Requiem - Michael Jan Friedman [41]
The captain looked at her. “Doctor … please call me Dixon.” He felt absurd inviting the first-name informality when that name was not his own. But then, neither was “Mr. Hill,” and that sounded even more absurd.
Santos’s frown lifted. “In that case … Dixon … may I present the reason we’re here?” They had arrived at the top of a small hill. She gestured to the sensor array just below them. It was incredible. Interlocking spheres of perhaps two meters in diameter made up a larger circle that was at least half a kilometer across.
The sight left Picard breathless. He had seen larger arrays in space, but somehow, looking at an object in space from a viewscreen took away the human scale.
Here, he was overwhelmed. And to think this had all been built by human hands …
“An eye to search the heavens,” Santos remarked. “It’s state-of-the-art. One of the biggest land-based arrays in the Federation, and certainly the most sophisticated. In fact, from here we’ll be able to see farther out into uncharted space than anyone else in the known galaxy. We’ll be paving the way for starships by peeking ahead at distant solar systems, and probably making long-range subspace contact with new races.” The doctor smiled self-consciously, then continued. “Pardon my pride, but whatever is out there, we’ll find it first.”
“This is certainly an achievement worth taking pride in,” the captain agreed. They both enjoyed the sight in silence for a moment. He could see, to the right of the array, the bunker that housed the matter-antimatter power source—essentially a stationary warp engine—that drove the entire mechanism. By twenty-fourth-century standards, the equipment was an antique, a relic. Yet for these people, it represented their highest aspirations—the pinnacle of human achievement. “Extraordinary.”
“A few more shakedown tests and it goes on-line,” Santos told him. “They’re estimating just a couple of weeks.”
Ironic, thought Picard. If the array was switched on sooner—its power boosted slightly—it would probably detect the Gorn civilization. In fact, he could this very moment make the suggestion to power up the array … invent a compelling enough reason that Travers would have to act on it immediately. Then, with defenses in place, the tragedy could be avoided. Santos and the other colonists wouldn’t have to die.
Of course, the Prime Directive forbade it. And even putting the noninterference regulations aside, there were too many other reasons. If the massacre were averted, Captain Kirk could not have settled the dispute with the Gorn captain in single combat. Picard would not have had the basis for his first encounter with the Gorn, and the upcoming summit might never take place. Instead, the Gorn might have resorted to a full-scale attack on the Federation as a first contact. The possibility for devastation and loss of life was incalculable.
No. Clearly, the captain would have to let history play itself out as it must. Santos and the others would have to perish, so that peace could eventually come from their tragedy. Intellectually, Picard understood the situation perfectly. The question was … why did it feel so bloody wrong?
The doctor turned to him, delight illuminating her face, somehow making her green eyes seem even greener. “We’re explorers, Dixon. And in two weeks we begin a whole new phase of human exploration. Luckily for you, you’ll be here to see it.”
The excitement in her voice seemed to ask for some response, or at least an affirmation of what she was feeling. But Picard could not find his voice, so he simply nodded.
Santos misinterpreted his silence. “Come,” she said. “Let me show you the control room. Chief Engineer Hronsky will be busy, but I think he would like to meet you, especially if you have any technical skills.”
She led him down the incline to a short, rectangular building—the only structure that was unmarked, the captain noticed. It was probably because no one could mistake