Return to Part Seven
"How are you feeling, Vale?"
The question escaped Sulu's lips for what had to be the fourth time since they'd launched their Calumbrian battle droid into the azure sky above the Galanga coastline. He couldn't help himself—every instinct screamed that he was pushing his co-pilot too hard, too fast.
"Fine, sir," Lieutenant Vale's voice crackled through the headset.
Sulu wished desperately that he could turn around in the cramped dual cockpit to read Vale's silver features for the telltale signs he'd learned to recognize—the dulling of a natural metallic sheen when a medication hit too hard, or the glow that accompanied psychic overload. Instead, he had to make do with the small monitor displaying Vale's image on his control panel, where the Indiian appeared focused but somehow... muted.
"Still experiencing that cognitive fog Dr. Rendell warned us about?"
"Actually, I feel remarkably clear at the moment." Vale looked up through the transpari-steel dome of their cockpit at Calumbria's alien sky, where twin suns painted the clouds in shades of gold and coral. His smile seemed genuine, if subdued. "This is the best piloting experience I've had since we ran those initial trials aboard the Drake."
"Good to hear," Sulu replied, though he couldn't share his co-pilot's enthusiasm.
Their first steps in the towering war machine had been like learning to walk all over again—every movement awkward and uncertain, as if one of them had a shoe untied. Months of intensive training aboard the Drake had paid off, though. The scaled-down practice versions of the droid they'd drilled with had prepared them for this moment. Gradually their coordination had returned. Still, Sulu knew he was rushing things. Vale needed more time to adjust to Dr. Rendell's chemical cocktail, more opportunity to understand how the medication would affect his performance.
Unfortunately the mysterious phenomena building in the seas below them was not going to wait for medical clearances.
The Calumbrian mechanoids were engineering marvels—bipedal walkers designed to navigate the planet's predator-infested jungles, capable of transforming mid-flight into streamlined aerial units for oceanic patrol. The transformation sequence required split-second coordination during a controlled cliff-dive, with pilot and gunner working in perfect harmony. One mistimed command, one moment of hesitation, and twenty feet of priceless alien technology would become very expensive scrap metal.
"Keep scanning for aerial predators," Sulu instructed, trying to push away his growing unease.
"Scopes are clear, sir."
That was another anomaly. Sulu looked down at the Galanga coastline stretching endlessly below them, its emerald jungles appearing deceptively peaceful from this altitude. Those same forests teemed with creatures that could tear apart a battle droid if they caught it on the ground—flying hunters with wingspans that dwarfed shuttlecraft, pack predators with natural armor that could deflect phaser fire.
"Not normal for this time of day," Vale observed, echoing Sulu's thoughts.
"No, it's not."
On his monitor, Sulu watched Vale's expression brighten with something approaching his old humor. "Perhaps fate is attempting to compensate for recent difficulties."
"That's probably it," Sulu agreed, though his tactical mind was already cataloging the morning's irregularities.
They'd encountered a massive swarm of insects during their pre-flight check—bioluminescent creatures that normally stayed deep in the jungle canopy. A flock of native birds had passed overhead in tight formation, their usual territorial aggression replaced by focused migration behavior. Most unsettling had been the massive aerial predator they'd spotted on long-range sensors, a creature that should have investigated their presence but instead had continued westward toward the open ocean.
All headed in the same direction. All abandoning their normal patterns.
Sulu filed it away for discussion with Science Officer Beth Arista when they returned to base. For now, he tried to take advantage of the unprecedented calm to clear his mind and simply enjoy the pure pleasure of flight.
The day was beautiful, but his thoughts kept drifting to darker places. His last conversation with DelMonde still haunted him—the engineer's pointed questions about guilt and forgiveness, about the betrayal that had nearly cost him his relationship to Jilla years ago. Was he really still carrying that much anger and self-recrimination? His heart knew the answer, even if his pride rejected it.
If only he could see her again.... DelMonde did have a point about their friendship easing the pain of Sulu’s separation from Jilla. He supposed that he had been seeking the engineer out since his transfer to the Drake. Sulu had thought of it as providing companionship for DelMonde, but it was possible it was working the other way around as well…
He had to stop and laugh at the thought of his “friendship” with the Cajun. That was a strange label for a relationship with someone who regularly told him that he hated him or that he was dead to him and would readily inform anyone within earshot that he had shit for brains… The thought that the two of them might have some sort of telepathic bond… That was pretty hard to swallow.
However, Sulu had to admit that now that he wasn’t actively hating Del, something had definitely eased within him. It wasn’t just simple relief that a tense situation had resolved, either. It was as if a source of nourishment that had been shut off had resumed its flow -- which was weird. That wasn’t how he felt about Del. He didn’t look at their friendship -- or whatever the hell it was -- as a source of nourishment. He looked at Del as a frequently very annoying person who he put up with because they had a lot of history together and… well, he was Del. Not much you could do about that. The good and the bad all came together.
Sulu wondered what Jilla and Jer would make of this bonding angle of the engineer’s story. Both of them knew a lot more about that sort of thing than he did… As Del had said, weird stuff like he had described did sometimes happen…
He knew that Jer was going to howl when Sulu described the look on the Cajun’s face when he had said the thing about understanding that he had a crush on him… Probably would skip that part when he told the story to Jilla, though… That was a joke that required too many footnotes to be funny…
"Sir," Vale's voice cut through his reverie with professional urgency. "I'm detecting unusual long-range readings."
Sulu's introspection vanished, replaced by command focus. "What kind of readings?"
"Large concentrations of sea life, bearing two-seven-zero. Numbers are... significant."
Sulu's instruments confirmed what Vale was seeing—massive bio-signatures congregating in the deep waters west of their position. "Are they massing? Forming up for coordinated movement?"
"Negative. Still scattered across a wide area, but the sheer volume is unprecedented." Vale's apologetic sigh crackled through the comm. "It could be nothing, sir. Seasonal migration patterns, feeding behavior we haven't documented..."
But Sulu could hear the doubt in his co-pilot's voice, the same unease that was setting off alarm bells in his own mind. Too many anomalies, too many breaks from established patterns. "Could be."
"According to Calumbrian tradition, we should have a couple more days before the algae colonies reach critical mass," Vale continued, his scientific training warring with growing concern. "But if these readings indicate..."
"I think we'd all better get a good night's sleep tonight, Tristan," Sulu interrupted, banking the battle droid toward their coastal base. The magnificent machine responded with fluid grace, its transformation systems humming with barely contained power. "Something tells me tomorrow morning is going to come very early indeed."
"Is Del going to make it?"
The question hung in the humid air of the Calumbrian hangar as Dylan Paine bounded toward Dr. Lian Rendell like an overeager retriever. The Haven medic stopped his advance with a firm palm to his sweat-dampened forehead, her dark eyes flashing.
"Aren't there regulations requiring you to keep this thing on a leash?" she called up to Sulu, who was perched in the open cockpit of his towering battle droid twenty feet above the hangar floor.
Sulu smiled as he began his descent from the mechanical giant. "How did DelMonde's surgery go, Doc?"
Dr. Rendell cut an incongruous figure against the high-tech military backdrop. She wore standard-issue blue Starfleet medical scrubs, but her black curls were held back by a colorful Calumbrian headwrap. Intricate native jewelry that caught the morning light streaming through the hangar's panoramic windows hung from her ears.
Those windows revealed the stark beauty of this refurbished Calumbri military installation. To the east, a primordial jungle stretched toward cloud-shrouded mountains, its canopy alive with bioluminescent flowers that pulsed like scattered stars even in daylight. To the west, pristine beaches met waters so blue they seemed artificial, their surface broken only by the occasional leap of some native sea creature.
Inside the hangar, though, it was the battle droids that commanded attention.
Two dozen Calumbrian war machines stood in perfect formation, each one a towering testament to the marriage of function and artistry. Every surface was covered in flowing filigree work that seemed to tell stories in an ancient tongue. Their armor caught and reflected the morning light like liquid silver, creating shifting patterns that were almost hypnotic.
These weren't just weapons. They were works of art.
"The surgery went brilliantly – of course," Dr. Rendell replied, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. "Though DelMonde's toxicology results are a trifle... concerning."
Dylan shot up from his perch on his droid's massive foot, his face draining of color. "Concerning how?"
The other pilot teams had begun to gather, drawn by the gravity in the doctor's voice. Ensign Yves Owusu and Lieutenant Yin Tsing approached together—partners in both piloting and an obvious romantic relationship that they were currently fooling themselves that they were hiding from their fellow officers.
Lieutenant Tara Ryan and Lieutenant Eddie Dowd flanked them, their easy camaraderie a sharp contrast to the enigmatic Lieutenant Zel, who maintained his characteristic distance while observing everything with unsettling intensity.
All of them wore the form-fitting flight suits that had become standard in this climate—regulation uniforms were simply too restrictive in the oppressive heat and humidity of Calumbria's equatorial zone.
"Nothing that won't resolve itself," Dr. Rendell said, raising a preemptive hand as Dylan opened his mouth to interrupt. "We should have full metabolic normalization by end of day."
"Can I see him?" Dylan's voice cracked slightly.
"Only if you enjoy watching him drool," Rendell replied bluntly. “Our Mr. DelMonde is currently resting quite sweetly in the arms of very large doses of sapphire and other assorted sedatives.”
Sulu gave a resigned sigh. "I assume Del's off the duty roster indefinitely."
"Your tactical assessment is -- per usual –correct,” the doctor congratulated him. "However, the universe has decided to balance the scales. Lieutenant Vale is cleared to return to active duty."
"Hot damn!" Yves whooped from his perch, his enthusiasm infectious enough to earn celebratory high-fives from his partner Yin Tsing.
Rendell held up a mitigating finger in warning. "I've developed a pharmaceutical solution for his spacesickness, but there are... side effects. Cognitive fog, primarily. He's not particularly pleased with my 'medical miracle' at the moment."
The smile faded from Sulu's face. "Brain fog and giant robot piloting don't exactly go hand in hand, Doctor."
"The impairment should be well within his capabilities to manage," she assured him, then rapped her knuckles against the nearest droid's foot. The metallic ring that resulted was pure and musical, like a temple bell. “Not to be too obvious, but a test walk with one of these monstrosities should probably precede any aerial maneuvers."
"Walking before flying," Sulu agreed, his gaze drifting toward the western windows where Calumbria's ocean stretched to the horizon. Somewhere out there, barely visible as a dark line against the blue, the massive algae bloom was approaching. They had perhaps seventy-two hours. "Time isn't exactly on our side here, Lian. That algae tide—"
"Will arrive when it arrives," Dr. Rendell interrupted, crossing her arms. "I suggest you make productive use of whatever time remains."
"Could be worse, Captain," Lieutenant Ryan said with a grin.
"At least our good doctor giveth even as she taketh away."
When Dr. Rendell didn't join in the laughter that followed, Sulu felt compelled to explain. "I don't think the Havens have an equivalent to 'The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.'"
“Nothing pleasant,” the doctor confirmed dourly.
"Tristan!"
Dylan's shout drew everyone's attention to the hangar's main entrance, where Lieutenant Tristan Vale stood silhouetted against the tropical brightness beyond. The Indiian officer's naturally silver skin seemed dulled, almost matte, creating an unsettling contrast with his burgundy hair. His normally sharp gaze appeared unfocused, as if he were seeing the world through frosted glass.
"There's our returning hero," Lieutenant Dowd called out, but his jovial tone couldn't quite mask the concern in his voice.
Sulu approached his co-pilot, clasping him on the shoulder in a gesture that was part greeting, part medical assessment. "How are you feeling, Tristan?"
"Strange," Vale admitted, blinking slowly as if trying to bring his colleagues into clearer focus. "Everything seems... muted. Cloudy."
“Ready to get back in the saddle?” the captain asked brightly, despite the fact he knew Indiians frequently had difficulty in deciphering Earth metaphors.
Vale's confusion was brief but visible—another side effect of the medication, perhaps, or simply the cultural gap that sometimes opened between them. "Yes, sir. I have maintained proficiency through computer simulations during my medical leave."
"Excellent." Sulu offered what he hoped was an encouraging smile, then turned to seek Dr. Rendell's final reassurance. "The doc says you'll be fine, right Lian?"
"She left," Lieutenant Tsing observed, nodding toward the rear exit where the hangar doors were still cycling closed.
"Back to the medi-hut, probably," Dowd suggested.
"Right," Sulu agreed, though something cold settled in his stomach. In all their time working together, he'd never known Lian Rendell to leave a conversation without delivering at least one sardonic parting shot. Her abrupt departure felt like a melody cut off mid-phrase. Time for reflection, however, was currently a luxury Sulu couldn't afford. His team was looking to him for leadership. He pushed his unease aside and turned to face them with renewed determination.
"Daylight's burning, people," he announced, gesturing toward the magnificent war machines that surrounded them. "Time to see if we can make these Epiphany Swords dance."
The emergency klaxons began their haunting wail at 0347 hours, three hours before dawn. Sulu bolted upright in his temporary quarters, already reaching for his uniform as the sound drilled into his consciousness. He had been jolted from an uneasy sleep by the sound that every Calumbri child learned to fear before they could properly walk.
The captain’s boots hit the deck running. Outside, the base camp had transformed into controlled chaos. Calumbri warriors moved with practiced efficiency toward their sacred battle droids, their pastel-blue skin pale with anticipation. The massive mechanoids stood in silent rows like metallic monuments, their polished surfaces reflecting the strange red glow from the shoreline.
"Sky Captain!" The voice belonged to General Thex'ara, a scarred, one-eyed veteran who served as military liaison to the Federation team. His pale blue skin was flushed with exertion as he burst into the command center. "The blood tide—it comes early! The Watchers report massive movement in the deep waters. The colonies are larger than anything in our recorded history."
Through the transparent aluminum windows of the base camp's command center, Sulu could see the western horizon beginning to glow with ominous crimson phosphorescence. The bioluminescent algae colonies were still miles offshore, but their light was already visible, painting the pre-dawn sky in shades of blood and fire.
"How early?" Sulu demanded, pulling on his uniform jacket as he moved to the communications array.
"Two days ahead of the calculated schedule. And Captain..." Thex'ara's voice caught. "The formations are different. They're not following the historical patterns our ancestors recorded. These colonies are moving with coordination we've never seen before."
The tactical display flickered to life, showing sensor readings from the automated buoys the Drake had deployed along the coastline. What Sulu saw made his blood run cold. The algae colonies weren't simply drifting toward shore as ancient records suggested—they were forming complex geometric patterns, surrounding and herding smaller marine life forms ahead of them like shepherds driving livestock.
"Beth, I need your analysis now," Sulu called to the Science Officer, who was already hunched over her console, her face illuminated by streams of incoming data.
"Captain, these readings are extraordinary," Arista said, her voice tight with controlled excitement and fear. "The algae aren't just cooperating—they're displaying collective intelligence behaviors that suggest a network spanning multiple colonies. The bioluminescent patterns aren't random; they're communication signals."
The first of the massive colonies broke the surface two miles offshore, rising from the depths like a living island. The creature—for it was clearly more than simple algae now—pulsed with veins of crimson and gold light that ran across its surface in complex patterns. As it breached, smaller satellite colonies emerged around it, their own bioluminescence responding in harmonious waves of color.
"My God," whispered the Science Officer. "It's beautiful. And terrifying."
The beauty was undeniable, but so was the threat. As more colonies surfaced, the ocean itself seemed to come alive with light and motion. Tendrils of living matter reached between the separate formations, creating a vast web of interconnected consciousness that stretched across miles of ocean.
"All pilots to battle stations," Sulu commanded. "This is not a drill. The Blood Tide is here… and it's not quite what we expected."
The crimson sky above Calumbria screamed with the fury of a thousand predators.
Captain Sulu gripped the controls of his battle droid, its metallic frame shuddering as he banked hard to port. Through the cockpit's wraparound displays, he watched Lieutenant Tsing's flyer twenty meters below, silver energy cannons blazing against a descending nightmare—a writhing mass of chitin and membrane wings that blotted out both of Sagron IV's suns.
"Tsing! Diving predator, three o'clock!" Sulu's warning crackled through the comm system, but his voice carried an edge of something new—something that hadn't been there an hour ago. He could feel Tsing's steady determination mixed with concern for her gunner, Owusu, as clearly as if her emotions were his own.
"Copy that, Captain!" Tsing's voice remained rock-steady as she and Owusu unleashed a blazing barrage. Three beasts dissolved in brilliant flashes, but six more immediately took their place, their individual hunting instincts overridden by something vast and hungry.
Below them, the source of the madness stretched across the horizon like a living continent. The algae colonies had risen from oceanic trenches five miles deep—no longer the simple plant matter they'd been studying for weeks. These were pulsing organisms the size of small cities, their translucent flesh veined with arteries of crimson and gold light that ran in hypnotic, nauseating patterns. Even glancing at them made Sulu's skull throb as something alien pressed against the walls of his mind.
We are the First. We are the Pure. You are pollution to be cleansed.
The thought wasn't his own.
"Multiple contacts, dead ahead!" Vale's voice cut through the psychic assault.
The Calumbrians had warned them this would happen. When the Blood Tide rose from the deep ocean trenches, every predator on the planet would unite in coordinated waves of attack. Science Officer Arista had dismissed it as primitive folklore. Tactical had called it biologically impossible.
Now, as waves of aerial hunters swept across the battlefield in perfect formation—creatures that should have been tearing each other apart instead flying wing-to-wing—Sulu wished he'd listened to the ancient war songs with a more attentive ear.
The captain’s fingers flew over the haptic controls, diving their droid beneath a cloud of bioluminescent insectoids that sparkled like deadly jewels. Beautiful and lethal—contact with them would fry every circuit in their war machine and cook them alive in their cockpit.
"Base Camp t' Fighter One." A familiar Cajun drawl emerged from the static, barely audible over the shrieking of alien predators and the thunder of energy weapons. "How y'all doin' up there?"
"Del?" Sulu couldn't hide his surprise as he spun their droid around, giving Vale a clear shot at the massive predator threatening a Calumbrian fighter. The alien beast—something like a Chinese dragon fused with living nightmare—exploded in a shower of sparks and ichor. "I thought Dr. Rendell had you sedated into next week."
"Well, yeah, but..." DelMonde's voice carried weary determination. "You know what they say—no rest fo' th' wicked. I was lucky t' get a ten-minute nap 'fore all hell broke loose down here."
Through his newfound psychic awareness, Sulu could feel his team scattered across the battlefield like points of light in the chaos. Lieutenant Ryan's fierce joy as she and Dowd screamed past in their silver droid, energy cannons blazing, blocking a coordinated dive-bomb attack. Zel's zen-like calm as he and Ensign Paine engaged a predator the size of a shuttlecraft. Tsing's analytical mind working frantically while her surface concern for Owusu's safety colored every tactical decision. Most disturbing of all were the Calumbrian warriors—their emotional resonance carried centuries of weight. Pride and loss, battles fought and comrades fallen, the desperate hope that this time might be different, that this time they might reclaim their world from the nightmare that rose every few generations from the deep.
"What did you do, smuggle a communicator into the medical bay?" Sulu asked, lining up covering fire as a squadron of Calumbrian fighters moved to assist Zel.
"No smugglin' necessary," DelMonde replied with grim humor. "We got all hands on deck down here. Somet'ing's got every predator on th' continent riled up, an' they all headin' fo' our position. Courtland beamed down some heavy phaser cannons, an' I got my engineerin' crew defendin' th' perimeter wit' whatever we can jury-rig."
Through his tactical display, Sulu could see the base camp's situation—dozens of red contacts converging from all directions like a closing fist. "That's not good news."
"You got that right, son," Del agreed. "We got critters nibblin' at our walls from every angle, some of 'em big enough t' swallow a shuttlecraft whole. But how t'ings lookin' from your end?"
"Pretty lively," Sulu admitted, throwing their droid into a spiraling dive to avoid the snapping jaws of something that defied description—part dragon, part insect, part living void. The creature's thorned tail lashed past their cockpit close enough that acid saliva splattered against their shields.
"How morale holding' up?"
The question hit Sulu like a physical blow as his psychic awareness suddenly expanded. He could feeleveryone—Dylan's nervous energy mixed with tactical brilliance as he coordinated with Calumbrian pilots. Ryan's battle-lust radiating like heat. Zel's meditation-trained calm. Tsing's protective instincts. Dowd's desperate need to prove himself worthy of Ryan's partnership. And underneath it all, the Calumbrians' complex emotional symphony—hope and despair, honor and grief, the weight of a warrior culture that had been broken and was trying to rebuild itself one battle at a time.
"Morale's..." Sulu began, then stopped as the implications crashed over him. "Del, I think I might be experiencing some kind of psychic feedback. I can sense everyone's emotional state."
"I>Mais..." DelMonde paused for a long moment, and Sulu could feel something shift in the engineer's mental presence—a careful closing of doors, a shielding of thoughts. "That there is pretty damned interestin'."
"Very." Sulu's reply came out tighter than he intended.
"All right." DelMonde's voice took on a business-like tone. "As a person who has been a telepath all his damned life, let me tell you this -- first order o' th' day is you need t' not let it freak you th' hell out. Lean into it. T'ink of it as another data input channel that's gonna help you take care o' business."
Another wave of predators descended from the blood-red sky as one of the algae islands pulsed with renewed intensity. The psychic pressure increased tenfold, and suddenly Sulu could feel something vast and alien—a hungry intelligence that regarded them all as nothing more than obstacles to be swept aside, pollutants to be cleansed fromitsworld.
We were here first. We will be here last. You are temporary. You are ending.
"Del," Sulu said, his voice tight with strain as he fought both nausea and the alien presence trying to push into his mind, "I think we're in more trouble than we realized. These algae colonies... they're not just alive. They're intelligent. And they'repissed."
"An' they telepathic too, non?"
"They've got to be," Sulu realized as a pair of Calumbrian fighters streaked past with a pack of predators hot on their trail. "Otherwise, what's coordinating these attacks? Every predator on the planet is working together like they're parts of the same organism."
"We shoulda believed them Calumbri folktales 'bout swarms o' varmints risin' at th' call o' th' Blood Tide," Del said, as Dylan and his partner blasted a horned serpent that had been diving on Sulu's position.
"How did we not know this?" Sulu berated himself, spinning beyond the grip of another nightmare creature. "How did you not sense this?"
"The algae colonies been in hibernation out in th' deep ocean," Del speculated. "Up 'til now, they weren't tryin' t' contact me. I can sure feel 'em now, though..."
Waves of alien emotion crashed over Sulu's consciousness—cold, patient fury mixed with species-level hatred. The algae colonies considered themselves the planet's original inhabitants. With each hibernation cycle lasting centuries, they evolved to become more superior to the land and sky dwellers. They had decided on a planet-wide purge to cleanse their world of the pollution of lesser species.
They had done this before. Many times…
"Del!" Dylan Paine's voice cut through both the comm system and, somehow, directly into Sulu's mind.
"Keep your mind on your ship, chiot!" DelMonde scolded. "Or you ain't gonna have a ship t' keep a mind on!"
"How did he...?" Sulu asked, then realized he had heard the mental exchange instead of the radio communication.
"Through you," DelMonde explained. "Keep your mind on business. Keep focused. Most important t'ing is t' keep your emotions in check. You th' leader. Everyone is gonna take their cue from you. If you stay calm, they will too."
"Nothing to get upset about here," Sulu replied wryly, dodging a giant fire-breathing monstrosity that looked like it had crawled out of humanity's oldest nightmares. Experimentally, he tried mentally directing Tsing and her partner to attack the beast from its blind spot.
To his amazement, they responded immediately, their war machine swooping in for a perfect flanking attack.
Through the same mental channels, he could also tell that Del wasn't being completely open. There was something shielded, something hidden behind walls of sapphire-drenched calm. It was analogous to same kind of pharmaceutical-enhanced mental state he could sense in Tristan Vale right now. Why would Dr. Rendell have given Vale the same cocktail of drugs she'd given Del?
"Del," Sulu said, putting aside questions that could wait until they survived the next hour. "I want you to contact the ship. Tell the Drake to assume low synchronous orbit."
"Callin' in th' cavalry?"
Sulu spun away from a pair of predators while mentally directing two other fighters to converge on them. The coordination felt natural now, as if he'd been doing it for years instead of minutes. "Yeah."
"You got it, Captain."
A pair of Calumbrian fighters to his left engaged a swarm of smaller serpentine flyers, their ancient war cries echoing over the comm system as they fought with desperate elegance. Sulu started to move to their aid, but an acid breathing dragon dove toward his position. He sent strengthening thoughts in the Calumbrians' direction and directed other fighters to support them while he dealt with his own threat.
"Captain," Del's voice returned to the headset twenty seconds later. "The Drake'll be in position directly over us in twenty-three minutes."
"Good." Sulu's reply was short as he focused his mental energy on coordinating a four-pronged attack on the diving predator.
"I assume you' plannin' t' have the ship try hittin' th' algae colonies wit' phasers on low-intensity stun?" Del asked.
"Yep," Sulu confirmed, watching their coordinated attack tear the predator apart in a satisfying explosion of alien flesh.
Despite his skepticism about psychic phenomena, Sulu could now feel a bond between himself and DelMonde—cool and steady amidst all the chaos, like a blue lifeline of brotherhood he could grasp in the roiling sea of unwelcome sensations flooding his mind. Even though he had always scoffed at the idea of psychic connections, this mental link felt completely comfortable and familiar.
"Good," DelMonde affirmed. "Restorin' these folks' lost technology an'their warrior culture is one t'ing, but helpin' 'em commit mass suicide is another altogether."
"Exact—"
At that moment, one of the Calumbrian fighters was pushed down toward an algae mass by three predators. Without warning, what looked like an orange flame of bio-energy shot upward and struck the fighter.
Lightning bolts of alien energy crawled over the mechanoid as system malfunctions cascaded through its circuits. A horrible, gut-wrenching feeling rose inside Sulu as he watched the warrior's mind being rewritten.
"Oh, shit," Del murmured, somehow seeing through Sulu's eyes.
The Calumbrian warriors began to sing—a haunting battle hymn as their droids converged on their compromised comrade.
"What's..." Panic and confusion flooded Sulu's thoughts. "What's happening?"
"Let 'em do what they gotta do," Del advised grimly. "Keep fightin'."
The infected Calumbrian fighter suddenly turned on their comrades, unreasoning rage replacing warrior discipline. Before significant damage could be done, the other Calumbrians shot their former ally down, their song never wavering.
"What happened?" Sulu asked in the midst of directing attacks against fresh waves of predators.
“The Turncoat Madness, Sky Captain," General Thex'ara answered, his voice heavy with centuries of bitter experience. "When the Blood Tide touches one of our war machines, it awakens something the First Ones planted long ago. There is no other remedy but swift death."
"Captain," Del's voice carried new urgency. "The Drake's sayin' that wit' your battle spread out like this, they can't lay down phaser fire wit'out hittin' some o' your people. Can you fall back?"
Sulu frowned, analyzing the tactical situation while fending off another wave of attackers. "Negative. If we fall back toward base camp, we risk drawing the algae masses inland. If we pull north, south, or east, we risk placing ourselves in range of those bio-energy bolts."
"Sulu," Del began slowly. Through their mental connection, Sulu could feel the engineer weighing his words carefully. "What if th' bolts from them algae masses were activatin' somet'ing built into th' mechanoids?"
Sulu's tactical awareness suddenly sharpened as he probed deeper into DelMonde's shielded thoughts. "Something you could deactivate remotely?"
Guilt colored Del's response, though he didn't hesitate. "Yeah."
"That would be convenient," Sulu said with purposeful understatement, even as pieces of a larger puzzle began falling into place in his mind.
"It might turn out t' be pretty damned inconvenient in some ways..." the engineer warned. S
everal things that hadn't made sense over the past few days suddenly crystallized. The modifications to their war machines. Del's mysterious absences. Dr. Rendell's unusual drug protocols.
The engineer's carefully shielded thoughts.
Sulu opened a channel to all his fighters. "We're going to try something. DelMonde has an intervention he can implement with the Epiphany Swords that should prevent them from being compromised the way we just witnessed."
"The Splintered Soul Gambit!" a Calumbri fighter immediately responded, recognition and horror mixing in their mental voice.
"Our Grandfathers attempted this!" another chimed in.
"They were able to defeat the Blood Tide," others added, "but nearly all perished in the attempt."
This is how we lost the lore of the Epiphany Swords," General Thex'ara informed him, his mental presence heavy with ancestral grief. "Those few who survived were too badly wounded to ever fight again."
"That's not going to happen to us," Sulu assured them, projecting confidence he didn't entirely feel while coordinating attacks on three different fronts. "I've got a few cards up my sleeve that your grandfathers didn't have."
"Our fates are in your hands, Sky Captain," General Thex'ara told him, and Sulu felt the weight of an entire warrior culture's hope settling on his shoulders. "May your Sword strike true!"
Sulu closed the open channel and switched to his private connection with base camp. "Del, is the Drake in position?"
"Ten more minutes."
Sulu nodded, dodging another nightmare creature while mentally coordinating a defensive screen around the most vulnerable Calumbrian fighters. "While we wait, I want you to convey the following instructions to Dr. Rendell..."
Through their psychic link, he could feel DelMonde's mixture of admiration and apprehension as the engineer realized just how much Sulu had figured out. The captain's plan was audacious, dangerous, and their only hope of survival.
Above them, the blood-red sky screamed with alien fury, and the real battle was about to begin.
"How are you feeling, Vale?"
The question escaped Sulu's lips for what had to be the fourth time since they'd launched their Calumbrian battle droid into the azure sky above the Galanga coastline. He couldn't help himself—every instinct screamed that he was pushing his co-pilot too hard, too fast.
"Fine, sir," Lieutenant Vale's voice crackled through the headset.
Sulu wished desperately that he could turn around in the cramped dual cockpit to read Vale's silver features for the telltale signs he'd learned to recognize—the dulling of a natural metallic sheen when a medication hit too hard, or the glow that accompanied psychic overload. Instead, he had to make do with the small monitor displaying Vale's image on his control panel, where the Indiian appeared focused but somehow... muted.
"Still experiencing that cognitive fog Dr. Rendell warned us about?"
"Actually, I feel remarkably clear at the moment." Vale looked up through the transpari-steel dome of their cockpit at Calumbria's alien sky, where twin suns painted the clouds in shades of gold and coral. His smile seemed genuine, if subdued. "This is the best piloting experience I've had since we ran those initial trials aboard the Drake."
"Good to hear," Sulu replied, though he couldn't share his co-pilot's enthusiasm.
Their first steps in the towering war machine had been like learning to walk all over again—every movement awkward and uncertain, as if one of them had a shoe untied.
Months of intensive training aboard the Drake had paid off, though. The scaled-down practice versions of the droid they'd drilled with had prepared them for this moment. Gradually their coordination had returned. Still, Sulu knew he was rushing things. Vale needed more time to adjust to Dr. Rendell's chemical cocktail, more opportunity to understand how the medication would affect his performance.
Unfortunately the mysterious phenomena building in the seas below them was not going to wait for medical clearances.
The Calumbrian mechanoids were engineering marvels—bipedal walkers designed to navigate the planet's predator-infested jungles, capable of transforming mid-flight into streamlined aerial units for oceanic patrol. The transformation sequence required split-second coordination during a controlled cliff-dive, with pilot and gunner working in perfect harmony. One mistimed command, one moment of hesitation, and twenty feet of priceless alien technology would become very expensive scrap metal.
"Keep scanning for aerial predators," Sulu instructed, trying to push away his growing unease.
"Scopes are clear, sir."
That was another anomaly. Sulu looked down at the Galanga coastline stretching endlessly below them, its emerald jungles appearing deceptively peaceful from this altitude. Those same forests teemed with creatures that could tear apart a battle droid if they caught it on the ground—flying hunters with wingspans that dwarfed shuttlecraft, pack predators with natural armor that could deflect phaser fire.
"Not normal for this time of day," Vale observed, echoing Sulu's thoughts.
"No, it's not."
On his monitor, Sulu watched Vale's expression brighten with something approaching his old humor. "Perhaps fate is attempting to compensate for recent difficulties."
"That's probably it," Sulu agreed, though his tactical mind was already cataloging the morning's irregularities.
They'd encountered a massive swarm of insects during their pre-flight check—bioluminescent creatures that normally stayed deep in the jungle canopy. A flock of native birds had passed overhead in tight formation, their usual territorial aggression replaced by focused migration behavior. Most unsettling had been the massive aerial predator they'd spotted on long-range sensors, a creature that should have investigated their presence but instead had continued westward toward the open ocean.
All headed in the same direction. All abandoning their normal patterns.