Trek It!

by Robert T. Jeschonek

  "Folcrum knew how to hear the garden talk," said the synthesized male voice from the multiterpreter. "Do you?"

  Oric nodded and answered. Mariko had learned enough Vox to understand his words before they appeared in English on the multiterpreter's display. "I am a good listener."

  Mariko entered more text and triggered the speech synthesizer. "Please help me to hear the garden."

  "I will do what I can," said Oric.

  Mariko typed on the multiterpreter's keypad. "I must find the history of the first coming of the Mazeesh," said the voice from the multiterpreter. "Where do I begin?"

  Oric closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. After a moment, he released the breath and opened his eyes. "Not here," he said. "This section relates to the worldwide plague of five thousand years ago."

  Turning, he moved along the red dirt path through the garden, stopping every few meters to sample the local fragrances. Mariko followed, fascinated by the ease with which he seemed to accomplish what had so far stymied both the scanner and multiterpreter.

  "The overthrow of the great tyrants," said Oric, barely pausing by a patch of glowing purple blossoms. "Two thousand years ago."

  On the fly, Mariko scanned the air he sampled, trying to identify the nature of the signals he was interpreting. Though there were many differences between samples, she could find no factors that varied consistently and predictably, producing patterns that could be associated with coded language.

  So how was he doing it?

  "We're getting closer," he said, taking a second whiff near a fall of what looked like crimson Spanish moss with a million twinkling gold blossoms laced through it. "The start of the Age of Science, five hundred years ago."

  He had to be homing in on some characteristic of the floral scents that she was missing…but what? If the secret did not lie in the molecular composition of the scent-producing esters, what other variable could serve as the basis for data storage and retrieval?

  It occurred to her that perhaps she should think smaller.

  "Four hundred years ago," said Oric, a little further along the winding path. "The Child Wars and Silent Times."

  Perhaps, as unlikely as it seemed, the key existed at an atomic level…or even subatomic.

  Oric led her down an offshoot of the main path that ended in a secluded thicket. He stopped and breathed deeply, then nodded. "Here we are," he said. "Three hundred years ago."

  Pocketing the scanner, Mariko typed on the multiterpreter's keypad. "Where does the story begin?" said the multiterpreter.

  Oric drew another breath and let it out slowly. "On the fourth night of the month of Utan in the year of Tolera Vosh, golden orbs came down from the stars," he said. "They landed near the capital city of Comu and did not open until morning."

  Mariko typed and the multiterpreter spoke. "I meant what scent begins the story. Show me the flower that tells you the very beginning."

  Oric bent down and reached for a white-cupped blossom, like a lily with glittering purple petal tips. "This one," he said. "The om radla, or year flower."

  "When you listen to this flower," Mariko said through the multiterpreter, "what word or words do you hear?"

  "I hear the words 'Tolera Vosh,'" said Oric. "'Year 7430.'"

  "Can you find another year flower?" said Mariko. "For another year?"

  Wrinkling his furry snout, Oric sniffed. He stepped to one side and touched a blossom that was identical to the first, but with emerald petal tips. "This one says 'Culan Vosh' and 'year 7431.'"

  Crouching, Mariko aimed the scanner at the first year flower, analyzing the invisible ester vapors wafting from the scent glands in its petals. After logging the molecular composition of the vapor, she went further, probing the structures of the atoms that made up the molecules…and the particles that made up the atoms.

  Then, she moved to the second year flower pointed out by Oric and performed identical scans, from the molecular level to the subatomic. When the scanner's memory held complete data for the ester molecules of both flowers, Mariko ran a point-by-point comparison of their properties.

  There was no difference between the esters of the two flowers at the molecular level; each was composed of the same number of the same types of atoms in exactly the same formation. However, continued analysis revealed divergence at the subatomic level.

  Within the nuclei of otherwise identical atoms, the quark particles that made up the protons and neutrons had unexpected color charges. Whereas protons and neutrons in most ordinary matter contained one quark of each color – red, green, and blue – Mariko found protons and neutrons with two quarks of one color and one of another, or three quarks of the same color. For example, oxygen atoms in the first flower's ester contained protons with two green quarks and one blue quark; otherwise identical atoms from the second flower contained one green quark and two blue quarks.

  As hard as it was to believe, it seemed that the Vox had not only learned to control the properties of subatomic particles via gardening, but had developed olfactory senses sophisticated enough to detect differences in color charge between quarks.

  Just as all data in a computer was reduced to ones and zeroes, the data in the Garden of Yesterday was represented by different combinations of red, green, and blue quarks…a trinary instead of a binary system. By determining which combinations were assigned to which numerical and phonemic values, Mariko could finally tap into the information flowing through the air around her.

  She figured out the numerical values first; they were simplest, since only a single digit separated the date coded in the first flower's ester from the date supplied by the second flower.

  Mariko located quarks with abnormal color charge configurations in chains of carbon atoms in the ester molecules…specifically, atoms of carbon-12, an isotope with six protons and twelve neutrons, each containing three quarks. In the first carbon-12 atom in each chain, seven of the protons and neutrons contained trios of quarks with identical red color charges; this matched the first digit of the date, seven. The next carbon-12 atom included four trios of red quarks, matching the second digit of the date.

  The third atom in the chain had three trios of red quarks…but the difference between the scent molecules from the two flowers appeared in the fourth atom in the chain. In molecules from the second flower, the fourth carbon-12 atom had one trio of red quarks; the same atom in molecules from the first flower had one trio of blue quarks…which Mariko took to represent zero.

  Looking at the results of her analysis, she could clearly see that the scent of the first flower was tagged with the number 7430, and the scent of the second flower with 7431.

  She felt a brief rush of pride and elation. Finally, she had found the key to the Garden of Yesterday.

  Now, the question was, would she be able to use it in time?

  Though numbers were coded in a relatively simple way, applying the trinary system to language phonemes would be more complicated. At least she had a place to start: the names of the years – Tolera Vosh and Culan Vosh – shared multiple phonemes; by comparing the two in trinary code, she would quickly be able to spot the differences between them and assign consonants and vowels to specific quark color combinations.

  With Oric's help, she then would identify Vox phonemes in the scent molecules of other flowers. Once she had assigned quark values to each basic unit of the Vox language, she would construct a conversion matrix that would enable her to read and record data from any flower in the garden.

  So she had a plan of attack…and in that regard, was light-years ahead of where she'd been just a few minutes earlier…but it would take time to execute. She didn't know how much time she had to do the work, but she worried that it would not be enough. She worried that the situation on the planet's surface had already deteriorated past the point of no return, and by the time she'd get back to Captain Swift, he would be as dead as Folcrum and Yama.

  As if she hadn't been through enough since coming to Vox, the fate of the world was in her ha
nds…and time was racing away from her at high speed.

  *****

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Until a few moments ago, flying the Exogenesis away from Vox at G5 speed had still been an option. Though Martin had never seriously considered exercising that option, even under orders from Captain Swift, it had been comforting to know that he could do it if he liked. Given the Exogenesis's superior speed, he could have taken the ship out of orbit at the drop of a hat and evaded the slower leviathans of the invasion fleet, whisking himself and the rest of the crew to safety.

  Now, all of a sudden, that option was lost to him.

  The great golden ships of the fleet, which until now had seemed to overlook the tiny star cruiser, had taken notice of her. Just a few moments ago, two of the massive vessels had moved toward the Exogenesis, closing in from different directions; Tanner had changed course several times, trying to slip out of the way, but the juggernauts had followed and continued their advance.

  Then, they had snapped the trap shut, launching fighter craft to block the remaining avenues of escape.

  Now, the Exogenesis was surrounded – hemmed in by juggernauts at bow and stern and fighters in every other direction. No one had fired a shot at her, but the time for G5 – or even G1 – was long gone.

  "So much for staying under their radar," said Tanner, looking back over his shoulder from the helm.

  "I guess we ought to make ourselves comfortable," said Martin. "They seem to want us to stick around a bit."

  The viewer was filled from edge to edge with the image of the giant vessel before them, its glittering golden surface bristling with destructive apparatus. Exogenesis's protective hull plating was engaged…but even so, Martin had no illusions about the star cruiser's chances of withstanding a barrage from all that firepower.

  And he didn't need to run a single simulation to know that trying to fight their way free would be a suicide mission for the crew.

  Things must have been going pretty badly on the planet's surface for the Exogenesis to warrant so much attention. Martin hated to consider it, but he thought it likely that the invaders had corralled the star cruiser for use as a bargaining chip…or in response to a perceived offense committed by her officers on the surface; otherwise, the fleet would have surrounded Exogenesis immediately upon entering orbit instead of leaving the ship to her own devices for a while and then suddenly snaring her.

  So what exactly was happening on the planet's surface, wondered Martin.

  Whatever was going on down there, it couldn't have gone irretrievably wrong yet, he thought. Exogenesis's continued existence was proof of that.

  At the same time, he doubted that Captain Swift had encountered clear sailing in negotiating between the Vox and Mazeesh.

  "Switch viewer to port angle," said Martin, and Ensign Neruda complied. Immediately, the image of the golden warship was replaced by a view of the planet Vox seen from orbit…though somewhat occluded by the swarm of fighters encircling Exogenesis.

  As he stared at the screen, Martin wished that he could peer through the clouds, straight down to the surface, to see for himself what was happening to Captain Swift and the others.

  Instead, he did the next best thing. "Bio signs check, Mr. Levy," he said. "Start with the captain."

  A moment later, Ensign Levy spoke up from the science station. "Electrostatic interference in the ministry building is clouding sensors, but we're receiving telemetry on Captain Swift, sir. So far as we can tell, his heart rate and blood pressure are elevated."

  "He's still surrounded?" said Martin.

  "Yes, sir," said Levy. "Seven Mazeesh bio signs in close proximity to the captain. Thirty more in the building, over a hundred within a one block radius."

  It was no wonder Swift was feeling a little stress. "The Subcommander's bio signs?"

  "From what we can see," said Levy, "they're normal across the board."

  Martin hated to ask the next question; every time he did, he liked the answer less. "What about Commander Turner?" he said.

  Levy took a moment to examine readouts on the science console. "Everything's pretty low and irregular, sir," he said grimly. "He's not improving, that's for sure."

  Martin tried to hide the extent of his concern by jumping to the last absent crewmember. "No sign of Mariko yet?"

  "Nothing," said Levy…but the report didn't set off Martin's alarms like Turner's worsening condition. As yet, Martin had no reason to worry about Mariko; she'd gone underground about an hour and a half ago, and ship's sensors couldn't locate her bio signs due to deposits of electrostatically charged ore.

  Commander Turner was another story, though. He had sustained extensive injuries and had been unconscious for a long time; the Vox had treated some of the superficial damage, but his internal injuries had received no attention.

  And his bio signs just kept dropping. Respiration, heart rate, blood pressure, brain activity – all of them kept moving in the same direction.

  Without closer proximity to Turner, Martin couldn't know his status to a certainty…but he had an overwhelming feeling that the chief engineer's time was running out.

  He soon discovered that his feeling couldn't have been more accurate.

  He was just about to talk to Ensign Neruda about broadcasting a distress signal when Levy suddenly cried out. "Lieutenant!" the science officer said urgently. "Commander Turner's bio signs are crashing!"

  Immediately, Martin activated the comm panel on the arm of the command chair and opened a channel to the teleporter room. He was relieved when Lieutenant Debias, the seasoned engineer, answered the call.

  "We have an emergency transport!" said Martin. "What is your status?"

  "Almost up to speed," said Debias, sounding worn out. "We're a diagnostic and a test beaming away from being on-line."

  Martin muted the comm and turned to Levy. "Have the bio signs stabilized?"

  Levy shook his head gravely. "Almost gone."

  Martin reopened the comm. "Commander Turner will be your test," he said. "Levy's sending you coordinates."

  "Fifteen minutes," said Debias. "That's all we need."

  "No more time!" snapped Martin. "When I said it was an emergency transport, I meant it!"

  "You want all his pieces in the right places?" said Debias.

  Though he knew that her caution was warranted, Martin also knew that immediate beam-out was Turner's last chance. "If you buck my order for much longer," he said coldly, "it won't matter. We're losing him."

  Debias hesitated for a split second. "I want my objection noted for the record," she said finally.

  "So noted," said Martin.

  "We'll do our best," she said, and then she closed the comm channel without further comment.

  The next three minutes were among the longest that Martin could remember.

  He ordered a medical team to the teleporter room, and then he waited. Everyone on the bridge hung in tense anticipation, staring at consoles, the viewer, or off into space. The heavily armed vessels surrounding Exogenesis no longer seemed to hold much interest for them.

  The wait was perhaps most agonizing for the man who had given the order to transport. Visions of teleporter accidents flared in Martin's mind; he gnashed his teeth at the thought that he might have just ordered Zeke Turner's execution.

  In the short time that they had served together, Martin had come to know and appreciate the chief engineer; as self-contained and driven as Martin could be, he had even come to consider Zeke a friend. Though he had done what he had thought was the right thing given the circumstances, he knew that if the transport killed Turner, the guilt would weigh on him for the rest of his life.

  Three minutes went by like three hours…and Levy broke the silence.

  "Transport's in progress," he said. "Commander Turner is no longer on the planet's surface."

  Martin said nothing. Resting his chin on steepled fingers, he awaited the verdict, all too aware that turning back was now impossible.

  A mom
ent passed, and then another. The comm channel opened.

  "Debias here," said the voice from the teleporter room, and at first Martin could tell nothing from her tone.

  He held his breath.

  "The test was a success," said Debias, audibly relieved. "We got him. And everything's where it's supposed to be, from what I can see."

  Martin's breath rushed out of him in a gust of pent-up tension. "Do we have a preliminary medical assessment yet?"

  "Don't ask," hollered Crewman Sanders in the background.

  "At least tell me he's alive," said Martin.

  "I will," shouted Sanders, "just as soon as we bring him back, sir."

  Martin swallowed hard but couldn't get the lump out of his throat. "Understood," he said evenly. "Bridge out."

  As he switched off the comm., he realized that the entire bridge crew had returned to a state of suspension, single-mindedly awaiting the outcome of the drama being played out two decks below them.

  For a long moment, Martin was right there with them, drifting in limbo…until his sense of duty – and his need to take his mind off the situation – snapped him out of it.

  Shooting out of the command chair, he rounded the bridge stations, dealing out orders like playing cards…giving everyone a reason to keep busy and dwell on something other than the imperiled chief engineer.

  At the science station, he smacked his palm down on the console, just hard enough to rouse Ensign Levy. "Any sign of Mariko yet?" said Martin.

  Levy checked readouts and shook his head. "Nothing."

  "Keep watching," said Martin. "And try for a teleporter lock on the captain and J'Tull."

  "That'll be hard to come by," said Levy, "with the electrostatic sensor distortion down there."

  "Then it's a good thing you like a challenge, Ensign," said Martin as he proceeded to Communications.

  Ensign Neruda looked up as he approached. "Transmit a multi-lingual distress signal on all frequencies," said Martin. "Maybe there's a Hephaestan ship in the sector. I'd even settle for some Gorlacks right now."

  "Aye, sir," said Neruda, brushing her luxurious dark hair behind one ear.