Rosetta

by Dave Stern

  The most interesting information she’d found, however, had to do not with the Mediators, but Theera—First Technician R’shee Theera, of the Andorian Science Service, posted to the Andorian Cruiser Lokune for the past two years. Theera’s work during that time had focused on something called the Universal Translator Project, which was described as “an attempt to move beyond dictionary-based translation to the development of a machine intelligence that could actually parse speech for linguistic concepts.”

  Shades of Doctor Teodoro, Hoshi thought, and then: Theera and I should have a lot to talk about.

  Except that—based on their recent encounter—she wasn’t sure any sort of conversation between the two of them was going to happen.

  Reed cursed again.

  “Still nothing?” Hoshi asked.

  “No.” He frowned. “Where the hell did it all go?”

  “Where did what go?”

  Hoshi turned and saw the captain standing in the doorway to her room.

  “The data I was looking at,” Reed said. “It was on my screen a few minutes ago and all at once…the system just shut down. When I got back on again…it was gone.”

  “Gone?” Archer repeated.

  “Without a trace,” Reed said. “As if it never existed at all. I thought perhaps it was a problem with my terminal, but…”

  “Sensitive data?”

  “Well…yes, I suppose you might say so.”

  “Would the governor say so?”

  “Without a doubt.”

  It was pretty clear to Hoshi what had happened. “They locked you out.”

  “That seems the most likely explanation,” Reed said, turning in the chair to face her now. “Although to do that, they’d have to be…”

  Archer’s communicator sounded.

  “Hold that thought,” the captain said, and opened a channel.

  “Archer here.”

  “Captain?” It was Commander Tucker. “Thought you’d be heading back right about now.”

  “That was the plan. But something’s come up,” the captain said. He started to explain—not just about the reception, but about the credit chits Sen had given them to shop with and the guest quarters he’d provided. The quarters were an act of generosity—four bedrooms, each twice the size of the captain’s quarters aboard Enterprise, along with an elaborately furnished common room that could have comfortably held the bridge and the ready room with space to spare—that Hoshi had found it difficult to understand up until just this moment, that is. As the captain continued talking, Reed stood and left the room. He returned holding his padd, and showed Hoshi the display screen. It read:

  Can’t talk here being monitored

  She nodded, took the padd from him, and typed in a message of her own.

  Reed looked at it and smiled.

  Trip and the captain, meanwhile, were still talking.

  “…still want to get that shuttle back up here—sooner rather than later.”

  The captain frowned. “Tomorrow isn’t soon enough?”

  “I got the manpower tonight, Captain. Can’t say as I will then.”

  “Sir?”

  All three of them—Hoshi, Reed, and Archer—turned as one. Travis stood in the doorway.

  “I can take the shuttle back up.”

  Archer frowned.

  “What about the reception?” he asked.

  “What about Horizon’s money?” Malcolm chimed in.

  Mayweather smiled.

  “I found something,” he began. “In the Thelasian archives…”

  “Ah,” Hoshi said, cutting him off, and holding the padd so that Travis too, could see it.

  He frowned.

  “Trip,” Archer said into the communicator. “We’ll get right back to you.”

  “Sir?”

  “We’ll get right back to you,” the captain repeated. “Out.”

  He closed the communicator, and turned to the others.

  “I have an idea,” he said. “Let’s go shopping.”

  Eleven

  It turned out that the money was, in fact, precisely why Travis wanted to get back to Enterprise.

  While looking through the Thelasian archives, he’d found (to his surprise) an entry on Horizon. A badly outdated entry, one that listed the ship’s top speed as warp one point five, its captain as Paul Mayweather (Paul Sr., Travis’s father, dead almost a year now), but did, in fact, make reference to a petition filed on Morianne more than a decade earlier. The problem was, only a ranking office of the S.S. Horizon could access those records. So Travis needed to find his family’s ship. And to do that…

  “I need to be back on Enterprise,” he finished explaining.

  Before the captain could respond, Hoshi interrupted.

  “We might be able to find a com station down here,” she said. “In fact, considering the extent of the Thelasian trading network, you might even have a better chance of finding Horizon through their facilities.”

  “Then they’ll know what he’s up to,” Reed interjected. “Better off doing the search through a secure network.”

  “How secure can any network be around here?” Hoshi asked.

  Malcolm nodded. “True enough.”

  “People.” The captain stopped in the middle of the street. “All interesting points, but you ignore two things. Number one, we’re supposed to be at this reception in just a few hours. So if we’re going to take advantage of the governor’s generosity…”

  “I don’t really need to go shopping for something to wear, sir,” Hoshi said. “My mother sent a dress to me for my birthday last year. Very formal. I’m sure it would be appropriate.”

  “And number two,” the captain continued, ignoring the interruption, “Trip really needs the shuttle back on board Enterprise. So if you want to go, Ensign…”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Good. Then you’re dismissed. Tell Trip I will speak with him after the reception.”

  Another nod, and Travis left them then. The three of them then split up, each taking a handful of the credit chits Sen had given them, making plans to rendezvous back at the guest quarters in another hour. It took Archer longer than that, though, to find something he thought suitable: first, he was recognized by an assembly delegate who began badgering him on the importance of safe travel corridors, then he got completely turned around and wandered down a portion of the Prex that was given over to currency speculators. Then he ran into Malcolm—who he suspected might have been following him the whole time—who promptly began haranguing the captain for permission to bring one of the MACOS, or even Chief Lee, planetside to help with security, given that Sen’s intentions were now—more than ever—suspect. Eventually (after a few futile minutes spent trying to convince Reed that his worries were misplaced, that nothing untoward was going to happen tonight at the reception, there were simply going to be too many people there), the captain ordered Malcolm to go find himself something suitable to wear.

  Archer waited until he was gone, and then continued his own shopping, at last finding something that not only looked appropriately formal but fell within his price range.

  He returned to the guest quarters to find Hoshi waiting for him, as excited as he’d seen her in a long while.

  “You found something good?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir,” she said. “A private language database. Bought seven new languages for the UT, including one with conditional verb forms. Conditional verb forms.” She shook her head in amazement. “I’ve never seen anything like it. The language is called Vendorian, and apparently the people—”

  “Vendorians, yes. Interesting. But I was asking about the party. If you found anything to wear?”

  Hoshi frowned. “Well…”

  The captain shook his head. “You’d better get back out there then. The reception starts in another hour and a half.”

  Hoshi didn’t move. She cleared her throat. “The thing is, sir, database access time was quite expensive.”

  “How expensiv
e?”

  She smiled weakly.

  “You spent all the chits?”

  “Yes, sir. But there’s that dress my mother bought me. I was thinking I could have that beamed down.”

  The captain sighed. “All right. Let’s see what we can do.”

  But it wasn’t as simple as all that. They had to have clearance to use their transporter beam. Had to talk to the right people, and Archer couldn’t find Prian to smooth the way. The person he was speaking to told the captain to stand by. Time passed.

  A chime sounded.

  “That’s the door,” Hoshi said. “I’ll get it.”

  She did. The captain overheard talking, and then the sound of the door closing.

  Hoshi came back carrying a box. There was a note on the top of the box.

  “It’s addressed to me,” she said, reading off the card. “Hoshi Sato. Compliments of Governor Sen.”

  Hoshi opened the box. She reached inside and pulled out a single piece of red cloth, which she held up in the air.

  “It’s fabric,” she said. “Some kind of stretchy fabric.”

  “I think it’s a dress.”

  “It’s too small to be a dress.”

  “It’s a dress.”

  “Probably another piece in here,” she said, and started digging around in the box.

  There wasn’t though. Just a pair of ridiculously high heels.

  “It’s not a dress,” she said again.

  “Go try it on,” Archer said.

  “Sir…”

  “Present from the governor,” he said. “We don’t want to insult the governor.”

  She sighed, and went into the room she’d been assigned.

  Five minutes on, by Archer’s reckoning, she hadn’t come out.

  “Everything okay in there?”

  Silence.

  “Hoshi…”

  The door opened, and the first thing that registered on Archer’s consciousness was that it was a small piece of fabric indeed.

  The second thing was that his communications officer was a very attractive woman. He’d known that intellectually, of course, but it hadn’t really struck him before. It struck him now.

  Like a ton of bricks, it struck him.

  Hoshi looked at him, and then down at the ground.

  “I don’t feel comfortable,” she said.

  “You look wonderful,” Archer told her.

  She glanced up at him and smiled.

  Archer returned the smile, remembered who had given her the dress, and frowned.

  Right then the door to their quarters opened, and Reed walked in, holding up a box.

  “Found something that looks remarkably like an old-style Navy dress shirt. Now some might think this a bit too flamboyant, but my feeling is, when you’ve got it…”

  His voice trailed off as he caught sight of Hoshi.

  “…flaunt it,” he said. “Your mother bought you that?”

  She glared. “No, my mother did not buy me this.”

  He looked even more confused. “You bought it?”

  “No!”

  “It’s a present from the governor,” Archer supplied.

  “Sen.”

  “Yes, Sen.”

  “Governor Sen.” Reed still looked confused. “Why is he buying Hoshi a dress?”

  The captain was wondering that himself.

  “Why don’t we get changed,” he suggested, “and go find out?”

  She didn’t have to wear the dress, Archer had told her. If she was uncomfortable (which, of course, she was). But Hoshi could read between the lines of what the captain was saying. Sen would be insulted if she didn’t. And the captain wanted Sen in an expansive, joyous mood. A talkative mood. Insofar as such a thing was possible. So she wore the dress. And let her hair down. She looked like a different person. Ready for a party. The captain looked ready too: he had purchased something akin to an old-fashioned tuxedo, with a vest instead of a coat jacket, an open-collar shirt. He looked, Hoshi thought, dashing. As for Malcolm…

  Well, his “Navy dress shirt” was blue and white, as garishly loud as she’d expected, and if he gave her any more grief about her outfit…she was going to give it right back.

  The reception was being held at the solarium. An elegant-sounding word, which (Hoshi knew) was derived from the Latin, originally referring to a Roman water clock, circa second century BC, though the latter-day, more common (and here, more apropos) definition of the word was a glass-enclosed porch or living room—a sun parlor.

  This sun parlor, however, was at the very top of the tallest structure she had ever seen in her life. A building that reminded her more than anything else of the old Space Needle back on Earth, a single slim, towering building that tapered off to a point so high up into the sky as to be invisible.

  A handful of H’ratoi, also dressed to the nines, shared the elevator ride up to the top with them. Hoshi was gratified to see that one of the females had on an outfit that made Sen’s gift look like an overcoat.

  It was a long way up. A long ride. Hoshi spent the time wondering if the Kanthropians would be there. If they’d be any more forthcoming than Theera regarding the work they’d done on the Antianna signal. Wondering if Theera’s work tied in to what she’d been reading about this afternoon—the Universal Translator Project. Most likely, though, the Kanthropians wouldn’t know anything about that. She’d have to talk to Theera regarding the wider implications of this translation. She wondered if Governor Sen could help her get to the Andorian—get Theera to talk to her. Probably. She wondered what she’d have to do to make that happen. Nothing she wanted to think about too hard. And speaking of Sen…

  What was going to happen when she saw him tonight, which most certainly she would? What should she say to him? Thanks? She’d already sent along a message to that effect after deciding to wear the dress; the functionary who received it assured her he would pass the missive along directly to Sen, though he also intimated that the governor would be most appreciative if Hoshi relayed her gratitude in person. That conjured up a whole new series of images that made her want to find the shuttle and head back to Enterprise as fast as the little ship could carry her.

  She shuddered involuntarily.

  “Cold?” the captain asked.

  He held out his vest to her.

  “No. Thanks.” She smiled. “Just wondering what the party’ll be like.”

  The elevator slowed, and came to a stop.

  “It’ll be a formal kind of thing is my guess. Fairly quiet,” he added. “You remember Captain Hernandez’s swearing-in ceremony?”

  Hoshi grimaced. “I remember all right.”

  “Something like that,” the captain said. “Sedate.”

  “Somnambulent,” Hoshi responded, as the elevator doors opened, and they were struck by a sudden wall of noise and heat and light.

  The solarium was the size of a small concert hall. It was jammed tight with people.

  “Sedate,” Reed said, standing aside to let the H’ratoi pass.

  Archer frowned. “Or not.”

  The captain told them to mingle, so off she went.

  Except after forcing her way into the heart of the crowd, Hoshi barely had enough space to stand, much less start a conversation. Her guess, the solarium was half the size of the Trade Assembly, and crowded with about twice as many people.

  Nonetheless, she started pushing her way through; she met Tellarites and a Vulcan (a member of the Cultural Exchange Commission who, she learned in an abbreviated conversation, had known T’Pol’s mother), Maszakians and Pfau, and a very tall, very rude Conani delegate, who lectured her on the foolishness of attempting to negotiate with terrorists such as the Antianna. She also passed by (but did not exchange words with) Ambassador Quirsh, who glared in response to her tentatively offered smile. Fine. She didn’t need to talk to him anymore. Who she needed to speak with were the Mediators, except that nowhere in the entire room did she see anything resembling a brown robe. Maybe they weren’t coming;
they didn’t, based on what she’d seen of and read about them, seem like the partying type.

  She mingled a bit more.

  Eventually, she reached the outer edges of the circle-shaped space, where the crowd thinned slightly, and she turned to take in the room as a whole. It was a breathtakingly beautiful structure; the walls—transparent to the stars outside—curved gently upward, forming a dome whose apex was perhaps thirty meters above the floor. The elevators were directly under that apex; she saw now that the elevator shaft continued upward to the very top, to a second, much smaller room, whose floor was made of the same transparent material as the walls and ceiling. There were at least a dozen guards in that room, which was empty otherwise. Probably some kind of private meeting room, an office.

  She turned away from the party then, and looked out through the glass, out over Tura Prex. A sea of lights swam beneath her—far, far beneath her. The stars in the sky seemed closer. Some of them, she realized, were ships. Patrol vessels, most likely, similar to the ones that had escorted them down to the planet’s surface earlier. She wondered just how high up they were here.

  She turned back toward the part again, noticed a horseshoe-shaped line of tables partway across the room. Food. Drink. Might as well, since she didn’t seem to be doing much good here otherwise. She made her way toward the closest table. A man in a dark blue coverall stood behind it. As she approached, he smiled at her.

  “Nice dress,” he said.

  Hoshi smiled back. “Thanks.” She picked up a glass of something off the table—something blue—and sniffed it.

  “Hold on a minute,” the man said. “Before you drink…”

  He ran a scanner of some sort over her and looked at the results.

  “It’s safe for you. Well, relatively safe. As far as intoxicating beverages go.” He smiled. “Two of those, you’ll certainly be having a good time.”

  Hoshi frowned. The last thing she needed to be right now was drunk. On the other hand…