terraforming technology of Project Genesis posed a serious danger to Federation security.”
She nodded. “Before we married.”
“Yes.”
“I assume you are referring to the possibility that other powers, such as the Klingons, might have gained access to the technology and employed it as a weapon.”
Tuvok nodded. “Obviously a technology capable of almost instantaneously transforming dead worlds into living ones is also equally capable of effectively doing the reverse—were it to be unleashed on a planet that already harbors life.”
“Of course. Ever since deep antiquity, technology has always been subject to misuse, all the way back to the discovery of combustion on the Fire Plains. It would be illogical to suppose that the technology that remade the planet Titan has just finished surveying would be any different.”
“True. However, no technology of which I am specifically aware has ever posed such profound dangers as Genesis did.”
“And you are uneasy because the possibility now exists of recovering an alien version of that same technology.”
Tuvok’s eyebrows pulled closer together slightly, noticeably accentuating the upward slope of their outer edges. “I am not ‘uneasy.’ I am merely highly cognizant of the dangers inherent in such a discovery.”
T’Pel didn’t believe for a moment that her husband was anything but uneasy, but she concealed her incredulity. She did, however, allow her curiosity to propel one of her own eyebrows aloft.
“Tuvok, you were a science officer when the Genesis technology first threatened to proliferate beyond the Federation, were you not?”
He nodded. “I was.”
“Given the priorities of your job at that time, you must have found the technology fascinating, at least on a purely scientific level.”
He paused. At length, he said, “I did. Nevertheless, Genesis became a hazard that claimed many lives before the technology was finally dismantled and suppressed.”
Had an early encounter with Genesis precipitated Tuvok’s decision to leave Starfleet’s sciences track in favor of the tactical and security work he had pursued over the intervening decades? Though Tuvok had always been notably reticent about discussing that traumatic period in any degree of detail, it was clear that the skill set he had developed since his departure from Excelsior would be indispensable in dealing with the dangers posed by any technology as potent and unpredictable as Genesis.
“Did you know any of those who died as a consequence of Genesis?” T’Pel asked.
He grew silent, evidently carefully considering her question. Finally, he said, “No. At least, I knew no one who suffered any permanent direct effects.”
“Then you can draw comfort from that,” she said.
“No, my wife,” he said, speaking almost in a whisper. His dark eyes had gone cold and distant. “I cannot.”
3
GORN HEGEMONY RECONNAISSANCE VESSEL SSEVARRH
The stack of stellar cartographical data flimsies on the desk of General Technologist Third Class S’syrixx grew slowly higher, no matter how much effort he applied to the task before him.
S’syrixx’s recognition of the fact that the job might well prove impossible wasn’t helping matters any. All we have to do is find at least one new crècheworld to support the warrior caste’s entire reproductive enterprise, he thought as he pulled another starchart flimsy out of the computer terminal’s reader. Disgusted, he sent it fluttering to the moist deck with a distracted flick of his claws.
Also working against him were his omnipresent thoughts of Z’shezhira, who would have been his mate by now had she not disappeared along with the entire crew complement of the warship S’alath more than a full Gornar suncircuit ago. Now that the Hegemonic government had declared Z’shezhira and her shipmates officially dead, S’syrixx seemed to be the only one who held any hope of finding and recovering her.
Though his sense of hope for Z’shezhira’s safe return was higher at some times and lower at others, he was determined never to surrender that hope, however slender it might be, until her body was recovered.
The hatch behind S’syrixx irised open sibilantly and wafted a slight breeze through the dimly lit work chamber’s warm, damp air. The draft carried the distinctive scent of S’syrixx’s old friend R’rerrgran, the ship’s physician.
“How are the environmental cross-comparisons proceeding, S’syrixx?” R’rerrgran asked.
S’syrixx swiveled his head almost all the way around and fixed the older tech-caster with a withering stare. “How well do you think? The developing warrior-cast fetus has extremely exacting biochemical requirements. On top of that, the planetary magnetic field can neither exceed nor lie below a critical threshold value. And the most frustrating thing is that there seems to be no shortage of ‘almost right’ worlds—but ‘almost right’ might as well be an airless void, or