Seekers

by Dayton Ward

  “I’m sorry, Captain,” he said by way of greeting. “I broke away as quickly as I could.” Moving to an empty chair on Leone’s side of the table, he added, “We’ve got a lot happening down there.”

  Khatami nodded in understanding. Her crew had been working nonstop almost since the Endeavour’s arrival at Arethusa. “Anything new?”

  “We’re still working through the data collected by Commander Theriault and her landing party from their interactions with the Tomol and the Preserver artifact. There are definite similarities to this object and the one the Enterprise found on that planet with the transplanted humans from Earth. In that case, the Preserver obelisk’s primary function was to act as a defense against asteroids that might threaten the planet. Given the presence of a similar structure here and based on what’s already been translated from the glyphs it contains, it’s obvious that the obelisk down below has been there for a very, very long time and it’s there for some specific purpose regarding the Tomol. We’re still trying to determine the scope of its abilities.”

  Leone said, “Seta seems to think it’s the only thing that can stop the mutated Tomol from doing . . . whatever it is they’re going to do.”

  “Can she help?” Khatami asked. “I know she thinks she’s not yet ready or trained to deal with this sort of thing, but surely she has some basic knowledge we can use as a starting point.”

  The science officer nodded. “That’s what I’m hoping. If we can get inside the obelisk, our existing knowledge of Preserver technology should help us to connect at least some of the dots. The Sagittarius crew has already done a bit of this, and I’m confident we can carry it further, but I think we’d have better luck going down to the site and examining the obelisk firsthand.”

  “Why did I know you were going to say that?” Kha­tami asked, forcing herself to suppress a knowing smile. It made sense for the science officer to want direct interaction with the object of his study, and there were limits to what could be accomplished aboard ship, particularly with the Preserver obelisk and most of its surrounding underground cavern shielded from the Endeavour’s sensors. “How soon can you be ready to go?”

  “A few hours, I think,” Klisiewicz replied. “I’m having the computer run comparative analysis of the data collected by the Sagittarius landing party and information from our memory banks on the obelisk the Enterprise found. I figure even if the particulars aren’t identical, there may be some commonality we can use to gain access.”

  Leone said, “That works out just about right. I should be done with my tests on Seta by then, and she’s already said she’s willing to let us help her to understand the thing.”

  “Perfect,” Khatami said, tapping the table with one fingernail before pushing herself from her chair, the action signaling to her officers that the meeting was concluded. “Keep me informed as to your progress.”

  Rising from his own seat, Klisiewicz said, “Aye, aye, Captain.”

  “That goes double for you, Doctor. Keep a close eye on our guest.”

  Leone nodded. “If she decides to blow up the ship,” he said, “you’ll be the first to know.”

  * * *

  Alone in his quarters, Stephen Klisiewicz leaned forward in the high-backed chair positioned before the desk. Holding a cup of coffee in one hand, he used the other to activate his workstation’s computer interface terminal. “Computer, status of data analysis task.”

  “Working,” replied the monotone, feminine voice of the Endeavour’s main computer. “The object scanned below planet’s surface is four times larger than the similar artifact discovered by the U.S.S. Enterprise on stardate 4842.5. Comparative analysis of external markings on both objects confirms language similarity, including identical instances of symbols that indicate common words and phrases. However, there are a significant number of distinct differences in the character sets of both objects. Without further information pertaining to the larger object’s functional purpose, direct translation of all symbols is not possible at this time.”

  Klisiewicz leaned back in his chair and reached up to rub the bridge of his nose before running one hand through his dark hair. “Well, that was predictable,” he muttered. He had assigned the starship’s artificial intelligence to collate the sensor data collected by the Sagittarius landing party during their investigation of the Preserver pyramid beneath the surface of Arethusa and cross-check it against information in the data banks pertaining to the similar, smaller object discovered by the U.S.S. Enterprise on the planet Amerind. He also had instructed the computer to include in its analysis the data collected by the Endeavour’s sensors of the obelisk below and the surrounding area. He knew that latter component likely would prove less than helpful, given the interference from mineral deposits in the rock and soil beneath the Preserver artifact. “Computer, are you able to create a translation protocol for the tonal language depicted on the larger obelisk?”

  “Negative. Insufficient information.”

  “Of course not.” Cradling his coffee in both hands, he absently tapped the cup with his fingers. There was no denying that the Preserver obelisks were astounding pieces of engineering, complex and yet designed with the intention of being easily accessed and utilized by people lacking advanced technological knowledge, so deciphering how to access the inner workings of the structure here on Arethusa should be possible, if time-consuming. The artifact likely possessed all the answers he sought, though none of the Tomol seemed to know what questions to pose, and Klisiewicz had not yet learned how to ask them himself. “What about its power source?” he asked, more to himself than anything else. Then, for the computer’s benefit, he said, “Show me the schematic of the Arethusa obelisk, in relation to its present location.” In response to the query, the image on his workstation monitor shifted to depict a graphic representation of the object, including those areas of its foundation that extended into the bedrock beneath it. He noted what looked to be a tunnel extending from the bottom of the structure deep into the bedrock. “How far does that conduit extend from the bottom of the obelisk into the bedrock?”

  “Two thousand, seven hundred thirty-seven kilometers.”

  “All the way down to the planet’s outer core,” Klisiewicz said, again to himself. “So it’s drawing energy from thermal heat, and the reserves of that energy would be enormous. It has to be four thousand degrees down there.”

  “Four thousand, two hundred six point seven degrees Celsius,” the computer answered.

  Rolling his eyes, Klisiewicz took a sip of his coffee, which he noted was growing cold. “Whatever. Based on the sensor readings for power generation and usage, and extrapolating from geothermal energy available to it based on its present configuration, compute a percentage of the structure’s maximum power output against its current usage levels.”

  “Working.” The computer seemed to ponder his request for an additional moment, and Klisiewicz sat in silence while finishing his coffee. Then it replied, “Current energy operations are estimated at six point four percent of total capacity.”

  “Six point four percent? That’s all?” If the computer’s calculations were correct, and he had no reason to suspect otherwise, then the obelisk was barely dipping its proverbial toe into the pool of energy available to it. Given what the structure already seemed to be doing, Klisiewicz was hard-pressed to imagine what it might be capable of if circumstances required it to max out its power usage. “Computer, compare this obelisk’s output potential to the one on Amerind. How much more powerful is this one?”

  After another pause, the computer answered, “If utilized in similar fashion, the maximum power output of this object is twelve times greater in capacity. Insufficient data exists to determine uses for energy at these levels.”

  He did not need that information. The obelisk found by the Enterprise had been capable of altering the trajectory of a massive asteroid moving at incredible speed on a collision course
with Amerind. The structure here, possessing twelve times that level of energy, Klisiewicz realized, could destroy every ship in Starfleet in a single attack.

  Or a planet. Or this planet.

  “Damn,” he said. However, as he considered that horrific scenario, Klisiewicz decided it simply did not fit with what was known about the Preservers. With that in mind, was the obelisk here intended to act in some defensive capacity, and if so, for what? If its builders had designed it as a weapon against the Tomol in the event their transformation presented some as yet unknown threat, then that implied they wanted to take no chances that the Changed might be able to escape the planet.

  Or maybe they had no idea how big a stick they might need, so they opted for overkill.

  “And who does that look like?” he said aloud, posing the question to his otherwise empty quarters. While their histories suggested wildly diverging paths, in general terms the Preservers seemed to have much in common with the Shedai, who also once had a propensity for “going all in,” as Doctor Leone had put it. Indeed, considering what the Sagittarius crew had learned during their own investigation of the Preserver pyramid and the possibility that the Shedai somehow were involved in the Tomol being here on Arethusa, perhaps this was a connection that required further exploration.

  “Computer, disengage and deactivate,” he said, copying the results of the analysis to a microtape, which he ejected from the workstation. Rising from his chair, he carried the tape across his quarters to the shelf above his bed. Among the few mementoes displayed there—a photograph of his parents on their wedding day, a figurine from his first visit to Alpha Centauri, and a leather-bound copy of The Teachings of Surak—was a century-old hand scanner. The device, a distant precursor to Starfleet’s current model of tricorder, had been a gift from his friend Lieutenant Ming Xiong. They had met as a consequence of their both being assigned to Starbase 47, Klisiewicz with the Endeavour while Xiong had served as the station’s archaeology and anthropology officer.

  To Klisiewicz, the scanner represented more than a fascinating era of exploration long ago consigned to the pages of history. Xiong had given it to him not long before his death, describing it as a token of appreciation from one science officer to another as an acknowledgment of service together, and as a gesture of friendship between the two men. Klisiewicz recalled their brief and what ultimately had been their final meeting, and that Xiong had been troubled by the potential for abuse of the Shedai technology they had labored to understand, by enemies of the Federation as well as misguided individuals within Starfleet’s ranks. Xiong had described it as sensing a turning of the tide and said that steps had to be taken to safeguard the information that had been collected at such great cost.

  Perhaps it was this distress that had motivated Xiong to give the scanner to Klisiewicz and then to explain that it was only a century old on the outside.

  Opening the device’s gunmetal gray casing revealed a thoroughly contemporary and completely self-contained computer interface. He caressed the internal module, imagining he could sense the power and potential held within its data banks, which had been filled to capacity with every scrap of known information about the Shedai, collected by Ming Xiong during his time assigned to Operation Vanguard.

  After the destruction of Starbase 47 and the termination of Project Vanguard, Starfleet had ordered all data and materials classified and archived under heavy security. The computer memory banks of each of the starships involved at any point with the project had been scrubbed of all but the most innocuous information pertaining to the Shedai and the Taurus Reach. As far as Starfleet was concerned, the project was a taboo subject, never to be spoken of again. Possessing the data Klisiewicz now held in his hands would be sufficient to end his Starfleet career and see him sentenced to life imprisonment at a top-­security penal facility.

  But you knew a time like this would come, didn’t you, Ming?

  Despite his realization that the project would soon be ended and all of its data buried, Xiong was firm in his belief that the knowledge he had gathered was not itself inherently good or evil and thus should not be feared, as it had been by many in Starfleet Command’s highest echelons. Despite anticipating this reaction, Xiong was convinced that even with the apparent destruction of the Shedai, there remained all manner of other worlds and civilizations to be explored in the Taurus Reach, any number of which could have been impacted by the once all-powerful race. The information he and his colleagues had gathered might one day be of use when encountering such planets and their peoples. With that in mind, he had entrusted a copy of the data to Klisiewicz. The computer interface contained within the scanner was stand-alone, capable of operating without interfacing with another system, such as the Endeavour’s main computer. This was by design on Xiong’s part, to avoid anyone else learning of the data archive’s existence, but knowing that a need might arise for Klisiewicz or someone he trusted to access the invaluable information.

  Like now, for instance.

  He opened the compact device’s display screen and ­entered a decryption sequence to its keypad. As the access protocols were enabled, he slid the microtape from his workstation into a slot on the unit’s side. He then entered a command for the diminutive computer to compare the information on the microtape against its internal database.

  Somewhere within that small yet vast storehouse of knowledge, Klisiewicz knew there had to be answers. They were just waiting for the right questions to be asked.

  I guess we’ll see about that.

  10

  It was quiet, and everything looked peaceful to Katherine Stano, or at least as peaceful as one could expect from an area recently subjected to orbital bombardment.

  “You guys sure were thorough,” said Lieutenant Commander Vanessa Theriault, first officer of the Sagittarius, as she moved to stand next to Stano, and together they studied what had been the crash site for the Klingon bird-of-prey. Theriault, like her fellow Sagittarius crew members, wore a soiled and torn drab green jumpsuit, whereas Stano was dressed in a gold tunic and black trousers. Aboard ship, the first officer tended to prefer the skant uniform variant, opting to change to more appropriate attire for landing party excursions.

  Stano nodded. “We do our best,” she said, her tone somber as she regarded the scene of destruction. The entire area was a wasteland, with massive craters pockmarking the landscape. Trees had been felled or simply blown apart, and whatever other vegetation might once have been here was gone or scorched beyond all recognition. Thin plumes of white-gray smoke rose from a few small, residual fires. Those few boulders that remained visible had been shattered into smaller pieces and strewn about the site, some now lying at the bottom of the wide shallow craters along with portions of destroyed trees and other debris Stano could not identify. When they had arrived, the area had been as silent as a tomb, which to her seemed an apt description considering what had happened here. However, she now heard the faint telltale sounds of indigenous animal and insect life beginning to reassert themselves in the jungle around them. Lieutenant Klisiewicz had briefed the landing party on what to expect from the local nonsentient inhabitants, and while they had spotted nothing that might pose a significant threat, at least some of the noises she was hearing gave Stano pause.

  I don’t think I’ll want to be spending the night down here.

  “I can’t believe anything survived this,” Theriault said. “You’re sure about that?”

  “Yeah,” Stano replied. “Our sensors detected a half dozen Tomol life-forms and—incredibly—a single ­Klingon.”

  Theriault frowned. “According to our sensor logs, there was one Klingon aboard the bird-of-prey when we shot it down. How he survived, I have no idea.”

  “I don’t think it’s the same Klingon,” Stano said, describing to her fellow first officer how a scan of the area following the bombardment had picked up a single ­Klingon life sign in the general vicinity, and expla
ining why she thought it unlikely he or she had been aboard the bird-of-prey. According to Theriault and Captain Terrell, other Klingons were operating on the planet’s surface, and several of them had been killed by Nimur, the Tomol who had undergone what her people called the Change and who now seemed to be organizing others of her kind. What she and her new followers might do was anyone’s guess, but with the Sagittarius still marooned on the planet pending the completion of its repairs, the scout ship made for a ­viable target.

  The chirp of her communicator interrupted Stano’s thoughts, and she activated it. “Stano here.”

  “Lieutenant Lerax here, Commander,” replied the voice of the Endeavour’s chief of security, who at present was leading the security detail that had accompanied Stano to the surface. “We have detected the approach of several Tomol and a single Klingon. They are coming on foot, from the approximate direction of their main village, and their life readings do not appear to match the ones you warned us about.”

  Tensing despite the Edoan officer’s report, Stano felt her hand moving for the phaser pistol resting on her right hip. She stopped short of brandishing the weapon but did allow her palm to rest on its handgrip. Visitors from the Tomol village.

  “Remember what we told you about their Wardens, or guards, or whatever they are,” Theriault said. “They have procedures and weapons in the event one of their kind undergoes the Change, and they’ve been working to capture or contain Nimur from the beginning.”

  “Right,” Stano replied. “If that’s the case, then I’m happy for the extra help.” Still, until she had a better handle on the evolving situation, she was not about to take any chances. Raising the communicator back to her lips, she said, “Lerax, you’re sure this isn’t Nimur’s group?”