The Children of Hamlin - Carmen Carter [75]
Crusher pushed herself up from the chair, drawing on a reserve of energy that was nearly depleted. “I’m supposed to save lives,” she said to no one in particular. “But lately I’ve done nothing but record death.”
Riker’s landing party materialized on a broad, featureless plain. Cold, driving rain lashed down over them, and clouds of deep purple hid the overhead sun from view, turning mid-afternoon into late evening. Beneath their feet, a thick carpet of plants lay rotting in the water-logged soil. The first officer scanned the horizon for signs of habitation.
“Over there,” said Deelor, pointing to a spot several dozen meters away.
Riker lowered his gaze. Terraforming stations were built for utility rather than for beauty, but the structure on New Oregon now lacked both qualities. The squat tubes and bulbous domes of the operations center had been torn apart and smashed flat.
Leading the approach to the attack site, Riker picked his way through the standing water which covered the ground. Despite his caution, he stumbled over a piece of debris hidden in the mud. Reaching down, he pulled out a chunk of contorted metal. Its original function was impossible to determine, but the falling rain washed away the covering grime and revealed charred patches on its surface. Riker handed the fragment over to Deelor, who inspected it with great interest.
“The outer layer is completely carbonized,” he observed. His thumbnail scratched a thin bright line across the surface.
“I’ll look for the bodies,” said Crusher, and walked on slowly. Her eyes swept over the burned construction materials. When her tricorder beeped suddenly, she took a closer look at a blackened lump in her path. “I’ve found something, Commander.”
“That’s a body?” asked Riker when he had answered her call. His face paled and he swallowed convulsively.
The doctor nodded and held up her tricorder. “Elevated calcium levels indicate the presence of bone inside.” She waved the instrument over the outer perimeter of the collapsed station. “I register several more corpses over there, buried beneath ashes and rubble. Also burned.”
“The fire must have been very intense to cause this much damage,” said Riker.
“Not fire.” Deelor kicked aside a loose metal plate lying next to the body. “The signs of a pressure impact are unmistakable. A hammer blow from a force field crushed the area. That was followed by an acid bath.”
“How can you be so sure?” asked Riker.
“I’ve seen records of a similar pattern of destruction on another planet. It’s Hamlin all over again.”
Data monitored the open channel of Riker’s communicator, comparing Deelor’s description of the terraforming station to the blackened ruins of the farming settlement. Spars of timber lay rotting in jumbled piles. The hard rain had turned tilled fields into seas of mud.
“The Choraii have been here as well,” Data reported to Picard. “There is very little remaining of the wooden structures. Even less remains of the people who lived in them.”
“I joined Starfleet in order to stop things like this from happening,” said Yar, surveying the destruction. Her mouth settled into a hard line. “This time we arrived too late.”
Once again the conference room was filled to capacity. Captain Picard contrasted this briefing session with the one that had occurred some two weeks ago and noted the differences. Wesley Crusher, who usually made a point of sitting away from his mother, had headed straight for her side in search of comfort. Counselor Troi, also shaken by the news of the colony’s destruction, was less obvious in her need, yet she was seated next to Riker. Their close proximity would mean little to most of the room’s occupants, but the captain recognized its significance.
One person was conspicuously absent. Picard turned to the ambassador. “Where is Ruthe?”
“I didn’t have time to tell her about