The Elhajj Solution
By
Cheryl Morris
And Mr. Scott insisted fishing is the most relaxing of all sports, thought Pavel Chekov grimly. He watched the engineer thrust out his
line into the still river, arm stiff, features stern. Chekov glanced at their companion. From what he could see by the glow of an alien
moon as large as the planet Earth, Sulu’s expression was unreadable – but his hands seemed to be holding his fishing pole too tightly.
Small wonder, after the reception they had received earlier that day.
Above, the clear night sky hung over the trio like a canopy of deep-blue velvet, pin-pricked by a million glittering stars. From the lush
foliage of the islets dotting the river and all along the distant banks, a sweet floral scent wafted on a warm breeze.
Aurelio VII. A beautiful name, thought Pavel, for a planet once considered the gem of this galaxy . . .
* * *
Commander Chekov sat at a terminal in the ship’s library, scanning tapes for information he would present in the briefing room at
1400 hours that day. With Mr. Spock on leave of absence, Chekov had been detailed to fill the position of Science Officer for this
mission. “Class M Status,” he muttered to himself, making notes. “Earth-like atmosphere . . . vast forests . . . extensive waterways . . .
varied plant and animal life.” The Garden of Eden, he thought with a smile, though rather far from Moscow. From all reports, the
inhabitants were as physically perfect as their world: statuesque, with seven feet being the average height. The men were said to be
broad-shouldered and husky, the women stunningly beautiful. There’s an account I’ll be certain to verify, Chekov decided. He began
to make the thorough list Ambassador Thompson required of the abundant mineral and ore deposits. In the past, the people Aurelio VII
had permitted extensive mining operations to be carried out by many from other worlds – Romulans, Orions, Klingons – everyone, it
seemed, but the Federation, whose offers of diplomatic relations had been rebuffed numerous times. Why the Aurelians had now
changed their minds was not yet clear. “Maybe they decided having Klingons for neighbors wasn’t such a good idea after all,” had
been Dr. McCoy’s opinion. But Chekov knew what Spock would say: “Without further data, it would be illogical to speculate.” And the
Federation Ambassador, a young man on his first diplomatic posting, had confided enthusiastically to Pavel that he intended to take
whatever steps were necessary to negotiate a fair treaty.
When, a few days later, the Enterprise began her approach to the planet, Chekov was already on the bridge, eagerly watching the
main viewscreen. “A big blue marble” was a 20th Century astronaut’s description of Earth from space, but what emerged from the haze
and clouds put Chekov in mind of a small dustball, the type a fastidious housekeeper would promptly sweep up from the corner of a
little-used closet. As the ship circled in standard orbit, Pavel turned to the science station for a routine scan of the planet’s surface.
The results were not at all what he expected.
Instead of forests, the sensors indicated barren plains; instead of fresh water, creeks and springs that were definitely not potable. In
large areas, the sensors detected in the atmosphere elements poisonous to all life-forms. And of the minerals and ores he had listed,
there was not a single trace.
Pavel carefully rechecked. Perhaps, in his excitement, he had misinterpreted the sensor readings; the data on the library tapes had
been compiled from reports made less than a year ago. But there was no mistake. Worriedly, he began to read out his findings.
There was only one pocket of unspoiled land: a small fertile valley through which meandered a narrow river. This valley also
sheltered what seemed to be the last remnant of civilization on the planet. Continuing to scan, Chekov noted that were cities and
villages once were mapped, now there were only mounds of rubble.
As Chekov completed his report, Commander Uhura announced she had received a signal from the Aurelian council – coordinates
for the Council Hall and a request for the “diplomatic party” to beam down. Captain Kirk seemed to hesitate, then to Ambassador
Thompson’s quite visible relief, instructed Uhura to direct Dr. McCoy and Mr. Scott to the transporter room and indicated Sulu should
follow; Chekov and the Ambassador joined them in the turbolift.
Even before the landing team had fully materialized, Chekov noticed the temperature in the immense stone-walled room was
delightfully cooler than the starship’s; a strong fragrance of cedar floated down from the exposed beams in the high ceiling. Nearby, a
crowd of about twenty men and women, whose size dwarfed even the tallest of the Enterprise crew, murmured together in their own
language, apparently oblivious to the new arrivals. All were clad in light cotton or silk tunics with short sleeves and leggings, metal-and-
gem ornaments decorated necks and arms, dangled from earlobes, and sparkled in the sunlight filtering down through the windows set
high on the walls.
At least the reports were right about one thing, thought Chekov, admiring the long legs of a particularly attractive woman whose brief,
pale-blue costume enhanced her shapely figure; her lustrous brown hair was braided and coiled about her head.
Suddenly, she spotted the Enterprise men. Almond eyes locked with Chekov’s dark brown ones. Chekov smiled. Beside him, Kirk
extended his hand, started to speak. In the next instant, he and the landing party were surrounded by an enraged mob. Fists shook in
their faces. Screams of “Federation, go home!” mingled with what sounded like Aurelian curses. Above the ruckus, Kirk’s order to
draw phasers on stun was barely audible – but the sight of the weapons in hand seemed to cool the fevered emotions as quickly as
they had been stirred up. Still grumbling, the rabble left the Hall through a pair of ornate double doors at the far end.
Shaken and confused, the Enterprise crew did not notice the one figure who remained until it addressed them: “We’ve been having a
. . . disagreement . . . over the solution to our problem.”
“That’s an understatement, Mister!” Captain Kirk snapped. “We were requested to beam down and meet with the Aurelian Council – ”
“Yes, I made the request. I’m called Tobias.”
“Well, unless I get some answers right now, my crew and I will return to our ship immediately, and any diplomatic ties between you and
the Federation will be severed!”
“Perhaps he has a good explanation, Caption,” Ambassador Thompson broke in tentatively.
“Let’s hear it, then!”
Despite the advantage of his height, the Aurelian fidgeted under Kirk’s unwavering glare, then seemed to get hold of himself and
said, “I believe we would be more comfortable over here.” He bade them accompany him to a collection of settees arranged around a
dais on one side of the Hall.
“Where are the other Council members?” asked Chekov, feeling himself sink pleasantly into thickly-padded cushions that gleamed as
if made of the finest leather.
“I was asked to represent them,” Tobias responded vaguely, then heaved a world-weary sigh. “Gentlemen, it has not been easy for
us here . . .” and he began to tell a tale of misfortune, of terrible wind-funnels that uprooted trees, of violent earth-trembles that toppled
dwellings to their foundations, of severe, wind-driven rainstorms that flooded the Low Country and forced everyone on the planet to
gather in this tiny valley, the only area unaffected by the strange series of natural disasters.
Throughout the recital, Kirk listened impassively. When Tobias finished, he said, “Perhaps you should explain to us just what your
intentions are. After all, these ‘earth-trembles’ did not pollute your atmosphere. ‘Wind-funnels’ did not deplete the abundant supply of
minerals and ores we were informed you possess.”
“Is it our responsibility to ensure the Federation’s reports are accurate regarding our natural resources,” Tobias countered, “when
you have been welcomed to come at any time and gather information? The fact is, Captain Kirk, we must leave our home world and
seek another. Even now, the valley sometimes shakes with earth-trembles, though not as severely as the first. Our young ones are
terrified. Many were left orphans, without homes or families. It is for their sake that we must request the Federation’s immediate
assistance in relocating.”
“And what about those other people? We can help you if you need our help, but our function is not to act as some kind of
peacekeeping force in your civil dispute. Perhaps it would be better if we were to leave until you settle your differences – ”
“Oh, no!” chorused Tobias and Ambassador Thompson at once.
A sudden silence fell over the group.
“I mean,” Tobias began, “this difficulty my people are having will be resolved shortly. We have already set a time for a meeting
tomorrow to come to a decision. In the meantime, we can extend shore leave rights to your crew. The river contains a type of fish
whose flesh is quite sweet and tender. It would be a fine addition to your usual ship’s fare, would it not?”
* * *
“When are you going to bait that hook, lad?”
Scotty’s voice penetrated the Russian’s musing. “I’m here to take readings, Mr. Scott,” Chekov replied and picked up his tricorder.
He couldn’t admit his reluctance to handle the small, slug-like creatures Tobias had supplied; they reminded him too much of Ceti eels.
Scotty and Sulu had eagerly accepted the invitation for the fishing expedition. The idea of sitting out on a river in a wobbly rowboat
during an aftershock appealed to Pavel a little less, and he said so, especially when Tobias informed them the fishing was best in the
pre-dawn hours. Then he saw Tobias’ “small boat” – an opulent craft that could seat a dozen Enterprise men on its velvet cushions; an
embroidered canopy in the stern housed a type of ice-chest that Scotty promptly filled with various liquors and cheeses “for later on.”
Pavel decided this was an adventure not to be missed. Besides, as Acting Science Officer, it was his duty to gather what data he could
on the islands they passed.
They had been out for an hour now, without so much as a nibble. Scotty had shut off the boat’s small motor once they reached mid-
river. On the gentle current, the carved mythic beast decorating the prow rose and fell; its eyes, diamond-like gems set far apart on its
humanoid face, twinkled in the moonlight with a strange life of their own. The only sound was the plot of Scotty’s baited hook hitting the
water. The moonlight wasn’t bright enough for Chekov to read the tricorder without eyestrain; he put it aside. So much for science, he
thought. And adventure.
The boat drifted lazily around an islet, then abruptly increased speed. At once, Scotty headed for the motor in the stern. It wasn’t a
type he was used to, and he had been shown how to start it, but now it coughed and died.
“Look!” Sulu called out. A vast wall just ahead blocked their progress downriver. Chekov suddenly remembered Tobias’ parting
words: “Stay away from the dam; the river runs very fast there, and the dam is in poor repair.” Chekov moved to help Scott with the
motor.
They were still wrestling with it when they were caught in a powerful eddy. Sulu clutched the side of the boat as it spun rapidly, but
Chekov was thrown to the floor. Cursing Scott attacked the motor again; just as it was sputtering to life, an aftershock struck.
It was brief but strong, and for thirty seconds, the boat bobbed like a rocking chair gone mad, then upset in the swell, hurling the
three men overboard.
Underwater, Scotty fought free of the sodden canopy and came to the surface, struggling for breath. Sulu helped him climb onto the
overturned hull. “Where’s Chekov?” the helmsman asked, barely able to keep the panic from his voice.
“I . . . I don’t know . . .” Scotty gasped.
“The dam!” With a great roar, the wall collapsed on itself, leaving only a few inches still poking above the water. No longer held
back, the river spilled furiously over the top, carrying the boat in its wake to crash against the stones and nearly wrench the two
Officers from the hull. “He could be trapped,” Sulu said quickly, and before Scotty could draw breath to talk him out of it, he dove
beside the dam. Using the jumbled stones for hand-holds, he pulled himself down towards the river’s bottom, searching for an arm, a
leg, clothing – but finding nothing. He returned to the boat. “I’m going for help. Stay here, just in case Chekov – ” Sulu set off for the
shore.
Scotty continued to call out the Russian’s name, long after he realized it was futile.
* * *
He dreamed of cool hands gently stroking his back, never quite reaching his shoulders. As he passed from dreaming into
consciousness, the coolness became fire, the fire of the sun’s hot rays, beating down on him out of a cloudless sky. Moist, muggy air
clung like the steam in a sauna. His eyes blinked opened, focusing gradually on alien flora. Pavel Chekov found he was lying on a
gritty sandbar, half-in, half-out of the river. Painfully, he moved his hand to his back and touched raw, broken skin. He had dressed in
civilian clothes for fishing, and the thin shirt was now in shreds.
He vaguely recalled being dragged down by the swift current through a jagged underwater opening in the dam, scraping against it,
floundering towards the surface, and by a miracle making it to . . . where? The mainland? One of the islands? Either way, he
reckoned he was miles from the dam.
With a soft moan, he dragged himself to a sitting position, hoping the lacerations on his back were his only injury. He had no way of
signaling the Enterprise, and several hours might pass before the starship located him. Then he saw his bloodied right leg. Hastily, he
stripped off what remained of his shirt and wet it in the river, but it came away coated with a layer of silt – the same brownish muck,
Pavel found, that covered his entire body. He fought to keep his rising fear in check and clambered to his feet. Perhaps there was
clean water inland. Pushing aside a veil of flowering vines, Pavel limped from the beach.
Gnarled trees grew thickly at every conceivable angle, their broad leaves forming a screen high above the jungle floor. Amongst the
trees sprouted ferns, some moss-like and tiny, others feathery and taller than Chekov. Blossoms everywhere added vivid color. But
their fragrance, so delicate from the river last night, was now cloying, and even out of the direct sunlight, Pavel felt no relief from the
suffocating humidity. The effort of walking, even slowly, left his skin slick with perspiration; every step seemed to pump fresh blood
through the scratches on his leg.
He had been following a faint path for a short distance, wishing he could forgo the fresh water and just wring the moisture out of the
atmosphere, when he heard voices quite close by. Angry Aurelian voices. Pavel stopped. Either he had reached the edge of the
settlement, or he was about to run into a contingent of that unruly mob of yesterday – in which case a Starfleet officer was probably the
last person they wanted to see. Fatigue and pain washing over him, Chekov decided he didn’t care which it was.
A few tottering steps forward brought him to a natural clearing, where a half-dozen Aurelians were engaged in a heated discussion.
They stopped abruptly when one of the women caught sight of him. Chekov recognized her long legs, her almond eyes – just before
he sank wearily to his knees. In the next moment, he was face down in the dirt.
Eyes shut, he heard the company gather around him. A feminine voice said in his ear, “There are flowers and leaves on this island
that, when boiled together, produce a salve that induces tissue regeneration. We’ll help you – if you agree to help us.”
“Help you?” Pavel croaked. “How?”
“Do you agree?” When Pavel said nothing, she added, “It would not be wise to let these wounds go untreated. The river contains
poisonous deposits from the mining operations high in the hills.”
“How – how can I agree, if I don’t know what you want me to do?”
The Aurelians talked among themselves for a moment, then their female leader went on, “Just off the short of this island is a cave. In
the last earth-tremble, it fell into the river, and the entrance is now too small to admit any of us. In the cave is a cylinder containing the
history of our people. If we must leave this planet and go to another, he want our children to know their heritage, to know their true
home. Can you understand this?”
Pavel nodded. “I’ll help you.”
* * *
While her people gathered the necessary materials and prepared them, Symona gently sponged the Russian’s wounds clean with a
piece of his shirt soaked in tepid water from a leather canteen. A container was brought to her, and with her fingertips, she began to
apply a thick hot paste to the broken skin. Though her touch was feather-light, Chekov flinched. Within seconds, however, the initial
fire had cooled to a soothing warmth that radiated throughout every part of his body. He let out a long, contented sigh, certain he
could lie there forever under its effects.
A few minutes later, the warmth subsided. In place of the scratches, Pavel found skin as soft and supple as a newborn child’s.
“Now, Chekov, it’s time for you to do your part.”
They took him through the jungle to the river’s edge, Chekov feeling like a Lilliputian in a company of Gullivers. “The cave is there,”
Symona said, pointing to a nub of rock a little distance from the shore. “Once, there was dry land between here and the cave. Niemi
will take you out. Mind you walk directly behind him.”
Apprehensively, Pavel watched his burly guide remove his sandals and feel around in the water with one bare foot. When he found
what he was looking for, he indicated he was ready. Slowly, Chekov waded out to join him.
The water crept up their legs until it reached a depth of the Russian’s waist. Chekov discovered he was walking along a narrow path
of solid rock, uneven and slippery. He wondered if he should have left his boots behind on the shore. Just as he was considering
stopping to remove them, he lost his footing and slid off the pathway. For an instant, he was standing on softer ground – in the next,
the river bottom seemed to drop away, and he was plunging deep underwater. Almost at once, he felt the grip of strong hands under
his armpits, pulling him up, lifting him out and onto firm rock again.
Pavel choked and gasped for breath, his heart pounding. Despite the humidity, his flesh turned to goosebumps. Soft, dry cloth
quickly wiped the silt from his eyes, nose and mouth. “It looks calm and shallow,” he heard Niemi tell him, “but this river is very
dangerous, with many sink-holes. You must walk directly behind me and step where I step.” Trembling, Pavel nodded. They continued
on.
It seemed an hour had passed before they finally reached the nub, a mound of rock split by a cleft about the width of the Russian’s
shoulders; below the waterline, the opening was only a fraction wider. It’s going to be a tight fit, Chekov thought, grimacing. At least
the sides are smooth.
“The cylinder is made of metal,” Niemi said, “approximately this length.” He measured about twenty inches with his hands. “On a
shelf inside the cave. When you find it, pass it out to me. I’ll carry it back to the island.”
Pavel tried to peer through the crevice, wondering how long he would have to hold his breath before he reached the cavern itself,
praying he wouldn’t encounter another sink-hole once inside. But the darkness was absolute and he could see nothing. Slowly, he let
out his breath completely and filled his lungs. Ducking under the water, he grabbed one edge of the passage and squirmed through
sideways. Almost immediately, he was standing in neck-deep water in a chamber scarcely larger than a Jeffries tube, the ceiling less
than an inch from the top of his head. Metal glinted in the shaft of sunlight penetrating the cleft.
Retrieving the cylinder was more difficult than he had imagined. The ledge was barely above the cave’s water level and the cylinder
had been jammed in tightly at the back. Prying it loose nearly threw Pavel off-balance. His efforts sent the cylinder rolling, and he
barely prevented it from landing on top of him. Arms aching under its weight, Pavel struggled to hold it out of the water and wade back
to the entrance, where he deposited it with relief in Niemi’s outstretched hands. The Aurelian easily hoisted the cylinder to his
shoulder. Wearily, Pavel started after him, boots in hand.
He was soon lagging behind. By the time Chekov finally trudged ashore, Niemi was already on the beach, surrounded by the other
Aurelians, all chattering excitedly in their own language. They seemed to have forgotten entirely the Starfleet Officer’s existence.
Chekov slumped down against a tree and shut his eyes. The heat pressed down on him as a heavy weight, sapping what little energy
he had left and setting his empty stomach to churning. He wondered idly if there was anything edible on the island and opened his
eyes.
He was alone.
Chekov started, his heart thudding. From somewhere in the jungle came barely-audible voices and a faint rustling of grasses. Did
they intend to maroon him here? The Cossacks! he thought savagely, fumbling for his boots. I wouldn’t put it past them! Pavel
stumbled into a thick stand of trees and towering ferns, then stopped, listening hard. He could hear nothing but his own anxious
breathing. And, he recalled with dismay, the island’s brilliant flowers were an effective camouflage for the Aurelians’ clothing – The
sudden groan of rending metal alerted him. At a pace that matched his quickening pulse, he headed towards it.
Almost immediately, Pavel burst through a tangle of vines and tripped over an exposed tree root, sprawling clumsily to the ground.
Flushed with anger and embarrassment, he picked himself up and realized he was back with the Aurelians in the clearing. They
pointedly ignored his entrance. Kneeling in a semi-circle facing Symona, they watched intently as she twisted one end of the cylinder.
The rusty metal screeched under her determined efforts until finally, the cylinder’s cap fell into her hand. The Aurelians gasped as
one, their excitement almost palpable. Forgetting his anger, Chekov moved closer. He admitted he was curious about Aurelian
methods of journal-keeping. He didn’t know what he expected to see – a sheaf of old parchment covered with ancient symbols
perhaps, or maybe some stone tablets – but to his surprise, several round metal disks spilled into the dirt.
Symona held up one of them, as her people let out a jubilant cheer. Pavel judged the disk to be about two inches thick, with a
circumference only slightly smaller than the cylinder; a small hole penetrated the center.
“Your memory disks seem to be undamaged,” he said.
Symona laughed shortly. “This is the solution to our problem, Chekov. The Elhajj Solution.” She turned her almond eyes on him.
“When a small detonator is inserted here – ” she pointed to the hole “ – and the device is buried in a wasteland, life comes from
lifelessness.” Her words stunned the Starfleet Officer; her next chilled him to the very bone. “Even as we speak, the Aurelian Council is
meeting with your Captain and the diplomatic party. We’ll be leaving immediately for our first site, and when we’ve finished, the Council
will see that no interference from the Federation in this matter will be necessary.”
“But . . . but you can’t,” Chekov stammered, as Symona began to put the disks back in the cylinder. “It brings life, yes, but it also
destroys all pre-existing life – ”
“Nonsense! Was this world destroyed when we healed the injuries to your back and leg? Of course not! The same principle is
involved here. We can contain and control the rejuvenation. We can limit its power.”
“I served on a team about a year ago that developed a device much like this one, the Genesis device, but it was unstable and the test
planet broke down – ”
“Elhajj was our greatest scientist. He developed his device many years ago. And perfected it.”
“Then before you set this off, give us the chance to return to the Enterprise and leave the orbit of your planet. If you don’t want the
Federation’s assistance, that’s your choice, but don’t destroy us, too – ”
“There isn’t time. The fact is, Chekov, there isn’t even time to take you back to the valley. You may come with us and witness Elhajj’s
wonder for yourself, or you can remain here and we’ll send someone for you afterwards.”
“You don’t realize what you’re dealing with. You can’t simply take an acre of desert and turn it into an oasis! And what about your
children? If you use this device, you will destroy them, as well as every living thing on this planet – ”
“We are thinking of our young ones. More than you could understand. And it would be better, much better, for them to die than grow
to adulthood on a planet not their home world. But your fears are groundless. They will not die – nothing will.”
“You don’t understand – ” the Russian began and clutched Symona’s arm.
Angrily, Symona shook him off. “No, Chekov, it’s you who do not understand! Your opinion isn’t wanted. Your concern isn’t
appreciated . . .”
But Chekov was no longer listening. In his mind, he replayed the computer animation of the Genesis effect: the fiery glow enveloping
a dead moon, racing over its surface, breaking down every molecule, reorganizing them in favor of a new matrix. And the Enterprise,
caught in the Genesis wave, would become a part of that new matrix. His Captain. His shipmates.
He was the only one who could have retrieved the cylinder. He was the only one who could put it back.
Symona replaced the cylinder’s cap. In an instant, Chekov shoved her aside and snatched up the cylinder in his arms. His sudden
action took them all by surprise, and he was on his feet and running before they realized what had happened.
The cylinder was heavier than Chekov remembered. He plunged into a dense grove of trees and vines, searching desperately for
the path they had taken earlier from the clearing out to the river. The jungle was so thick, he could not see more than a few feet in
front of him. He struggled to grip the cylinder in his sweaty hands. Behind him, the Aurelians crashed through the undergrowth in
pursuit. He ran blindly.
Within minutes, Chekov found himself out on the riverbank once again and skidded to a halt, his chest heaving. In the haze of muggy
air and his own fatigue, the point of rock marking the cave’s entrance seemed to dance along the surface of the water. Pavel tried to
wipe the sweat trickling down his face, tried to recall exactly where the rocky path leaving out to the cave began. His pursuers were
only seconds away from catching him. He left the shore.
The cool water caressed his legs – but beneath his boots, Pavel felt the soft, oozing mud of the riverbed. He stopped. One wrong
step and the weight of the cylinder would carry him straight to the bottom of a sink-hole – if indeed sink-holes had bottoms. The
thought sent a shudder through him. Then he heard a splash and nearly jumped out of his skin. He turned around and saw the
Aurelians gathered on the shore. Niemi had already started into the river after him.
“Don’t!” Chekov exclaimed, with as much conviction as he could muster. “Or I’ll throw this cylinder down a sink-hole!”
Symona grabbed Niemi’s arm and yanked it with enough force to pull a Terran man’s joint out of its socket. Chekov caught the
sparks of fury in her eyes. Niemi said nothing, but reluctantly retreated to the riverbank. In tense silence, they all watched the Russian.
The riverbottom mud was as slippery as ice in Siberia, and as Pavel turned to face the distant cave again, his feet nearly slid out from
under him. Though he quickly regained his balance, the near-fall set his heart pounding anew. He looked down at the water. Here, it
only came to his knees, but it was so murky, he could not even see the tops of his boots. Every step he took stirred up more mud and
silt. Chekov realized he could not detect a sink-hole until he was in it. He glanced back at Symona, who stood glowering with arms
folded defiantly across her chest. He could see no alternative but to continue on. Then he heard her shout.
“Chekov! We did try to discuss this matter with the Aurelian Council, you know. It solved nothing.”
“Tobias is just as obstinate as you are.”
“It has always been that way with my brother, even when we were children.”
“At the Council meeting is a Federation ambassador who will help you decide – ”
“He will take the Federation’s side!” Symona exclaimed.
“No! Ambassador Thompson will be impartial. And if you still choose to us the Elhajj device, we could beam you all aboard the
Enterprise, and you may watch the effect from our main viewscreen. We would then return you to your planet.”
There was a short silence.
“Very well, Chekov,” said Symona, her tone softening. “Bring the cylinder back and we’ll do as you suggest.” A radiant smile
suddenly lit her face.
Pavel felt exhausted and filthy. Suddenly, he wanted to be done with all this and return to the Enterprise and a hot shower. But
Symona’s prompt change in attitude made him wary. The Aurelians had worked things to their own advantage so many times. “How
can I believe you?” he demanded. “You haven’t been exactly truthful with me in any of this.”
“Because you hold our future in your hands!” Symona replied arrogantly. “One careless step on your part, and you will seal our fate
forever!”
It wouldn’t do me much good, either, thought Chekov.
* * *
In a boat much like the one the three Starfleet fishermen had borrowed earlier, the Aurelians and the Russian traveled across the
river to a point just below the fallen dam. Ashore, the Aurelians removed the vines and leaves concealing an open-air land vehicle with
a beaded and fringed brocade stretched over the top. With Niemi behind the steering device and Chekov squeezed in amongst the
others on the vehicle’s two plush seats, they continued on to the valley. Throughout the journey, Chekov insisted on carrying the
cylinder or balancing it across his knees – even though his arms were so tired, he could scarcely hold it, and with every jolt and bump
the motorized vehicle took on the rutted forest trail, he was certain the cylinder’s weight would break both his legs.
Even while they were a little distance from the Council Hall, the Aurelian voices raised in anger reached them. From the glances his
traveling companions exchanged, Chekov guessed this meeting was accomplishing about as much as that of the previous day. He
sighed, hoping the Enterprise crew had not been barred from the proceedings; he didn’t want to rely on the Aurelians’ help to contact
the starship.
Even the slam of the heavy Council hall doors as Chekov and the Aurelians entered failed to interrupt the dispute going full tilt in the
Hall. Tobias and representatives of the two factions sat nose to nose on the settees near the wall, shouting in Aurelian, pointing
fingers. On the dais above them, the Enterprise diplomatic party occupied another settee, observing the goings-on with varying
degrees of frustration and boredom.
Chekov ignored the Aurelians. Still carrying the cylinder, he lumbered towards the crew; Symona and her people followed. Only
when his shipmates rushed down from the dais and surrounded him did Chekov relinquish his burden to Niemi, saying, “Ambassador
Thompson, Symona requests your assistance in deciding the best way to resolve their problem. Her own solution is contained in this
cylinder.”
“And just what is her solution, Mr. Chekov?” asked Kirk.
“To rejuvenate the dead areas of this planet.”
“My God, another Genesis device!” muttered Dr. McCoy.
“It is the Elhajj Solution,” Symona announced proudly, as Niemi and the others moved towards the settees. “And we can control it.”
The mention of Elhajj seemed to incite a fresh round or arguing in Aurelian, as Tobias and his contingent got to their feet.
Wearily, Chekov shut his eyes a moment against the cacophony, then began to recount the events of the past several hours to the
Enterprise men, as McCoy draped his uniform jacket around the Russian’s bare shoulders.
“Well, there doesn’t seem to be any scarring from this treatment you received,” McCoy said, “but I’ll want to check you out thoroughly
in Sickbay.”
“I see you brought back plenty of samples of the river silt,” Sulu joked.
“Very funny,” Chekov replied. He was beginning to feel rejuvenated himself in the refreshing, cedar-scented air of the Hall.
“It’s this river silt that prevented us from finding you, lad,” said Scotty. “There’s some type of metal-ore in it. Plays havoc with the
sensors.”
“We have search parties out right now,” Kirk put in, “scouting for you on the islands.”
“I was swept many miles downriver, and – ”
A resounding smack suddenly silenced all conversation. The Enterprise crew saw Tobias standing over Symona, his hand still raised
against her, his eyes flashing. Symona held her reddened cheek, blinking back tears.
“There’s no call for that, Mister!” Kirk exclaimed and darting forward, gripped the Aurelian’s wrist before Tobias could deliver another
blow. When Tobias said nothing, the Captain went on. “I see there’s nothing more we can do here. We’ll return to our ship and leave
you to work this out yourselves.”
“The Elhajj Device is dangerous!” Tobias insisted, jerking his arm free of Kirk’s grasp. “Elhajj knew this and hid it away. It should
never have been removed from the cave.”
“But if you can control it – ”
“It doesn’t matter! It is evil.”
“I would like to propose a compromise,” Ambassador Thompson broke in. “Suppose we detonate one of the disks in an area you
select, and if you’re still against its use, we will return the cylinder to the cave and seal it forever. But at least there will be one fertile
area you can live in, and any of you who want to stay, we’ll return to the planet. Any who want to leave, the Federation will assist in
relocating. What do you say?”
“No!” exclaimed Tobias and glanced around for his companions’ reactions.
But he stood alone.
* * *
The moment they materialized in the transporter room, Dr. McCoy ushered Chekov to Sickbay. There, the doctor performed a
complete medical exam, took tissue samples from Chekov’s back and leg, drew a small quantity of blood for analysis, and assured the
Russian there were no poisons in the river silt. As soon as he could, Chekov escaped from Sickbay and hurried to his cabin. In the
shower, the hot water turned the silt to mud. It took a full cake of soap, but at last every particle of the disgusting muck had been
washed down the drain.
Dressed in a clean uniform, Chekov arrived on the bridge and was informed the Aurelians had chosen a plain that was once covered
in rich timber. He was momentarily surprised to see Tobias amongst the seventy-nine Aurelians clustered around the main
viewscreen. Chekov joined them as the disk far down on the planet was detonated.
From Symona’s description of the Elhajj Process, Chekov expected a tiny flame to erupt on the planet’s surface, flare briefly, then
flicker out – as a candle being extinguished. But it did not. Instead, the flame grew to a conflagration that quickly engulfed the entire
planet in an eerie glow. Chekov thought it amazingly similar to the Genesis computer simulation.
In a few minutes, a beautiful blue-green world rotated slowly before them. Chekov went to the scanners and found abundant plant life
and fresh waters – everything the reports on Aurelio VII had originally indicated. The gem of the galaxy was no longer tarnished.
“Elhajj had devised a way to limit the area affected by his device,” Tobias explained. “His intention was to renew worn-out farmland or
areas damaged by natural disasters. But he quickly realized his invention for our good could be distorted for evil. He constructed a
cylinder to contain all the disks he had assembled, then hid it. Over time, the materials he used must have grown more potent.”
“But the potential for good,” said Chekov, “far outweighs any evil.”
“The Federation could assist you in making sure this device is protected,” Ambassador Thompson added. “Would you be willing to
join us in a study of the device and its success rate?”
“Yes,” said Symona unhesitatingly. “If Chekov will participate.” She turned her almond eyes on the Russian, that beautiful smile
lighting her face once again.
Pavel Chekov raised one eyebrow.