by Dayton Ward
“Exactly,” Xiong said, feeling renewed excitement beginning to well up from within him. “We’ve known all along that we’re dealing with a life-form, but all our efforts have been directed at penetrating the artifact itself. The communications attempts have been secondary—almost an afterthought. We should instead be focusing on trying to talk to it.”
Davis’s brow furrowed as he considered the notion. “Can we do that? I mean, we’ve been hailing it, even if we’ve been clumsy about it.” Moving closer to one of the operations hub’s adjacent consoles, he began tapping a series of colored buttons. “We could try transmitting a standard hail using a tight-beam directional broadcast, like we would a message sent via subspace.”
Realizing what the engineer intended to do, Xiong held up a hand. “Wait. You want to try this right now?”
“Why not?” Davis asked. “You worried we might wake it up or something?”
Despite himself, Xiong chuckled. “No, of course not. It’s just that we haven’t discussed it or anything.”
Davis eyed him. “You want to wait until morning?”
It would be the prudent thing to do, Xiong knew. Even with the containment procedures in place, and given that this experiment would not even approach the level of intensity of the previous sensor scans inflicted upon the artifact, there was the omnipresent concern of some unexpected consequence of their action. However, days of sensor telemetry indicated such a development was unlikely.
When he saw the smile on Xiong’s face, Davis laughed. “Now you’re thinking like an engineer.” Reaching for the console, he input another string of commands. “We’ll use the same standard linguacode messages that are employed for first-contact scenarios. After all, when in doubt, go with what works.”
“We probably shouldn’t expect any sort of meaningful response,” Xiong said. “Then again, we don’t know anything about how the Shedai communicate with other life-forms.”
“One thing at a time, Lieutenant,” Davis said, his attention fixed on his workstation. “Activate the isolation protocols.”
Xiong carried out that task, nodding in satisfaction at the status indicators telling him the chamber was in full isolation mode. “Everything shows green. Transmit whenever you’re ready.”
“Here goes nothing,” Davis said as he pressed a final control. “Hailing frequency open; transmitting linguacode greeting.” Drawing a deep breath, the engineer looked to Xiong before adding, “Knock, knock.”
Pointing to a new set of data scrolling on one of his display screens, Xiong said, “I’m seeing indications that the beam’s scattering once it penetrates the artifact’s outer shell.”
“I can try changing frequencies,” Davis suggested, entering the necessary commands to his console. A moment later, he shook his head. “I’ve set the transmission to repeat on a rapid cycle through the frequency bands, but it doesn’t seem to be having any effect.”
“What about increasing power?” Xiong asked.
Pausing to consider that, Davis tapped the edge of his console. “This system isn’t all that powerful, but we can still kick it up a few notches and see what happens. If we really wanted some juice, we could pump the signal through a subspace relay.”
Xiong shrugged. “Got any of those lying around?”
“Sure,” Davis replied, “but they weigh about four hundred kilos and are around the size of a photon torpedo. Bring two, if you’re going.” Holding up a finger as though arriving at another idea, he said, “On the other hand, if we reroute through the Lovell’s communications array, that would almost certainly be more than enough power to get the job done.”
“And it would violate the isolation protocols,” Xiong countered. “I’m not ready to take that kind of risk just yet.”
Davis nodded. “Agreed. Let’s just see what we can do with what we’ve got, then.” Tapping a sequence of controls at a speed that almost made Xiong’s eyes hurt as he tried to follow, Davis entered another set of commands. “We’re at full power, and I’ve got the hailing message cycling through every frequency, including several that are out of range of most regular communications equipment.” When he saw Xiong’s questioning look, he said, “We like to tinker on this ship, remember?”
Ignoring the question, Xiong moved back to his own workstation, noting the new readings on his monitors. “The transmission beam is holding together a bit better now, but I think it’s still scattering.” Once again, he could only marvel at the construction of the inscrutable Mirdonyae Artifact. How had its creators managed to forge such a brilliant feat of engineering prowess and even artistry?
“Damn, but that thing’s stubborn,” Davis said, shaking his head in wonder.
“Wait.” When the engineer looked in his direction, Xiong pointed to one of his monitors. “There’s a new reading here.”
“What?” Davis all but jumped from his chair, moving to stand behind Xiong. He leaned over the lieutenant’s shoulder, angling for a better look at the screen. “I’ll be a son of a bitch. It’s working?”
“To a degree,” Xiong replied, reaching out to tap the monitor. “The signal’s still degrading before it penetrates too far, but at least it’s making it in there.”
“By the time it gets through the outer shell and into the crystal’s interior latticework,” Davis said, closing his eyes while he spoke, as if envisioning the artifact’s internal construction in his mind, “the signal’s so fragmented and diluted, it’s probably not much more powerful than whatever background noise is being put out by the artifact’s own energy source.” Opening his eyes, he added, “I speak euphemistically, of course.”
“Of course,” Xiong repeated.
“Our signal may be like one voice in a crowd of thousands,” Davis continued, holding up his hands to emphasize his point. “We know we’re getting in there, but there may simply be just too much else going on for us to be heard.”
Glancing back to the monitor that depicted the image of the artifact as it rested in its cradle inside the isolation chamber, Xiong considered the engineer’s hypothesis. “So, what do you suggest we do in order to be heard?”
Davis smiled. “We pump up the volume.”
23
Tendrils of energy punched through the storm gripping the Shedai Wanderer, feeling to her as though spikes of agony were being driven through every molecule of her being. In her weakened state, she was unable to deflect or mitigate the probe. Adrift within the nebulous void that was her prison, her only defense was to force her consciousness to fold in on itself and wait for the assault to subside. It took several moments to erect the necessary barriers, and even then she still felt the effects of whatever was being directed against her.
Now able to focus on the new contact, she turned her attention to the wave pushing through the cacophony surrounding her, and the Wanderer realized this new presence was very similar to the pathetic, disjointed drone that had earlier punctuated the constant, unwavering dissonance.
What do you want of me?
Continuing to listen to the odd, plaintive call, the Wanderer realized that it seemed to be repeating the same sequences in rapid succession. Some of it was familiar, while other parts seemed to be little more than hollow imitations of structured communication. As the signal persisted, she began to decipher and comprehend fragments.
We call to you.
It took most of her flagging strength even to grasp the meaning. Who was attempting to make contact? Surely not one of her own people. No, the Wanderer decided, this was something else. Telinaruul. Yes, that made sense, as she detected hints of the signals they had transmitted between one another, entwined with those bits she recognized as Shedai. She had experienced their efforts at understanding the technology of her people on more than one occasion. At first their attempts seemed clumsy and inadequate, but the Wanderer had recognized the perseverance driving their endeavors. They had acquired a pair of the reviled crystals—the storied orbs that were believed capable of harnessing the very power commanded b
y the Shedai. That the Telinaruul were motivated by a greedy self-interest and the hope of plundering the resources and power commanded by her people was a given. Such audacity could not be tolerated, and she vowed the Telinaruul would pay for their insolence.
Whatever they might be doing, it was having an effect. Her awareness of her surroundings seemed to be gaining greater clarity. The energies working to hold her hostage within the crystal seemed to subside, if only by the slightest of degrees. Her link to the signal was growing in intensity, and the Wanderer realized now that in addition to what she was already hearing, there was something else—something far more formidable—lurking somewhere beyond the fringes of her perceptions. She had sensed this presence earlier, during the last disruption of the energy fields ensnaring her. In addition to carrying with it a recognizable timbre possessed by others of her kind, it was more prominent this time, and the Wanderer now felt it with greater force as it reached out to her.
Who are you?
I am Shedai. Who are you?
I too am Shedai.
The Wanderer was at once struck with a range of visceral emotional reactions, chief among which was surprise, given her enforced solitude, that she was hearing what purported to be a member of her race, all of whom had been dispersed by the Apostate when he extinguished the First World. At first she thought it might well be the Apostate who had somehow found her here, in this cursed abyss, and fear manifested itself. Would she now have to face off against one of the oldest and most powerful of all Shedai? Though the Apostate had taunted her on infrequent occasions, the Wanderer had not heard his thoughts since her incarceration. She quickly realized that the voice was not that of the Apostate, nor any other Shedai she had ever encountered, and yet there was something familiar about this new presence. She began to feel hope that the second crystal stolen by the Telinaruul might well contain one of the Enumerated Ones. If that was true, then she might finally have an ally, one to whom she had pledged eternal loyalty.
Where are you? Are you here?
I am alone. I am within nothingness. I long to be free, though I am powerless to act.
Extending her thoughts, the Wanderer tried to locate this other Shedai. Despite a profound sensation that he must be somewhere nearby, so far as she could tell, she was alone within her realm of exile. So, where was this potential compatriot of hers? Was he a friend or an adversary? To what or to whom did he vow allegiance?
Though we appear to be separated, we may be able to achieve liberation by working together.
No. I have been held here for uncounted generations. Escape is not possible. If freedom is to be gained, it will come at the hands and whims of our captors. Anything else is a waste of effort and energy. Of this I am certain.
Despite what the Wanderer at first perceived as defeatism, the other’s words contained another, unidentified quality. How do you know this?
Because I have tried, many times. Countless times, likely since before you came to be.
But perhaps we can combine our strength, the Wanderer implored, channel it together, and present a more powerful front to that which holds us.
Your power is insignificant compared to that which I possess.
There was no use expending energy or time debating that observation. The Wanderer, just from the thoughts offered by the other, could discern that her counterpart spoke the truth. Echoes and hints of a power far greater than she would ever command brushed her consciousness.
I sense great age, and wisdom, older than the Apostate, and perhaps even the Maker. How is that possible?
I am the First Shedai. I am the Progenitor.
The Wanderer was dumbstruck. Could it be true? Stories—myths—of the Progenitor were among her earliest memories, to say nothing of the collected recollections of those Shedai with whom she had linked over the course of her existence. Legends told of this, the First, most powerful and revered of all Shedai and greater than all the other Serataal, being captured by an ancient enemy. Such rumors persisted through the ages, the story expanding and becoming more exaggerated with each successive telling. No proof, either of the Progenitor’s capture by some unknown rival or even of his very existence, had ever been found. Older Shedai who subscribed to such tales held to the belief that it was the Progenitor’s defeat at the hands of this mysterious adversary that had set into motion the series of events that ultimately forced the Shedai into their long sleep. The Wanderer had never subscribed to such outlandish notions, until now.
You are the first of my kind I have encountered since my imprisonment. Do our people thrive? Are we the masters of all the stars?
No. The Wanderer’s reply was tinged with sadness. Our once-great civilization has fallen; it is no more, and what was there before its demise was something less than your great vision. She sensed the Progenitor’s disappointment, though another emotion was there, as well: determination. It had not been there before, she thought, but now there was no mistaking its presence.
Then perhaps we will remake it. After all, my vision remains clear.
Doing so requires us to escape our confinement, does it not?
Yes, the Progenitor replied. For this, we must be patient. Our time will come. Of this, I also am certain.
24
Reyes waited for an alarm to sound, or for secret doors to open and hordes of Orions or whoever else Ganz might have on his payroll to come storming out of the walls, each of them wielding a disruptor or blade. He wondered if and when a hidden airlock hatch might open, blowing him out of the ship and into open space.
Despite his mounting anxiety and paranoia as seconds seemed to pass at a glacial pace, none of that happened. Instead, the computer terminal before him emitted a simple, innocent beep before a single line of text appeared on its display screen: “Transfer Complete. Original Data File Purged.”
“Okay, that’s got it,” he said, reaching for the terminal and retrieving from one of its peripheral slots a red hexagonal data card. The card was similar to those used with Starfleet computers, and T’Prynn assured him that bridging any compatibility gaps between the media formats would not present a problem. Reyes would have preferred to transfer the data directly from the Omari-Ekon’s computer to T’Prynn over on Vanguard, but the Vulcan had assured him that such activity would almost without fail be detected by the Orion vessel’s security measures. “They’re going to be pretty pissed when they find out we’ve deleted their navigational data. Are you sure we got it all?”
In the utter quiet of the small maintenance office that had been selected for this last iteration of Reyes’s covert activities, the voice of T’Prynn in his mind seemed loud enough to rattle the walls. “My search protocols found no duplicates of the data. It is possible the data was copied to secondary storage, but there is nothing we can do about that now. “It is now time to bring you to safety, Diego.”
Though he had known this was going to be the end result of this little game of espionage, Reyes still was not sure how to feel about it. He knew that, despite what he had done here with T’Prynn’s assistance, he was still a convicted felon who had been court-martialed and dismissed from Starfleet. The time he had spent in the custody of the Klingons and the Orions also made him a fugitive. Though he wanted to believe that his decisions and actions while in such questionable company had been in keeping with the best interests of Starfleet and the Federation, he knew that others would see him as nothing more than a traitor.
Time for that later, he reminded himself. Maybe.
“All right, then,” he said, moving the data card and the transceiver supplied to him by Ezekiel Fisher to an inside pocket of his jacket. “What’s the plan?”
“I have identified two areas of the ship where the shielding can be penetrated by the station’s transporters,” T’Prynn replied. “I have designated these as primary and secondary extraction points. The first location is closest to your present position. I suggest we begin moving you in that direction with all due haste.”
“Show me the
way to go home, Lieutenant,” Reyes said, feeling a rush of adrenaline and anticipation. After so much time living aboard the Omari-Ekon, the thought of finally being freed from his pseudo-prison was almost too much to believe. Of course, it was easy to temper his mixed feelings of enthusiasm and apprehension, just by thinking about all of the things that could still go wrong before he once more set foot aboard Starbase 47.
Following T’Prynn’s instructions, Reyes exited the small office, emerging into a dark, narrow corridor. He knew from his studies of the Omari-Ekon’s layout that T’Prynn had directed him to one of the lower levels near the port-side impulse vents along the vessel’s aft section. Chosen by the intelligence officer for its relative isolation, this part of the ship was free of most foot traffic, save for the occasional maintenance employee and, on more unfortunate occasions, a member of Ganz’s security staff.
Such occasions were even less pleasant when there was more than one guard, as there was now.
“Well, look who it is,” said one of two goons Reyes saw in the passageway as he stepped from the office. To his surprise, this thug was a Tellarite he did not recognize, stocky and sporting a large belly that lapped over the wide leather belt he wore. His prodigious midsection almost, but not quite, succeeded in hiding from view the sizable disruptor pistol resting in a holster along his right hip. As for his companion, he was an Orion whom Reyes had seen on occasion, working in the bar or wandering the gaming deck. Unlike other members of the ship’s security staff, this Orion, Nakaal, seemed content to wear form-fitting tunics rather than walking about with a bare chest and sporting his assortment of tattoos and piercings. There was something about the way the pair carried themselves that told Reyes this was not to be one of the frequent harassment calls paid to him by members of Ganz’s organization who were feeling brave and looking to stir up some kind of confrontation.
