Star Trek

by John Jackson Miller

  “For what reason do they conceal this secret?” Georgiou asked, anger rising at the news. “Are they spies? Invaders, who mean to infest the rest of us?”

  “No!” Dax cried out, anguished.

  “Her people do not wish to make others uncomfortable.”

  “Uncomfortable!” Georgiou stared at Dax—and then doubled over with laughter.

  “Georgiou-Emperor finds this amusing,” Umyda observed to Dax.

  “I get that.”

  Wiping tears from her eyes, Georgiou looked again into the barrel of the disruptor, which shook in her companion’s hand. “You have a problem, dear. If you don’t shoot, you will always have to worry that I would tell your people’s secret. To Leland, perhaps.” She gestured toward the field. “And if you don’t shoot, I will follow these creatures—and possibly find the secret you so fear.” She looked to Umyda. “Is what I seek here?”

  “Yes.”

  Georgiou faced Dax again. “But if you’re not going to shoot, the only way that you can join us is to drop the weapon. It’s not me saying so. It’s the Oastlings.”

  Umyda bowed to Dax. “Georgiou-Emperor speaks truthfully.”

  Still clutching the disruptor, Dax looked fretfully at the Oastlings. “You can’t give her what she wants. You’ve got to swear not to!”

  “We cannot give that which cannot be owned. But ours is not the final word.”

  “Whose is?” Georgiou asked.

  “Follow and learn.”

  Umyda turned and stepped toward the passage between the stalks her companions had opened. Georgiou took a long look at the motionless Dax—then turned to follow the Oastling. She paused to look back at Emony Dax, now to her both Emony and Dax. “Hear that, you two? Follow and learn.”

  Georgiou did not look back to see whether the weapon had been dropped. But some people simply didn’t have it in them to kill, and the emperor didn’t need a mind reader handy to be able to identify them.

  44

  The Fields

  OAST

  For an hour, Georgiou walked through the croplands, with only the light from the Oastlings’ heads to guide her. At least, it had felt like an hour—and she felt like she was still in the fields.

  But more than anything, she felt as if she were asleep. Asleep, back in Quintilian’s luxurious bed. Where she should have stayed, if she were the least bit sane—

  —and where she had also had a dream, attended by Oastlings.

  She spoke up. “I’m not really walking, Umyda, am I?”

  No response came from up ahead.

  She continued to follow the light. “This final word you speak of. To reach the blood devils. It’s a password, right? Someone has locked the door, secured it against invaders.”

  She had no clue where she had gotten that idea. But there was again no response. And this time, the lights ahead seemed to drift away. She struggled to keep up.

  “You won’t lose me this easily. Take me there—I don’t care who guards the way!” She shouted again at the waning lights. “I am Emperor Philippa Georgiou Augustus Iaponius Centarius!”

  Darkness enveloped her.

  “Mother of the Fatherland! Overlord of Vulcan!”

  She looked about, not knowing which way to turn.

  “Dominus of Qo’noS! Regina Andor!”

  She strained to hear even the slightest echo. A trace of her own voice.

  Her own voice.

  An echo—but only in her mind. The emperor turned. “I know you’re here. Of course. If anyone would be the guard, you would.”

  “I wondered if you’d figure it out.” A woman stepped from the darkness, wearing the same Starfleet uniform. Her very image—save one thing: Captain Georgiou was five years younger. “That’s an awful lot of names you have. It must get tiresome.”

  “Tests are what I find tiresome,” the emperor replied. “And this is another. I know you’re not really here. You never even knew that I existed.”

  “Don’t be so sure. Interdimensional physics would have predicted you,” the captain said, looking her up and down as she circled. “Well, maybe not you.”

  “Cutting.” Georgiou leered at her. “That’s probably the most hurt you ever delivered anyone, Captain.”

  “I thought you just said I wasn’t Captain Georgiou.”

  “Of course. This is the Oastling speaking, in my mind.”

  “A funny thing happens when you look deeply at an Oastling,” her counterpart said. “They see you—and know you, who you are and how you would react. I came with a mission, to prevent others from releasing and exploiting the blood devils—”

  The emperor brightened. “Ah! There is more than one!”

  “Be less predictable for just a moment,” the captain said. She gestured into the nothingness. “Umyda and the others don’t really understand much about who we are, and how the clouds threaten our physical bodies. But they saw into my mind and recognized my desire.”

  “You never acted on your desires in your life.”

  “Again, don’t be so sure. Though I’ll admit my standards are higher than yours.”

  “We have the same body,” the emperor said. “You can’t imagine what you’ve missed, being the way you are—living in this universe among these people.”

  “I see exactly what you’ve done—and I see exactly where it’s gotten you.”

  “Do you? Then you already know.” The emperor’s lips curled. “In a few years, Captain, you’re going to die. Die, pointlessly, killed by an attack you should have seen coming. Would have seen coming, had you listened to Burnham. Or listened to—”

  “To my better self? Is that what you think you are?”

  “I’m better than you, that’s for certain.” The emperor shrugged. “I was going to say you should have listened to the intelligence coming from Starfleet.”

  “You mean, from Section 31?”

  “For want of anything adequate, yes. At least they seem sensible enough to spy on their neighbors. To head off threats coming their way.”

  “I don’t trust them. And I certainly don’t trust them with knowledge of the blood devils.” She stared. “Haven’t you figured it out? That’s why I came here.”

  “Wait.” The emperor’s brow furrowed. “You mean with Michael? Five years ago? Why then?”

  “When Michael, aboard Shenzhou, detected that Section 31 had hacked my private messages with Quintilian, we also found they’d been looking again at my tricorder readings from Jadama Rohn. They’d concluded, as we had, that it was no drug, but some kind of biological weapon. It was only a matter of time before they sent an expedition to do what we did, to find this place.”

  “And now they have sent me.”

  “Imagine the irony. Tell me you at least know that Section 31 wouldn’t be satisfied with simply protecting others from the blood devils, right?”

  “Of course. I understand who they are very well.”

  “But it didn’t matter who wanted it. Once I got here and learned the devils’ power, I had to prevent anyone from making the same trip. I want to do the right thing.”

  “The right thing.” The emperor walked past the captain and sneered. Then she looked back, having noticed something. “You’re terrified.”

  “Of the blood devils? Of course.”

  “That’s not all. There’s something else. It’s obvious. I see your face. I see your mind. This works both ways, you know. You’re scared as hell.”

  “What, because you said I’m going to die? You already said it: this isn’t me. It’s my mind as of the joining, five years ago. I will not fear what I will not experience.”

  “No. You were experiencing fear then.”

  “Because I know what the blood devils can do.”

  “That’s not it. You’re frightened because you’re alone. You’ve gone off on your own, without the permission of your precious Starfleet. You took Michael most of the way, but you sent her back after you found Jadama Rohn, didn’t you?”

  “To p
rotect her. We’d already broken enough regulations—and I didn’t want to endanger her. I had to come here alone.”

  “And you don’t know how to do that, do you? To exist without that structure, those people, all those rules backing you up.”

  “I don’t exist at all.”

  “Not now, no. Maybe not ever.”

  The captain’s image began to fade. Then it brightened. “I exist in you.”

  “Now you’re fighting dirty.”

  “But I am fighting. I desired to seal the shrine. That desire is the lock—the Oastlings have seen to it. Only Philippa Georgiou can open the lock, and only if she wants it opened more than Philippa Georgiou wanted it closed.”

  The emperor smiled. The game was given away, the truth known. “Then there’s nothing more to discuss.”

  The captain spoke more urgently. “Listen to your friends, Philippa.”

  “Friends are a luxury I have never had.”

  “That’s not true. You did have a friend. San.”

  “I lost him. Early, and in time to learn to live without.”

  “But you have friends here—and they have wisdom. Listen to Burnham. To Dax. To Finnegan.”

  The emperor chortled. “You really haven’t met these people, have you?”

  “You’re afraid too—afraid of starting over. But you are not alone. Ask yourself what your friends have done. I see it in your mind.” The captain’s shape blurred—

  —and transformed into the image of another. “I lost my family,” Michael Burnham said. “I went to prison for six months. To a starship where nobody wanted me. Each time, I had to start anew in a strange place. But I persevered.”

  Her shape shifted again, into Emony Dax’s form. “I’ve died twice,” she said. “But each new start is a challenge. A blessing. A joy.”

  A final transformation yielded the grinning image of Sean Finnegan—who launched into misquoting an old barroom song. “Knock me down! I’ll get right back up!”

  The emperor buried her face in her hands. “Please stop.”

  “That’s what I’m asking you.”

  She looked up to see the captain’s image had returned. “This is how I start again,” the emperor said. She started walking forward. “Go sell Cornwell your sorry psychologist act—I’m sure she’ll love it. I know what I’m looking for. Where is it?”

  The captain hurried along beside her, grasping at her. “You’re right, Philippa, I was scared. But you’re stronger with people than alone.”

  The emperor turned abruptly, reaching in another direction. “The game is up. You’ve already told me.”

  “You don’t have to do this alone.” The captain stepped forward and confronted her, looking into her eyes. “You don’t need this.”

  “No. I want this.” The emperor looked over her shoulder. “The time for playacting is over. There was only ever one way this was going to end. Umyda, open the door.”

  Captain Georgiou faded away, to be replaced by the shining visage of the Oastling. The emperor saw where she was—in a circular clearing in the grain fields, lit by a ring of luminescent orbs on posts. Dax stood to her right, her hands on her mouth.

  And before the emperor: a stone shrine. Its door, open.

  Dax stammered, “W-what just happened? She was standing there for a long time—and then it opened.”

  “We sealed the structure to outsiders because Georgiou-Captain greatly desired it,” Umyda communicated. “Only an equal or greater opposite desire from Philippa Georgiou could compel us to open it.”

  “But she’s not the same person.”

  “By your definitions. The Oastlings are satisfied.” Umyda gestured to the building: small and serene, a gatehouse to something. “The House of the Lost Traveler.”

  “Is it safe?” Georgiou asked.

  “No. But neither will you be harmed, so long as you step with surety.”

  “Always.” She winked at Dax and walked inside.

  45

  The House of the Lost Traveler

  OAST

  Georgiou had thought the small building was a shrine, but it was no such thing. The building held only a staircase, spiraling down into the depths of Oast. As she descended, small globes on the walls came to life, luminescing; apparently Oastlings sometimes needed to see where they were going too.

  The bottom steps led out to a dank place. Stone walls defined a large, domed room, forty meters across. Its major feature: a large circular pool, taking up much of the space. Lonely Oastlings walked the area ringing the pool, not so much standing guard as participating in some kind of vigil. None of them took note of her.

  Georgiou stepped closer to the pool. Black and placid, and of uncertain depth. Remembering her satchel, she removed the light she’d brought from the Dromax moon and activated it.

  As soon as its rays hit the surface of the liquid, something within stirred—and in the same moment, the Oastlings stopped walking. She could hear their faint chants in her mind. Edging closer to the pool, she knelt.

  Something had moved beneath the surface, and was still moving. But it wasn’t solid. Rather, it appeared as a haze—much like the result of some chemical experiment, some cloudy substance that would not dissolve.

  She moved the light about. The thing responded to the rays, separating and subdividing only to combine again into new shapes. As she stared, she grasped the enormity of what was below. Was she looking at one being, or many?

  Or many-as-one?

  She heard footsteps leave the stairs. Without looking back, she said, “If you intend to push me in, do it.”

  “We’ve already had that conversation,” Dax said.

  Georgiou looked back at her. “I’m surprised to see you in here.”

  “They wouldn’t let me stay out there alone.” The Trill looked bereft. “For better or worse, I’m with you.”

  “Be useful,” Georgiou said, gesturing to her tricorder. The emperor drew forth her own. “There’s our blood devil. Or devils.”

  Dax stared at it, frozen with fear. “How—how is the liquid restraining it?”

  “I don’t know. It doesn’t look like it’s just water.” She pointed out the red ring around the pool near the surface. “A lot of copper.”

  “It’s the same thing that Farragut encountered, all right,” Dax said, reading her instrument. “What did they call this place?”

  “House of the Lost Traveler.”

  “How could a lost traveler have a house?”

  Georgiou thought about it. “I don’t know—but I think they mean house as in a place built to house it. Not a home.”

  Dax seemed to relax—but only a little—as she realized the cloud was restrained. “It’s almost peaceful.”

  “At the moment.”

  “Among my people, symbionts come from pools tended by guardians.” She looked back to the Oastlings. “Maybe they’re doing something to restrain it too.”

  “Maybe.” She stared, wondering what the real value of the find was.

  After several silent minutes, Dax, who would come no closer to the pool, called to her. “So you’ve found it. What are you going to do?”

  She made her decision—and rose. “Vercer discovered the hard way what it meant to mishandle one of these. There’s nothing I can do, unless I learn more about it.” She faced one of the Oastlings. “Will you tell me of these creatures?”

  There was no response, mental or otherwise.

  Weapons were not good or evil—they just were. But something about this one made her unsure. Too much had gone into hiding it, protecting it. “That’s that,” she said, walking around the pool. “I just don’t know enough about it.”

  “Look!” Dax said, pointing. Georgiou turned her head to see a tall figure materializing near the pool’s edge. She cast her light upward—

  —and across the armored form of Quintilian. He held a walking stick, again, but this one tipped by a golden eagle. He wore a dark metallic breastplate, but one that still reflected the light; it ga
ve him much the appearance of a Roman centurion.

  Or emperor.

  He stepped around the pool and faced her. Georgiou thought of a dozen things to say—but went with, “You mean we could have just beamed in here?”

  He smiled, that broad infectious smile she’d found something to like in. “No. Nobody could. Not until you opened the door.” He reached forward and embraced her.

  She patted the soft metal. “Not much of an armor. Costume party?”

  “Precaution,” he said. “The devils don’t like copper.”

  “You knew about them!” Dax said from across the pool.

  “I like history,” he said, breaking the embrace. “The Oastlings don’t write theirs down anywhere—but once I got to know Pyramis and Thisbe, I learned a lot.”

  Georgiou stared at him. She wasn’t completely surprised to see him—so little happened in Troika space that he wasn’t aware of—but she needed to understand the reason for his presence. She knelt again beside the pool and looked at the phenomenon below. “Tell me.”

  “It’s almost mythological,” Quintilian said, gesturing with the walking stick. “His name was Anowath. An Oastling, just like those you see here. Long before the Troika closed its borders, long before any of us traders were around, he was an explorer. He visited the Casmarrans—he may have even journeyed beyond Troika space. But he also visited the Dromax.”

  “I can’t see them liking that,” Georgiou said.

  “I don’t know if their dislike for Oastlings had developed yet. But it sure did while he was there.”

  “Because he found the Cascade.”

  “Found it—and used it, trying to figure out what it was. The true mark of an explorer.” He smiled at her. “You are one, too, it seems.”

  She frowned. “You knew the Cascade existed? What it was?”

  “There isn’t much Gnaeus doesn’t tell me.”

  “Yes, but why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You didn’t ask. Besides, you left in a bit of a hurry.” He began pacing the circumference of the pool. “An Oastling is a curious thing, bundling so much mental energy. Going through the Cascade, he came out normal. But his duplicate, inside, was shattered.”