Well, not entirely straight. There was a subtle bend to the tram’s path, angling off to the left and then coming back to the right after a time. “I was hoping I’d be able to look ahead and see the back of our own tram,” Krotine protested.
“Apologies,” Vikei said, “but such an uninterrupted path could allow for dangerous feedback effects. A light shone down such a path, for instance, would continuously cycle through and reinforce itself, creating a runaway amplification that could be quite dangerous.”
“Aww,” Garcia said. “So you mean there isn’t some pit where you can drop something straight down and have it hit you on the head?” The women laughed.
“In fact, there are a few such enclosed conduits that function as generators, drawing electric power from a metal ball falling continuously at terminal velocity,” Vikei said. “Although they have feedback safeguards in place as well. I would be happy to show you one.”
“Just a generator?” Krotine sighed. “I was hoping for something more like indoor skydiving.”
“Oh, we have that too,” Vikei said, sounding disappointed. “I will take you to the recreation facility if you wish.”
“Skydiving not your thing?” Garcia asked.
The Siri took a moment to parse her idiom, all six eyestalks focusing on her from several angles. “No, it’s simply that the terminal-velocity generators are a Siri invention. My people were—are—rather accomplished engineers.”
“So you’re not just servants to the Selakar?”
The eyestalks looked around the car in all directions. “This is our stop,” Vikei said.
“Which stop?” Krotine asked.
“Please, just come.”
The young Boslic looked at Garcia, who gave her a small nod. “Oh, right,” Krotine said, catching on that Vikei had a secret he wished to share. “Lead on.”
Selakar-Era Axis Outpost
Early Ionian Age, Middle Pleistocene Epoch
“Thank you for coming,” Lirahn said as she led Ranjea into the moderate-sized way station situated at the access point for her era. The council session was in recess for mealtime, and Lirahn had offered to show him this sample of her own era, clearly with an ulterior motive or two. Ranjea was playing along in hopes of gathering information, pretending to be responsive to her unsubtle sexual advances in order to get her off her guard, though he found it highly distasteful to use seduction to manipulate another.
“Not at all,” he replied in his most charming voice, keeping his misgivings sequestered within his mind. “I’m fascinated to learn more of your era. You’ve been oddly reticent about it before,” he said, his tone conveying merely regret rather than suspicion.
“Yes, I’m sorry, Ranjea. It’s simply . . . it’s difficult to speak of. Look around you,” she said. The station they walked through was spacious yet largely vacant. Beyond the reasonably well-maintained docking area, the corridors appeared worn and neglected. What occupants the station had were mostly Selakar and their Siri servants. “Few from my time remain to take care of this facility,” Lirahn went on. “And no one new has come for some time. Not until I discovered it.”
“What happened?”
Lirahn bowed her head and wrapped her arms around herself as if chilled. “War. Centuries of horrible warfare, tearing across the galaxy.” Ranjea responded to her cue, putting an arm around her back to warm her. The two-meter-plus Selakar glanced down at him in gratitude, holding the gaze for a smoldering moment, before continuing. “We thought ourselves to inhabit such an enlightened time. Over the millennia, the dominant races of the galaxy had developed our technology, our bodies, and most of all our minds to ever greater levels. We had banished disease and want. Our advanced telepathy brought mutual understanding, an anodyne to conflict. We had the means to fulfill our every desire.”
She shook her head. “But such fulfillment only feeds ambition. It is the instinct of the animal to need, to crave, to lust,” she said, her voice husky as her eyes held his again. “With every reasonable need fulfilled, ambition becomes unreasonable.”
Lirahn stepped away, withdrawing the temptation in order to tantalize him. “Some of the great races came to think of themselves as gods, entitled to master the universe and remake it in their image. Dominant among them was the Arret Empire, a consortium of two great races, allies for so long they thought of themselves as a single nation.” She looked him over. “One could have been the forebear of your own species, Ranjea, for the resemblance was great. The other may have been an ancestor of Councillor Temarel. For a hundred thousand years, they both spread across the galaxy, terraforming and settling worlds, gradually remaking it in their image. It was a benevolent conquest, though; where they found junior races, they mentored and cultivated them.
“But as the worlds ran out, their ambition remained. Both races craved dominion over the galaxy, and the longtime allies began to see one another as rivals. Countless generations of law and custom stayed them at first, but their minds were so powerful that subconscious desires could manifest and influence lesser, suggestible races. And so began a great war by proxy, as their junior allies turned on one another, finally drawing the master races into conflict as well. It was reluctant at first, but eventually their buried resentments erupted and became the driving force of the war. Now they openly used the other races as pawns in their great struggle, expending and disposing of them en masse. In their pursuit of godhood, they laid waste to their domain.”
“Could no one stop them?” Ranjea asked. “Surely there were other races of comparable power.”
“A few. But some had their own cravings for power. One race used their mastery of illusion to entice lesser breeds and draw them into their menagerie to be bred as pets and exhibits. Others erected temples on primitive worlds and presented themselves as literal gods, wielding their psionic gifts as proof of divinity. When the war spread to their territories, they fought back with all their means, but for their own power and rule, not for any others’ defense. They only spread the devastation further.”
Ranjea moved closer, reaching up to stroke her cheek in comfort that he wished could be more than superficial. “And what of your own people? Surely your mental powers rivaled the others’.”
She shook her elegant head. “We strove to protect those we could. The Selakar had spent thousands of years bringing prosperity and enlightenment to the races of our region of the galaxy. We could not bear to see them fall prey to the insanity. But we were surrounded, outnumbered. Our worlds were devastated, our power broken. The survivors were scattered, left to wander in search of refuge from the enemies who hunted us.”
She drew a trembling breath. “None found it . . . save us.” She gestured around her at the station. “We stumbled upon the Axis after the fall of the local civilization that had traded with it. They had hoarded the knowledge of the Axis, so it was lost with them, unknown to our enemies. We found this station nearly vacant, for most of those who built and maintained it had returned home to defend their people—and die with them. But we had nothing left to fight for, and so the station became our refuge. The other races of the Axis took us in, helped us regain our footing. Their generosity saved us.”
Her body language was strong, confident, despite the vulnerability in her words. But did that make it deception, he wondered, or simply an armor against despair? What if her tale were sincere?
She turned back to face him, her arms falling about his shoulders. “Now do you see why I value the trading potential of the Axis so deeply? My small remnant of a once-great race owes its continued existence to the goods shared with us freely across the millennia. And perhaps, if the council had not placed such strictures on trade before, the builders of this station might have been better able to defend themselves. I feel an obligation to them for giving us a new home. It’s too late to save them, but if I can loosen the council’s restrictions on trade, perhaps it can save another civilization in another era from a similar fate.”
He clasped her shoulders. �
��And you brought me here to persuade me to loosen my stance.”
“To show you why it is necessary, Ranjea. I could not make this case so effectively in the council chambers. There, the traditions of the Axis pervade the very walls. My voice could not be as strong.”
“It seems you have a number of allies on the council already.”
“Sympathizers, perhaps. But tradition still reigns, so long as a reactionary like Shiiem still holds sway. He obstructs all efforts to liberalize trade.” Her hands now roved across his smooth scalp. “Should you continue to advocate against your era’s use of the Axis, it would simply add another voice to the forces of tradition.”
“Lirahn . . . you know my obligation is to protect the timeline.”
“But what use is protecting the timeline if you do not protect the people within it? How is the transformation of a civilization’s history worse than its eradication? How is forgetting an old life worse than having your life end in agony and fear?” Her hands roved down his body now, with considerable skill. “Of course there should be safeguards, but they should not be so draconian as to render them hollow of purpose.” Her face loomed closer over his. “You can understand that . . . can’t you?”
Her kiss was aggressive, overwhelming, her embrace too strong to resist. Her mind probed into his just as avidly as her hands pulled off his suit. He went with it, responding in kind, meeting her power with skill, gaining the initiative by giving before she could take. He tasted her emotions, sought understanding of who and what she was. He found great conviction, anger, and need for control, but vulnerability and loss as well. He would have to meditate on them later to probe for their meaning. For now, there was only giving and sharing.
But only to a point. Once Lirahn was breathless with ecstasy, too overcome to dominate him anymore, he brought her back down gently and stepped away. “I believe the meal interval is ending,” he told her, his tone apologetic. “We should dress and return.”
Her displeasure at that suggestion was the most honest emotion he’d sensed from her. “I could call for a postponement.”
Ranjea smiled. “My partner would worry.”
“Be jealous, more like,” Lirahn said with a chuckle. “Not that I blame her. Though I imagine even a taste of your passion would be too much for her little mind to take.”
Suddenly Ranjea was very eager to bring the interaction to an end.
Axis Hub Station
Middle Calabrian Age, Lower Pleistocene
Vikei led the Federation women into a long conduit stretching out (back?) from the downtime end of the hub station. “For a long time,” the Siri explained once he was confident they were alone, “we were unable to be anything but the Selakar’s servants. Now—in my own time—the Siri are free, except here.”
“Free?” Krotine asked, her green eyes widening in her pleasant gold-skinned face. “You mean you were slaves?”
“Yes, though most of us were unable to admit it. The Selakar held our minds in thrall, made us eager to serve them. In our own time, the Selakar’s power was broken in the Great Psionic War, freeing our people—those who survived. But Lirahn and her allies discovered the Axis and fled into it before they could be captured. Most Siri here remain in her power, glad to debase themselves to her.”
Great Psionic War? Half a million years ago? The archaeologist in Garcia was jumping up and down, eager to ask more. She knew of at least two powerful telepathic races, the Talosians and the Sargonians, whose starfaring civilizations had fallen in vast wars around that time. Was it possible they’d been participants in some even greater galactic conflict?
But this was not the time for that. Not when Lirahn was keeping slaves. “But you’re not under her control,” Garcia said.
“Normally I submit to it, but I can break free when I need to.”
“How?”
“With help and training from certain others. I am taking you to meet them. They will tell you more about Lirahn’s plans.”
Garcia smiled. “You’re a great tour guide, Vikei. That’s exactly what I was hoping to see.”
Soon they reached a small chamber at the far downtime end of the conduit. It was nondescript save for its occupant, a Zcham female even leaner than Shiiem, though evidently in good health for her species. “Please sit,” the Zcham said. Once the women had complied, the lanky, bronze-skinned humanoid stepped behind them and placed a silver-tattooed hand on each of their heads. After a moment, she released her grip. “Good,” she said, then came around before them and lowered herself into a lotus position, closing her eyes.
“Um . . .” Garcia said after a moment.
The Zcham’s eyes sprang open, glowing brighter than before. “Welcome,” she said in a deeper, masculine voice which Garcia thought she recognized. “I am Shiiem.”
Garcia blinked. “Uhh . . . are you related to Councillor Shiiem?”
“I am Councillor Shiiem.”
“The same Shiiem who’s meeting with my partner in the council chamber right now?”
“And is male?” Krotine added.
“I am using a proxy routine to operate my main body while I converse with you through the body of my colleague Hariin. This way we can speak without Lirahn being aware of it.”
Krotine looked shaken, but DTI training helped inoculate one against the weird. “So you’re some kind of telepath?” Garcia asked.
Shiiem—Hariin—whoever—shook his/her head. “In your terms, a cyborg. Mostly organic, but our integrated nanotechnology grants us many useful abilities,” he/she went on, displaying the silver patterns adorning one hand. “Such as an immunity to Lirahn’s telepathic manipulation.”
“Ah,” Garcia said. “I thought that was what you wanted to talk about. My partner and I can tell she’s up to something, but we need to know just what it is.”
“We are not entirely certain ourselves,” Shiiem said, “but much is easy to surmise. Lirahn’s race, the Selakar, were overthrown from their rule of a large portion of the galaxy, overlapping the current territory of the Vomnin Confederacy. Since coming here, Lirahn and her cronies have attempted to gain influence over the Axis. Her race has formidable psionic power, but my people’s power has been able to match it and hold it in check. However, the Axis Council is democratically elected, and she was able to sway enough of the inhabitants to win a seat. Since then, she has been exerting pressure on the other councillors—subtly enough that we cannot prove telepathic manipulation, but there is no question in my mind that she is using it.”
“So what is she trying to achieve, specifically?”
“She is advancing an agenda of freer, unrestricted trade among eras. She would strip away the safeguards we have always employed to preserve the safety of the timeline.”
“Ah-hah,” Garcia said, nodding. “Lirahn tried to convince us there was no threat to the timeline over the long run. I knew that had to be a lie.”
“Like the best lies, it has much truth to it,” Shiiem replied. “In most cases, disruptions are damped down over the long term. That is why commerce through the Axis is generally safe. But a sufficiently great disruption, or one at a significant turning point, can have much farther-reaching effects. That is why Axis commerce must be closely regulated and monitored, its potential consequences assessed carefully.” Shiiem tilted Hariin’s head. “In the early days of the Axis, the fledgling Council often had to mount temporal rescue missions to repair major timeline alterations. In at least one case, they were unsuccessful.” Garcia was afraid to ask if that case was in her future or her past. “Since then, we have developed safeguards that have kept the timeline free of long-term alterations. Now Lirahn seeks to erode those safeguards.”
“But why?” Krotine asked. “What’s in it for her?”
“We suspect her ultimate goal is to regain the power she formerly held,” Shiiem told her. “How she will do that, and whether in her own time or someone else’s, is unclear. In theory, undermining our commerce regulations might allow her to take powerful wea
pons or disruptive knowledge of the future back to her home era and use them to rebuild a power base. But the civilizations of her era were at an extremely high level of advancement, rivaling any other participant in the Axis, and far exceeding the Vomnin Confederacy with which she seems so eager to arrange free trade. What could they have to offer her?”
Krotine’s brow furrowed, stretching the chicken-track indentation that adorned her high, smooth forehead. “The Vomnin scavenge ancient technology from all over. Maybe they have access to something more advanced than their own level.”
“But it would be old, worn out,” Garcia countered. “Why not just pop down to the right era through the Axis and pick it up brand new?”
“Well, maybe they’ve unearthed some secret about Lirahn’s future, something she could use to change it?”
“The same objection holds,” Shiiem said. “There are fourteen interface zones between her era and yours. Any knowledge from her era would be far more likely to survive in a time less removed.”
The Zcham’s eyes closed for a moment. “I will have to return my full attention to the meeting soon. What matters is that, whatever her motives, Lirahn seeks power by undermining our safeguards and thus jeopardizing the timeline. It is in both our interests to resist this.”
“Who else on the Council is on your side?” Krotine asked. Security thinking: size up one’s allies and enemies.
“Only Temarel decisively stands with me. Her mental discipline lets her resist Lirahn’s influence.” So maybe she had some Vulcan heritage after all, Garcia thought. “Damyz is deep under Lirahn’s sway. He is wise and experienced, but he laments that his people are forgotten by history. It is a weakness Lirahn exploits by offering him new power.”
“And Oydia?” Garcia asked.
Shiiem sighed. “In theory, she is neutral. The Caratu are a highly social and empathic species. It has made them excellent mediators, the glue that binds the diverse races of the Axis, just as they did in their own Colloquium. But that same instinct to connect with others makes Oydia vulnerable to Lirahn’s telepathic influence. I increasingly fear she is compromised.”
Star Trek: DTI: Watching the Clock Page 16