Destiny: The Complete Saga: Gods of Night, Mere Mortals, and Lost Souls

by David Mack

  She and Fletcher followed Inyx as he loped forward, his long arms swinging in rhythmic opposition, like metronome bars forever parted by one beat.

  Hernandez’s gait grew heavier and clumsier with each step. Her knees hurt, and her feet had started to ache.

  And that was before they reached the pyramid.

  It rose ahead of the three travelers, a geometrically perfect peak of dark metal and smoky crystal, each face of it subdivided into triangular quarters, each of those quartered again, and so on, through hundreds of shrinking iterations.

  At its base, a triangular portal several meters high slid open far in advance of their arrival, while they were still traversing the forlorn emptiness of the square promenade that surrounded the pyramid. Through the opening, Hernandez saw stairs. “Inyx, tell me we’re not walking up.”

  “It is an unfortunate but necessary consequence of our power conservation,” he said. “Do you need to rest before we begin the climb to the Quorum hall?”

  She glanced at Fletcher, who nodded energetically. “Yes,” Hernandez said. “Just for a few minutes.”

  “Take such time as you require,” Inyx said.

  When at last the trio reached the mountainous structure, Hernandez and Fletcher sat down and leaned against the base of the pyramid to rest. “I didn’t remember it being this far,” Fletcher said between heaving breaths.

  “Neither did I,” Hernandez said, huffing for air.

  Inyx stood in the open portal while he waited for the recuperating women, as still as if he were a statue rooted into the gleaming black granite. His ever-present frown betrayed nothing. Hernandez wondered if she would ever be able to read the moods of the Caeliar. If there was some external cue to be parsed, it certainly wasn’t to be found in the leathery slack of their inexpressive faces.

  Fletcher sighed and slapped her palms against her thighs. “Ready to go see the happy brigade?”

  “I can hardly wait,” Hernandez said. Pushing off the pyramid, she forced her aching body back to a standing position and stretched to dispel the leaden stiffness of fatigue and the tension that had coiled into a crick between her shoulder blades. It released with a gentle pop, and she turned to face the steep grade of stairs that receded to a point far above them. She looked at Fletcher. “Ready?” The first officer nodded, and Hernandez said to their guide, “Okay, let’s go.”

  The awkwardly built Caeliar ascended the stairs with ease. He walked with an unflagging stride, and after the first hundred steps had easily outpaced Hernandez and Fletcher, who labored to follow him. After the fourth time that he found himself forced to pause and wait for them to catch up, he relented and slowed his climb to accommodate them.

  Hernandez felt as if she had scaled Everest by the time the top of the staircase became visible. She could barely breathe, and the muscles in her legs and lower back had started tying themselves into a Celtic knot of pain.

  At the apex of the climb, another triangular portal—this one only a few meters tall at its highest point—opened into the vast expanse of the Quorum hall, which occupied the uppermost level of the pyramid. Hernandez and Fletcher slumped against the edges of the doorway while they caught their breath.

  The hall was a hollow pyramid, with towering walls of dark crystal over the lattices of metallic triangles. It had been quite some time—weeks, or maybe even months—since Hernandez and Fletcher had last been here, during the destruction of Erigol. From this room they’d witnessed Axion’s desperate escape, through a subspace tunnel, to this remote corner of space and time.

  Before the cataclysm, tiers of seating had been elevated above the main level of the hall; those had collapsed during the disaster. The wreckage was gone now, and the fissures that had marred the beauty of the fractal sunburst pattern adorning the polished marble floor had been repaired. The tiers, however, had not been repaired. Instead, the hundreds of Caeliar gathered in the hall milled about in clusters great and small on the main level, communicating by means of their atonal humming.

  Then everything was silent, and the Caeliar turned to face the two women. Inyx turned toward them and said, “The Quorum is ready to receive you.”

  “Lucky us,” Hernandez said.

  “Follow me,” Inyx said.

  They walked with him toward the throng of Caeliar, who spread out into a half circle around the trio. At the center of the curved line was the crimson-garbed de facto leader of the Quorum, Ordemo Nordal. His own people called him the tanwa-seynorral, which Inyx had explained to Hernandez meant something akin to “first among equals.” All she knew for certain was that, in this chamber, Ordemo did most of the talking.

  “Some members of this Quorum have suggested we should hold you and your three remaining companions accountable for the tragedy of Erigol,” Ordemo said. “There also has been debate over a preemptive displacement of your homeworld and your species, to prevent future disruptions of our Great Work. However, I have agreed to postpone a final referendum on these matters until after Inyx presents his findings.”

  Inyx made a small bow from the waist toward Ordemo and then addressed the Quorum, in a voice that sounded artificially amplified despite the apparent absence of any means to do so. “I offer you the sum of my research,” he said, spreading his arms wide. “The gestalt will attest to its veracity.” A mellifluous drone coursed through the assemblage. “The humans’ interference with the apparatus had no effect on the Great Work.” A discordant buzzing undercut the group’s melodious tones as Inyx continued. “Even as they interfered with the apparatus’s locus in Mantilis, the other loci compensated for its loss. There was no disruption in, or corruption of, our transmission to the shrouded galaxy.”

  Ordemo lifted one arm, and the dissonant noise of the Quorum faded away. “How, then, do you account for the hostility of the response we received?”

  “It was intentional,” Inyx said. “The damage it inflicted upon the apparatus, and throughout our energy matrix, was quite precise and crafted with expert knowledge of our technology. It was intended to annihilate us, and to do so with such alacrity that we couldn’t hope to respond in time. The most interesting fact, however, is that it also was made expressly to prevent us from purging the humans’ time-travel formulae from the apparatus. This, as well as several unique characteristics of the signal pulse itself, leave no doubt as to the identity of the civilization that committed this barbarous act.”

  Hernandez heard the ire in Ordemo’s voice as he demanded, “Who, Inyx? Who did this to us?”

  Inyx faced the tanwa-seynorral. “We did.”

  Ordemo sounded stunned. “Why?”

  “Two more of our cities escaped through time-shifted subspace tunnels, just as Axion has. One of them I have been unable to locate, but the other had a chroniton signature so profound that I couldn’t help but see it. If my calculations are correct, it traveled back nearly to the dawn of time. Our own people, or perhaps their heirs, built a new civilization in the nascent universe, and then they waited nearly fourteen billion years to smite us—in order to create themselves.”

  “A predestination paradox,” Ordemo said in a shocked hush.

  “Technically, this would be considered a self-consistent causal loop,” Inyx said. “Regardless, it absolves our human guests of ultimate culpability for the Cataclysm. And as we have already established that Captain Hernandez and her fellow survivors were as much victims of their renegade compatriots as we were, it would be unjust to treat them as accomplices.”

  The susurrus of debate charged the air in the Quorum hall for several seconds. Then the cavernous chamber fell silent again, and Ordemo stepped forward from the line. “Very well. The Quorum has consensus. Captain Hernandez and her companions will remain as our guests.” To the captain herself he added, “I am certain you will understand, however, if we choose to exercise a heightened degree of caution in our future dealings with you.”

  “Of course,” Hernandez said.

  Ordemo brought his arms together and intertwined hi
s tendril-like fingers. “This convocation is concluded. If you’ll excuse us, Captain, we have much work to do.”

  Without awaiting her response, the tanwa-seynorral walked past her and merged into a line of Caeliar walking toward one of the four exits from the chamber.

  Inyx lingered for a moment beside Hernandez and Fletcher. “Are you and your companions well? Do you need anything?”

  “Physically, we’re fine,” Hernandez said. “But we could use something to keep our minds occupied.”

  With a flourish of raised arms, Inyx replied, “You could always take up art.”

  Hernandez couldn’t help but be amused.

  “I might just do that,” she said.

  2381

  3

  “Welcome to New Erigol,” said the woman who Commander Tuvok had identified as Erika Hernandez.

  Commander Christine Vale’s first, unspoken reaction was to wonder what the hell had happened to Old Erigol.

  Her next thought was that Hernandez looked amazing for someone who had been missing for more than two centuries. The woman’s enormous mane of dark, unruly hair spilled over her shoulders and framed her youthful face, and her physique—loosely garbed in drapes of gauzy fabric that were barely equal to the demands of modesty—was equally trim and toned. If Vale hadn’t known better, she’d have assumed Hernandez was barely out of her teens.

  Even though Vale was the away team commander, Counselor Troi took the lead in speaking for the group. “I’m Commander Deanna Troi, senior diplomatic officer of the Starship Titan,” she said. Gesturing back at the other Titan personnel behind her, she continued, “These are my shipmates and friends. Commander Christine Vale, first officer; Commander Tuvok, second officer; Dr. Shenti Yisec Eres Ree, chief medical officer; Lieutenant Ranul Keru, chief of security; Ensign Torvig Bu-kar-nguv, engineer; and Lieutenant Gian Sortollo and Chief Petty Officer Dennisar of our security division.”

  Hernandez nodded to the away team. “Hello,” she said. Looking to the being on her right, she said, “This is Edrin, our chief architect.” Turning to her other companion, she continued, “And this is Inyx, our chief scientist.”

  Inyx made a subtle bow toward Troi. “Welcome to the city of Axion, Commander Troi,” he said, his voice a rich baritone.

  Vale stepped forward and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Troi. To their hosts she said, “Hi, nice to meet you. It seems you know quite a bit about us, no doubt thanks to Captain Hernandez. But I’m afraid you have us at a disadvantage.”

  Behind her, Tuvok quipped, “In more ways than one.”

  “Of course,” Hernandez said, her voice strangely subdued in its inflections. “Inyx and Edrin are members of a species known as Caeliar.”

  “For simplicity’s sake,” Inyx interrupted, “you may use Caeliar as a singular or plural noun, or as an adjective.” Vale thought she caught a fleeting look of mischief between the alien scientist and Hernandez.

  “Good to know,” said Troi. “Captain Hernandez? Forgive me for prying, but finding you alive raises many questions.”

  “Yes,” Hernandez said, her face betraying no emotion. She looked at Inyx, who returned her gaze in silence, and then she looked back at Troi. “What do you wish to know?”

  Troi lifted a hand and gestured at the magnificent city of platinum and crystal that towered behind them. “For starters, how you came to be here, so far from Earth.”

  “And why you’re still alive two hundred years after your ship disappeared,” Vale added.

  Their questions provoked a sly look of amusement from Hernandez. “As the saying goes, it’s a long story.”

  The two Caeliar turned and looked at each other. Then they looked at Hernandez, who shifted her downcast gaze back and forth between the aliens before she looked up at Vale and Troi.

  “Forgive me,” Hernandez said. “I was sent here to deliver a message, and I should do as I was instructed before I digress.”

  A chill of foreboding washed through Vale. “What kind of message?”

  Hernandez’s manner became cold and aloof. “At this time, your shipmates on Titan are being informed of what I have to tell you now. Although no violent measures will be used against you or your vessel, the Caeliar will not permit you to leave this place, nor will you be allowed to have any further external communications. Those of you who have come to the planet’s surface must remain here. Titan will be expected to remain in orbit, though any of your compatriots who wish to join you here in Axion will be free to petition the Caeliar for entry.”

  With sour sarcasm, Vale replied, “How generous of them.”

  “The power has been drained from your weapons,” Hernandez continued. “If the Caeliar detect any effort on your part to recharge them, they will disintegrate them. You may retain your scanning devices, provided you don’t use them against the Caeliar or to jeopardize the safety of the city.” She paused while gauging the away team’s reaction. “It is important that you understand the Caeliar do not see you as prisoners.”

  Tuvok inquired in reply, “How, then, are we to perceive our incarcerated status?”

  “Like me,” Hernandez said, “you are all considered to be guests … with restrictions.” Another glimmer of silent interaction passed between Hernandez and Inyx.

  With acidic sarcasm, Vale said, “You’ve been away a couple hundred years, so maybe you don’t know this, but English has a word for that now: It’s called a prisoner.”

  “I understand this will be a difficult transition for many of you,” Hernandez said. “Some of you may find it impossible. But it’s my hope, and that of the Caeliar, that you’ll learn to accept this new paradigm.” She nodded to the second Caeliar. “Edrin will escort you to your accommodations. If you need anything, just say it aloud. The Caeliar will do the rest.”

  Edrin extended his arm and waggled his tendril-like digits. Tiny droplets of quicksilver formed like dew on blades of grass, rose into the air, and fused into a sliver-thin disk of mirror-perfect metal four meters in diameter. The disk hovered a few centimeters above the ground. The Caeliar stepped onto it and gestured to the away team. “Please join me,” he said in a melodic tenor. “It’s quite safe.”

  Vale nodded to the rest of the away team. Keru was the first to climb atop the disk, which remained as stable as bedrock. The bearish, bearded Trill man nodded to his security officers, who shepherded Dr. Ree and Ensign Torvig onto the levitated platform. The reptilian physician alighted onto the disk, the talons of his nimble feet clicking against the metal. Torvig—who Vale thought resembled a wingless ostrich with a sheep’s head, cybernetic arms, and a bionic hand grafted onto his prehensile tail—bounded lightly onto the disk beside Ree. Keru waved Dennisar aboard, and the Orion security guard complied. Lieutenant Sortollo followed him.

  As Vale turned to walk to the disk, Troi asked Inyx, “Will we be allowed to contact Titan?”

  “No,” he said. “I’m sorry, but our past experience has made it clear that any contact you have with your ship would likely be used to collude in your escape. We don’t wish to separate you from your friends and colleagues, but we can’t risk allowing you to plan coordinated action that might be to our detriment.”

  The half-Betazoid counselor nodded, but her expression was forlorn. “I understand,” she said. Then she followed Vale and Tuvok to the disk. As soon as the three of them joined the rest of the away team on the circular platform, it ascended several meters with no sensation of motion that Vale could detect.

  Hernandez looked up at them with a longing gaze. “I’ll come to see you once you’re settled. And I’ll tell you my story.”

  “I can hardly wait,” Vale said, already stewing in her own anger. She made a flippant gesture at the two Caeliar. “Bring your friends. They’re a hoot.”

  Troi, however, was gentler in tone and word. “I’ll look forward to seeing you,” she said.

  Then the disk was hurtling forward in silence, through the gleaming canyons of the city, soaring over the plazas and under the
causeways of the sprawling metropolis. Vale fought to take it all in as it blurred past, trying to remember the shapes of the city and the grid of its streets.

  Because it was never too early to start planning an escape.

  * * *

  Captain William Riker was irate. “That’s all they said?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Lieutenant Sariel Rager, Titan’s senior operations officer. She held one hand a few centimeters above the touchscreen interface of her console. “Do you want to hear it again?”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Riker said. He stalked back to his chair and fumed at the arrogance implicit in the audio-only message Titan had just received from the Caeliar. In effect, the aliens had just declared the away team and Titan itself to be their prisoners. There had been no warning, no opportunity to discuss terms—just a standing invitation for those on the ship to change the setting of their incarceration.

  Adding to his anger was the fact that this new crisis had deprived him of most of his senior officers, including his wife, Deanna Troi. His concern for her, especially in light of her fragile medical condition, was only slightly offset by the knowledge that Dr. Ree was with her.

  He stood behind his chair and rested his hands on top of it. On the main viewer, the world the Caeliar called New Erigol was concealed inside a spherical shell of dark metal. A similar hollow globe encased its star, rendering this system all but invisible to most detection protocols.

  Lieutenant Commander Fo Hachesa, a Kobliad man who served as Titan’s gamma-shift officer of the watch, occupied the first officer’s seat. He tracked the crew’s ongoing efforts to repair the damage to the ship’s sensors that had been inflicted a day earlier by one of the Caeliar’s long-range scans.

  Commander Xin Ra-Havreii, Titan’s chief engineer, handed off control of his engineering station console to a junior officer and joined Riker behind the command chair. The slender Efrosian man pensively stroked his long, flowing white mustache and stared at the forward viewscreen. “It’s quite a feat of engineering,” he said. “Whatever it’s made of, I can’t get a clear sensor reading from it.”