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Subject: "Purely Alien" by Rob Darwin
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Date: Thu, 14 May 1992 06:05:00 GMT
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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_. 



