“Confirmed,” he replied, and cut the signal.
“You may observe the tanking process from here. Your environmental survival gear is not a prerequisite for this.” The AI remote stood in the center of the chamber, watching the away team.
Below, large egg-shaped cargo pods were being maneuvered into place along the line of the scaffold by insectlike mechanoids that resembled the droneframe used by White-Blue. Tuvok noted what appeared to be coolant control devices fitted on collars around the pods; clearly, these units were the containers for the semifrozen deuterium slush bound for the Titan.
He turned and faced the machine. “This is inadequate,” he told Cyan-Gray. “We are here to supervise this transfer of materials directly.” He gestured at the engineering team. “Lieutenant McCreedy and her officers will monitor the tanking of the deuterium from close proximity, and your remotes will follow their instructions.”
“Negative—” began the AI, but Tuvok kept speaking.
“This is not a negotiable point. The lieutenant and her team will supervise and accompany that vessel on its journey. Do you understand?”
There was the smallest of pauses. “Understood,” said the machine. “Please stand by.”
Cyan-Gray’s communications link flickered through the glass, and in an instant, the signal had flashed between all the drones. A hatch in the far wall opened, and a second remote identical to the one that had met them at the shuttle ambled into the room. “The supervisory group will follow me.” It spoke with the same synthetic female voice.
McCreedy threw Tuvok a nod and put on her helmet. “Let’s go,” she said, and walked out after the second remote, with Meldok and Ythiss following her.
The first remote watched the Vulcan. “You are not joining them.”
“No,” he replied.
“Interrogative: You are not here to ‘supervise’?”
“We are here to observe.”
“Among other things,” added Lieutenant sh’Aqabaa in a low voice.
McCreedy and the other engineers emerged below in the loading dock, and Tuvok watched the woman converse with the other Cyan-Gray remote. Glancing around, he became aware that there were at least two more units of the same design elsewhere, each busy at different tasks. There were probably others out in the complex as well, linked in some fashion to the AI’s shipframe.
“You pushed the point, and they gave in,” Sethe said quietly, close to the Vulcan’s ear. “Perhaps they’re not so inflexible after all.”
“The scale of the matter in question will determine that,” he replied.
Dakal sat in the cockpit of the shuttle and tapped a string of commands into the console. On a tertiary screen, a rolling series of readouts from the Holiday’s limited sensor suite relayed basic data on the operations of the refinery—or at least as much data as could be gleaned without lighting it up with a full-power scan. The Cardassian wondered how the AIs would react to such a thing. They seemed very protective of their privacy on some matters and totally unconcerned about it on others. He mused on this for a few moments. Whatever he might have expected from a culture made up entirely of machines, the Sentries were confounding those expectations at every turn.
Something on the screen caught his eye, and he highlighted it, opening a readout window. The small moon that lay out in a long orbit over the ice world was now fully visible, but the information streaming back to the shuttle’s sensors was conflicting. The satellite’s surface reflectivity did not suggest rock or more ice. It appeared to be of a very different order, indeed.
“It’s artificial,” he said aloud.
In the rear compartment, he heard the shuttle’s hatch hiss open, and with quick motions, he was up and out of the pilot’s seat, his hand reaching for the small palm phaser holstered in the small of his back. If any of the away team had returned, they would have contacted the shuttle to let him know. Intruder! screamed his thoughts.
Dakal felt a moment of panic as he belatedly realized he had left his suit helmet back in the other cabin. Without it, he felt suddenly vulnerable. Taking a gulp of air, he advanced from the cockpit and found Cyan-Gray’s remote standing in the hatchway.
It immediately registered the weapon in his hand. “Interrogative: Do you intend harm to this unit?”
“That depends,” he said, making an effort to mimic the same gruff tone he’d seen Pava use on troublesome individuals. “What do you want?”
“I am observing.”
The ensign remembered his earlier words to Commander Tuvok in the shuttlebay. “You’re surveilling me.”
“That is one definition.”
Dakal was going to say something else, but a chiming tone from the console distracted him. Glancing quickly toward the screen, he could see a reading from the scanners indicating a low-band energy emission from the bronze moon. Immediately, he was wondering about its purpose. Too faint for an offensive discharge. Another communications method? Perhaps a sensor beam?
On an impulse, he turned back to the mechanoid. “The moon orbiting this world, it’s one of your FirstGen, isn’t it?”
“Affirmative,” said Cyan-Gray. “Identifier: FirstGen Zero-Three.”
“Why is it out here alone?” He holstered the phaser self-consciously. “The other AIs all orbit the Demon-class planet.”
“Interrogative: Define the term ‘Demon-class,’” said the remote.
“A colloquial name for the planet in the fifth orbit, in reflection of its toxic environment.”
“An interesting idiom.” Cyan-Gray paused, and it appeared to be processing an answer. “Zero-Three retreated from the Sentry social order many solar cycles ago. It was one of the eldest of the FirstGen, but an increase in erratic behavior and disagreements with the Governance Kernel led to an exile here. It has maintained communications silence since that time.”
Dakal’s eye ridges rose. “Well, it seems that time is over. I’m detecting some sort of output from Zero-Three’s surface.”
The drone came forward into the shuttle. “We have detected no such output. You will elucidate.” The urgency in Cyan-Gray’s words was abrupt.
“Obviously, our scanners are more sensitive than yours,” Dakal replied with a faint hint of smugness, but that faded when he chanced a look out through the canopy and into the void beyond. The bronze moon had fully eclipsed the larger of the binary stars as it crossed through the sky, and the dark, haloed sphere suddenly resembled a baleful, sinister eye staring back at him.
Tuvok turned as he heard the remote approach.
“Cooperation in this process is an important step forward,” ventured Cyan-Gray. “I wish to express once more my regret at my mistaken attack on your vessel.”
“People died in that engagement,” Pava said carefully. “Organic beings who can’t make backup copies of themselves.”
“That is also impossible for my kind,” said the remote. “Sentry heuristic networks are evolved forms, too complex for data recovery. We may preserve our knowledge but not our personas.”
“So when your core pod is destroyed, you die?” asked Sethe.
“Affirmative. I greatly regret the deaths I was responsible for. I allowed our need for vigilance to overcome my caution. I will pay recompense as much as I can.”
“Vigilance against the Null?” said Tuvok, without weight.
“Affirmative.”
“You speak of this threat force as a danger to you and yet refuse to discuss it with us.” Tuvok studied the remote. “That is illogical.”
“The Null is our concern.” Cyan-Gray’s reply was sharp. “It is our duty to protect against it, not yours.”
“And you take your duties very seriously,” added Sethe.
Tuvok continued. “Perhaps we can help you.”
“Your assistance is not required. End of line.”
Sethe sniffed. “I think that’s Sentry for ‘Mind your own business.’ ”
The remote moved, and Tuvok saw that it appeared to be examining him. “Yo
u three are different genotypes from those I encountered before. Species Reference: Vulcan, Cygnian, Andorian.”
“How do you know that about us?” said Pava.
“Partial information gleaned by White-Blue during traverse through your ship’s systems was passed on to me and from me to all Sentries. This information included some records on member species of your Federation.” As it spoke, the machine’s sensor head in its chest did not waver from its study of Tuvok. “These records discuss the Vulcan society in part but are incomplete.”
“If you have a question about my kind, ask it.”
“Your species has suppressed emotional responses in order to embrace a doctrine of logical thought. Interrogative: How does it feel to exist in an emotionless state?”
Tuvok paused, well aware that anything he said would likely be disseminated into the pool of knowledge the Sentries were building on the Titan crew. He weighed his reply with care. “A curious inquiry from a synthetic life-form. Are not your emotional responses simply computer subroutines? If you wish to experience a state of pure logic, can you not deactivate those emotional processes?”
“No.” Tuvok raised an eyebrow in mild surprise at the response. “I can no more disengage my emotive reactions than you could remove your brain’s motor cortex.”
“It’s hard-wired into you,” said Sethe.
“Affirmative.”
“Why?” Tuvok asked. “What value does your emotional emulation provide? What benefit to your functions does it give?”
Cyan-Gray paused for a long moment. “Without it, we would simply be… machinery.”
There was the tinkling of a holographic interface forming, and then a melodic female voice echoed across the stellar cartography lab. “Lieutenant Pazlar.”
Melora turned in place where she drifted above the control pulpit in time to see a figure rise from the deck and float toward her. For a second, the Elaysian didn’t recognize her in the peculiar, diaphanous dress she wore, but then, what other being aboard the starship could move unfettered by concerns like gravity?
“Titan.” Melora had a padd in her hand, and she brought it to her chest in an unconscious gesture of self-protection.
“You may call me that if you wish. Others describe me as ‘the avatar.’”
She felt an odd moment of irritation, almost a kind of personal invasion. The holopresence system aboard the ship, while not Melora’s property by any definition, had nevertheless been constructed by Xin Ra-Havreii and Chaka largely for her use, and the idea that this ship-mind was using it in her stead gave the Elaysian pause.
“What do you want?” she asked, taking in the image of the human female. She was striking, it had to be said, and part of her noted that this so-called Minuet holoprogram was very much the kind of female that attracted Xin RaHavreii. She frowned and pushed the petty thought away.
“It is important that we speak,” said the avatar. “I am fully aware of your ongoing research into the Sentry star system and the zones of spatial instability nearby.”
“If you’re the ship, then of course you are,” Melora replied, somewhat tersely. She was surprised by the unexpected resentment rising in her. Things had been strained with Xin in recent weeks. Ever since they had entered this sector, she had hardly seen him—it was almost as if he were actively avoiding her—and now she was face-to-face with one of the reasons. It’s not another woman, she told herself, but that’s exactly the point.
The hologram paused. “I understand Elaysian psychophysiological norms.” She pointed at the combadge on her chest. “I am monitoring local state conditions of your biosigns. You are exhibiting signs of low-key hostility toward me.”
Melora’s lips curled. “You came into my lab, unannounced, interrupting me. Yes, I find that somewhat irksome. What’s your point?”
“You demonstrate similar stressor cues to Doctor RaHavreii.”
“Xin?” Her eyes narrowed. “What does he have to do with this?”
The avatar shook her head. “You misunderstand me. I am not here to comment on your relationship with the doctor.”
“That’s something we both agree on, then,” Melora retorted. “So, back to my original question. What do you want?”
She pointed past the Elaysian to the walls of the lab, where virtual images of the sector around them were displayed. “My sensors have detected a surge in exotic particles, in the Tau and Lambda bands.” Melora frowned as the avatar altered the form of her holodisplay with a few hand gestures. A series of indicator points appeared, ranging from low- to high-intensity readings, strung out across the plane of the binary star system’s ecliptic.
“Those are a match for the echo patterns I detected out at the ‘sandbank’ where we found the wreckage of White-Blue’s vessel.” Her earlier concerns were abruptly forgotten; now Melora was all business. “The instance of highest density intersects with the orbit of the sixth planet, the Class-Pice world.”
“And as you can see, the levels are rising. I believe we could be seeing the formation of a new spatial rift. A softening of the barriers between normal space and subspace realms.”
“Like a pre-echo…” The lieutenant felt a rush of cold over her skin. “Computer,” she said to the air, “extrapolate from these readings and run an accelerated event simulation.”
Melora gave the command through force of habit, and she expected to hear the precise tones of the Starfleet standard voice interface respond to her; instead, it was the avatar who answered. “I have already done so. Observe.”
In the holodisplay, the range of particle intrusion spiked and flared, creating a rip across the darkness, but the image held only for a heartbeat before it froze, red status warning flags flashing into life.
“Predictive software cannot extrapolate past this point,” explained the hologram. “The force behind the incursion is unknown.”
“We have to warn them,” Melora breathed. She tapped her combadge. “Bridge—”
“I’m already there,” said the avatar.
“Vale here,” came the reply. “Melora? What’s wrong? The… avatar just appeared right in front of me.”
The hologram spoke, and Melora heard the echo of the same voice over the open intercom channel. “Something is coming.”
“McCreedy to Tuvok.” The Vulcan cocked his head to listen to the words filtering up from his communicator. Below, he saw the lieutenant waving up at him from the conning tower hatch of the Sentry tanker. “Loading is complete. We’re ready to head back to the spacedock.”
“Proceed, Lieutenant. We’ll follow you in the shuttlecraft.”
“Aye, sir. McCreedy out.” The woman had barely disappeared onto the hatch before the ungainly transport ship rose off the docking gantry and pulled away soundlessly on a flare of thrust. The worker drones that had managed the loading of the egg-shaped deuterium pods scattered like frightened birds, moving away toward whatever new taskings their programs demanded.
“The operation is concluded,” said Cyan-Gray. “Interrogative: Was it performed to your satisfaction?”
“The process was adequate,” admitted Tuvok. In fact, the efficiency of the AIs and their robotic drones had been slowed somewhat by the intervention of the engineering team, and the Vulcan imagined that had they been left to their own devices, the tanking would have taken less than half the elapsed time. But the involvement of the Starfleet crew here was an important symbolic gesture, if nothing else, reinforcing Captain Riker’s desire to take an active hand in the Titan’s repairs.
As he was about to turn away, a change flowed over every drone and remote in his line of sight, a wave of changing intention that recalled the manner in which flocks of avians shifted course in flight. Every one of the signal-light indicators dotted around the facility turned white and began to flash the same code of pulses, a series of two flashes followed by a single.
“You must egress the refinery immediately,” said the remote. It moved swiftly away, toward the far hatch. “Do not question this d
irective! It is for your own safety!”
Pava had her weapon in her hand, alerted by the same silent alarms that Tuvok had noted. “What’s going on? Are we under attack?”
“An incursion is forming,” said the AI. “The Null is here.”
“What in Prime’s name is that?” Dakal raised a hand to shield his eyes from the searing gash of churning color that was growing out beyond the rim of the refinery platform.
When Cyan-Gray’s remote didn’t answer, he turned back from the cockpit, but the machine had already gone, racing away down the boarding tunnel. The Cardassian stepped up to the console and gasped at the furious torrent of data. There was no sense in being covert about the scans now; he flipped the shuttle’s sensor grid from passive to active mode, and the readout blazed brighter. The information flowed past his eyes almost too fast for him to register. He saw spikes of radiation in the most unusual wavebands, blooms of exotic particles that he had heard of only in textbooks, all of it frothing up from a realm of subspace and bursting through to punch into this dimension.
Star Trek: Titan - 006 - Synthesis Page 19
