stopped.
"Wait a minute...I'm getting disparate readings now...a seperate
lifeform inside Phelps." Phelps' eyes bulged in horror.
"Wha...inside me? That thing...it...it...impregnated me?" The
doctor stared at his scanner. "No...not exactly, Phelps. It
seems to have-- invaded you...your body and this other reading
are almost totally seperate...in fact, it may...PHELPS!!!" The
last was screamed, because Phelps suddenly doubled over in pain.
Ripley watched in horror as the doctor rolled Phelps onto
his back, legs and arms flailing. The doctor glanced up
urgently. "I need some help in here, fast!" Two other scientists
hit the door release panel before Dallas could react and bolted
inside. They grabbed Phelps' hands and legs and held him while
the other continued to scan. "Readings are stronger,
stronger...now off the scale. Oh nooo...IT'S COMING OUT!!!" And
his chest just burst. Blood and gore splattered across the
little room as Phelps' screams died into a gurgling sound. A
yellow-gray head raised itself from the carnage. Its head darted
left and right as the doctor stood frozen. For an instant, it
stared right at Ripley, and it tiny teeth were bared in a grimace
of death. Then with unbelievable speed, it skittered across the
floor, through the opened door, and through the legs of a
scientist blocking the door. He lept away, and the doors swished
shut as the creature escaped into the hallway.
**************************************************
Syl Danning returned to her quarters, exhausted. She'd been
on duty for twenty hours...the last two of those spent scouring
the populated area of the ship, part of a shipwide search that
had turned up nothing. Only a few wings were left to be covered,
including this one, but they were still looking. They'd probably
disturb her sleep...or maybe not, as tired as she was. She
smiled to herself as she slipped off the grate to the ventilation
shaft. Inside, on the ledge, she kept her forbidden treats from
the last shore leave...Denebian chocolates, Rezenthian liqueur
candies; she had it all with her. She chose a chocolate, and
sighed blissfully as it dissolved in her mouth while she reached
behind her neck to unfasten the catch holding her uniform up. It
parted, and she slipped the suit off, letting it fall to the
floor.
Her skin prickled as the cool air hit it. She always felt
like her body expanded for a few minutes after being confined to
that thing all day. She walked over and took another chocolate.
A smile spread across her face as she rubbed her sore
shoulders...then something caught her eye. Had she forgotten to
pick up her things the shift before? It looked like a
stocking...
The last few seconds of her life went by in slow motion.
She leaned down slowly, eyes resolving the image of the stocking
as she went...but no, it wasn't a stocking. It was grainier, and
the shape...what WAS that shape? She squatted down next to it
and picked it up gingerly. Her eyes widened as she realized it
was skin...a skin that had been shed...an alien skin...her legs
felt like rubber as she began to rise...then something caught her
in the chest and knocked her backwards. It came from under her
bed...its teeth flashed...she tried to scream, but nothing would
come out...it was on top on her...it HURTS....it HURRRRRRRTS...
**************************************************
Only minutes later, Ripley stood in Danning's room, barely
in control of himself. Danning's half-naked, mutilated body had
already been removed, but the room smelled of death and her blood
splattered the walls. "The creature hid under her bed, sir" the
security chief was explaining. "She wasn't in bad shape, but the
creature handled her easily." Dallas shook his head. "And you
say it escaped into the ventilation shafts?" "Yes sir", came the
reply, "and you know as well I do, on this old tub that means it
could be anywhere. It can come out in any room, it can get
access to the maintenance shafts...it could even get into the
sealed-off sections of the ship. Sir, it's going to be near
impossible to track this thing from our end...and to it, we're
sitting ducks."
**************************************************
Several hours after the engineer spoke those words, Starbase
Three received a transmission. "Starfleet Survey Vessel
_Tromonos_ here. Proceeding at maximum warp. Internal situation
critical. Crew is under attack from alien with unknown
properties and weaknesses. We are attempting to create a secure
area where the remaining crew will be safe until we reach
stardock. Please notify next of kin of the following crew..."
and a list finished the automated transmission. It was the last
they'd hear.
A starship is an enormously complicated machine, probably
the single most complex creation mankind has managed, rivalled
only by certain terraforming systems. Regardless of that
comparison, it is a system that requires a combination of
constant computerized monitoring and human adjustment. Without
either of the two, a dangerous imbalance will quickly result, and
so, seventeen hours after the _Tromonos_ sent its last signal,
when a minor disequilibrium developed in the matter-antimatter
mixture, the engineering computers quietly shut down the entire
warp drive systems after repeated inquiries for assistance went
unanswered. When noone responded to its alarm signal, it began
to sound a distress call, first to the bridge, and when that
remained unanswered, to the nearest Starbase, Starbase Three. It
was a curiously unremarkable eulogy for the crew of the
_Tromonos_.
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