Original Sin

by David R. George III

  “Shields up. Yellow alert,” Rogeiro said as he rose and made his way up the starboard ramp. “Is it one of the ships that attacked us?”

  “Running comparative analysis now,” Uteln said. Sisko heard the tactical officer operating his console. “Negative,” he finally said. “The vessel we’re seeing is much larger—about half again the size of the Robinson. Scans show two cylindrical projections mounted in parallel.”

  “Warp engines,” Rogeiro said after arriving beside Uteln.

  “It appears so,” the tactical officer said. “I’m reading dilithium and antimatter, but I’m also seeing significant amounts of illium six twenty-nine.”

  “Meaning that the dilithium has decrystallized,” Sisko said.

  “Aye, sir,” Uteln said. “And the antimatter exists only in trace quantities . . . more like a residue than an amount being contained as fuel.”

  “We’re in visual range,” Rogeiro said. “Commander Plante, put it on-screen, maximum magnification.”

  The viewer wavered and a dark shape appeared at its center. Barely more than a shadowy smudge against the backdrop of stars, it gave off no light of its own. Sisko could not even identify it as a ship.

  “Enhance for low light levels,” Rogeiro said.

  “Enhancing,” said Plante, working the ops console.

  On the viewer, the image popped, revealing a large vessel motionless in space. It had a single main hull, long from bow to stern, not very wide, and quite shallow. A pair of pylons extended laterally from it on each side and supported a thick, squat nacelle, plainly recognizable as a warp-drive configuration. Illustrations in various colors covered the flat surfaces of the ship, some of which appeared to depict cyclopean faces.

  “There are no matches for this ship design in any of our databases,” Uteln said.

  “Life signs?” Sisko asked.

  “None, sir,” Uteln said. “I’m also reading no movement and no heat signatures. There’s an atmosphere aboard: seventy-two percent nitrogen, eighteen percent oxygen, seven percent hydrogen, as well as water vapor, carbon dioxide, and trace amounts of noble gases.”

  Sisko stood up and walked to the center of the bridge, where he perched his hands on his hips and studied the viewscreen. “Commander Rogeiro, what’s your impression of that vessel?”

  The first officer circled down from the aft section of the bridge to stand beside Sisko. “Even with its narrow hull, it’s big.”

  Sisko acknowledged Rogeiro’s reply with a noncommittal grunt. Then he asked, “What about you, Commander Plante? What comes to mind for you?”

  The operations officer shrugged. “Art,” she said. “I’ve seen ships with creative architecture, but the markings on them, if they have any, are usually prosaic, employed for the utilitarian purpose of identification.”

  Sisko nodded. He couldn’t argue with either Rogeiro or Plante, but neither officer saw what he saw, so he tried again. “What about you, Commander Sivadeki?”

  “To me, it looks old, Captain.”

  “Yes,” Sisko said. “It gives me the sense of age as well, though I can’t really say why. Is there any way to date that ship?”

  “No, sir, not without more information,” Uteln said. “But it’s in the middle of a region of null space, so it’s possible that it could have been there for months, years, decades, even centuries.”

  “I may have something, Captain,” sh’Vrane said from the sciences station. “I’m measuring the interface between the normal continuum and null space here. I would describe it as considerably less dense than what we traversed.” When Robinson had finally cleared null space, the transition back to the normal continuum had sent tremors through the ship, like a shuttlecraft moving through turbulence.

  “What are the implications of that?” Sisko asked.

  “From the readings we collected while we were stranded, it appeared that the interface between null space and the normal continuum grew more integrated over time . . . smoother, for want of a better word.”

  “Meaning that you think that this region of null space is older,” Rogeiro said. “Can you estimate how much older?”

  “It’s difficult to know for sure without more data,” sh’Vrane said. “I can calculate the rate of smoothing we observed, but we don’t know if that process is constant; it could slow down or accelerate over time.”

  “What’s your best guess?” Rogeiro asked.

  “Based on our readings, I’d say that this region of null space was created at least decades ago . . . and perhaps more than a century.”

  “Meaning that if that vessel was marooned in null space with its crew,” Rogeiro said, “then they died there.”

  Sisko regarded his first officer. “It looks like we’re not the first ship to be attacked out here.”

  “Attacked and left to die,” Rogeiro agreed. “Do we drop another marker buoy?”

  “Affirmative,” Sisko said.

  “Drop us out of warp,” Rogeiro ordered. “Bring us to a full stop and prepare to dispatch marker buoy.”

  “Yes, sir,” Sivadeki said. As the deep background beat of the warp drive slowed, Sisko returned to the command chair. The first officer followed and sat beside him. The hum of the impulse engines rose to fill the bridge, until it too dwindled. “Engines answering all stop.”

  “The relevant data has been uploaded to the marker buoy,” Uteln said. “Ready for launch on your order.”

  Sisko nodded to Rogeiro, who said, “Dispatch buoy.” A sound similar to the firing of the ship’s phasers followed.

  “Buoy away,” Uteln said.

  “Still no trace of the alien ships?” Rogeiro asked.

  “Negative,” Uteln said, “but in addition to the third and fourth regions of null space, sensors are now detecting three more such areas.”

  “We have to assume they were all caused by the aliens who attacked the Robinson,” Sisko said, at last seeing a way forward. “Commander Uteln, I want full and continuous sensor sweeps for more occurrences of null space. Lieutenant sh’Vrane, can you use the existing data points to determine the most likely origin point for the aliens?”

  “Yes, sir,” sh’Vrane said. “I can use various methods of interpolation to construct a set of new data points. We’ll have to make some assumptions, including that the aliens are operating from a particular base—a planet or a star system. The more regions of null space we can detect, the better our mathematical model will be, and the likelier we are to find our attackers.”

  And the children, Sisko thought. “Commander Uteln, send the coordinates of all the known areas of null space to the conn. Commander Sivadeki, set course for the nearest region until Lieutenant sh’Vrane can provide better places to search.”

  “Transferring coordinates, aye,” Uteln said.

  After a moment, Sivadeki said, “Coordinates received.” She studied her console for a moment. “The nearest zone of null space is point seven-three light-years away.” She tapped at her controls. “Course laid in, Captain.”

  “Ahead warp nine,” Sisko said.

  As Sivadeki worked the conn, Robinson hummed to life once more.

  Bajor, 2380

  When Radovan Tavus looked up from his hardbound copy of The Book of Ohalu, it surprised him to see that shadows had climbed halfway up the curtains on the front windows. He glanced to his right, into the corner of the living area where his flat’s companel sat. The clock verified what the setting sun had just told him: hours had passed while he’d read the prophecies that anchored the convictions of the Ohalavaru.

  Except that Radovan hadn’t simply read Ohalu’s writings. He studied them, analyzed them, tried to dissect them in a way that would more fully reveal his own purpose. The incident on Endalla had started Radovan on his path, and his dreams had ushered him through the first part of his journey: choosing the instigating action, planning it, preparing for it, and finally setting it all in motion. Everything had come to pass precisely as he’d envisioned it, but he did not know what came n
ext. He had devised and executed his blueprint almost perfectly, but only for the foundation of the structure he wanted to build.

  It will come, he told himself, although it hadn’t that afternoon.

  Radovan collected the yellow ribbon marker, pulled it down the inside of the page he’d been reading, and closed the book. He’d acquired the volume at the very first Ohalavaru meeting he’d ever attended. Though not a particularly handsome edition—it had a plain, featureless cover, with the title printed in block letters on the spine—it did have a pleasing heft to it, and its vellum pages a satisfying coarseness to the touch.

  Radovan set the book down on the sofa and stood up. He crossed to his left, past the small table and chairs where he typically took his meals, and down the short hall. As he approached his bedroom, he dug his hand into his right pants pocket, but his fingers found nothing there.

  Anxiety clutched at Radovan. His heart raced as he tried to shove his hand farther down, as though his pocket possessed some distant reach inaccessible with normal effort. When he only confirmed the emptiness of his pocket, he froze. Had his noble efforts failed already, undone by the mere misplacement of a key?

  As a part of his preparations, Radovan had installed a strong lock on the door to his bedroom. He specifically chose a device that could not be opened with a code or by manipulation of a magnetic field, but only by way of a physical key, and only from outside the room.

  If I can’t open the door—

  A number of possibilities occurred to Radovan, none of them good. The door must not stay closed, but he could not very well contact emergency services to help him. He could probably cut through the door, or even break it down, but that would leave it breached and defeat the purpose of putting a lock on it in the first place. To overcome that lock in its current configuration, he knew, would require nothing short of explosives—hardly a solution since one or more of his neighbors would doubtless inform local law enforcement.

  Desperate, Radovan plunged his other hand into his left pants pocket, though he knew he would not find the key there. But he touched a hard metal object, which he wrapped his fingers around and pulled out. He held his hand up before his face and opened it, like a magician completing an illusion. On his palm sat the key. Colored a matte black, it had an elliptical bow and two cylindrical shafts, both of which featured crisscrossing, meandering indentures cut into their lengths.

  Radovan smiled. He remembered pocketing his key earlier that afternoon with his left hand because his right had been occupied carrying a lunch tray. He could have gone into the kitchen first and deposited the tray and its contents there before coming back to relock the door, but he wanted to take no chances. His success would rely not just on careful planning, but on attention to detail.

  And I will succeed, he told himself. Wherever his path led him, he would follow. Whatever as-yet-unknown goal lay before him, he would achieve it.

  Radovan clasped the two-shafted key and inserted it into the dual plugs of the lock. It didn’t get very far before jamming in place. He withdrew the key, reversed the placement of the twin shafts, and pressed it back into the lock. It shot home with a reassuring click, and when Radovan turned it, he heard the scrape of metal against metal as the thick bolt retracted from its secured position. Unwilling to risk being confined to his bedroom—as ridiculous a turn of events as that would require—he removed the key and put it back in his pocket—his right pocket. Then he slowly twisted the knob and pushed open the door.

  The Avatar sat on the edge of the bed, her arms at her sides, hands tucked under her thighs, legs dangling from the mattress. She sat in the fading light of dusk seeping in through the windows on either side of the bed—windows Radovan had been sure to render effectively reflective on the outside and to seal closed. The girl did not move when he entered the room, yet her dark eyes focused on his face, as though she had been watching him through the door. Her attention unnerved him, as did her stillness.

  In his adult life, Radovan had spent little time with children, but he didn’t need much experience to know that they seldom stayed tranquil for long. Already the girl had demonstrated that. He could only surmise that the combined effects of the drugs he had administered to her had not yet fully abated. The previous day, when he had commandeered her transporter signal and rematerialized her in the Deserak Wilderness, he’d been armed with a hypospray and one of the two ampoules of soporific that he’d taken from his mother’s home after her death. Radovan administered the injection to the girl as soon as she beamed in, and it took immediate effect. He loaded her small body into a large travel bag, which he then bundled into the public travel pod he’d procured for his trip.

  Back in the city, Radovan had surreptitiously returned the vehicle to a service bay that saw virtually no traffic at that time of day. He took pains to wipe the travel pod’s log clean, and to eliminate any physical evidence of his or the girl’s presence in it. Then he carried the large bag to his home, sticking to heavily trafficked pedestrian thoroughfares, reasoning that people would be less likely to notice him in a crowd.

  In his flat, Radovan had settled the girl on his bed. He knew she had only recently turned three and a half, but her diminutive size still surprised him. He had no familiarity with growth charts for children—let alone for human children—but he thought her small for her age. When he changed her into pajamas—he’d gotten a week’s worth of clothing for her based on her age—the large fit confirmed her below-average stature.

  The girl had slept through the afternoon and into the evening. Radovan installed a night-light and checked on her regularly, ensuring that she did not suffer any physical distress. At midnight, when she had still not woken, it occurred to him that he had erred in injecting her with a full dosage of the sleep-inducing drug. He searched for the medical directions that had come with the ampoules, but he’d obviously not brought them from his mother’s home. He considered perusing the comnet for information, but dismissed the idea, concerned about leaving any digital footprints that could be considered suspicious by law enforcement. Such caution had driven him, during his planning, to visit various libraries to find the information he needed.

  That morning, the girl had finally woken, after twenty hours asleep. Though groggy, she asked questions: Where’s Mommy? Who are you? Where is this? Radovan did his best to answer her in a way that would prevent her from being scared and that would keep her quiet. He told her that her mother had needed to visit her freighter, Xhosa, and also that her father had gone to Deep Space 9, figuring that she would recognize the names of the ship and space station. He claimed to be a family friend who had been asked to look after her during the days her parents would be away. He introduced himself as Hayl, a relatively common given name among Bajoran men his age.

  The girl had whined and cried, but fortunately, she’d remained bleary from the soporific, limiting the energy she had to make a nuisance of herself. She also complained about needing to “go potty” and about being hungry. It delighted Radovan to learn that the girl required only a small amount of assistance to use the ’fresher, and he congratulated himself on having the foresight to obtain a child’s toilet seat and step stool. He helped change her from pajamas into a jumper and pullover shirt.

  Radovan had served her—and himself—a simple breakfast of cold cereal, sliced fruit, and juice. They ate together in his bedroom, off trays. Afterward, he gave her a child’s padd, on which he’d loaded a number of games, stories, drawing programs, and contemporary entertainments appropriate for her age. He started to operate the device for her, but the girl showed him that she already knew how to use it. She navigated through the menus and selected an animated feature called Princess Bonna and the Rainbow Waterfall, which she evidently had watched several times before. Nestled in a clutch of pillows, she gave all of her attention over to the cartoon.

  When Radovan had checked on her later, he saw that the girl had either finished or simply stopped watching the animated feature, and she had begun playi
ng a game that asked her to identify animals. When she saw him, though, she quickly abandoned the padd and demanded his attention. She wanted her mother, she wanted her father, she wanted to go home. She needed to use the ’fresher again. She wanted to go outside and play.

  Radovan had distracted her as best he could. He picked up the padd and helped the girl identify various animals, though she had an easier time recognizing several creatures from Earth than he did. Many, such as elephants and chameleons, could easily be compared to Bajoran fauna, such as kulloths and verriors, but others, such as jellyfish and platypuses, confounded him because of their bizarrely alien natures.

  When the girl had grown bored with the animal game, she talked again about going home. Radovan attempted to engage her with a counting program, and when that failed to work, he ventured back to the entertainment menu. Nothing succeeded, and the girl began to fidget and whine. Radovan found her more difficult to deal with than adults, which he hadn’t thought possible. It astonished him that such a little creature could irritate him so quickly and so thoroughly.

  Radovan had forced himself to maintain his composure—a skill he had cultivated over time in order to avoid standing out. When the girl yelled and cried and carried on, he wanted to scream at her to shut her mouth. When she flopped around the bed, ran all over the room, and pounded on the door, he felt the compulsion to grab her and throw her into a wall.

  But he hadn’t. Instead, he either talked to her or ignored her, whichever tactic proved more useful. He refused to respond to her tears, but when she said she was hungry again, he told her that he would make lunch for her. He left the room—locking the girl in—and returned shortly with a jevi nut paste and moba jam sandwich on mapa bread, along with a glass of cold kava milk. She wolfed it down, along with the half tablet of sedative he’d crushed and put in her food.

  It had concerned Radovan to give the girl two such drugs in the span of twenty-six hours, but he needed some peace, as well as time to probe The Book of Ohalu. He did have the directions for the sedatives, and they contained contraindications for the soporific, but only if taken together. Radovan also reasoned that if the girl died from ingesting the two drugs in such close proximity, he would finally know his destiny. In general, he had no desire to harm her, but he also recognized that it could fall to him to be the instrument of the Avatar’s death.