Original Sin

by David R. George III

  Two hours later, the scans registered a contact.

  “Sensors are detecting an object fifty-seven million kilometers from the second planet,” Uteln read from his console. “Mass: six point two-one times ten to the twenty-first kilograms. It reads like a rocky world—” The tactical officer abruptly stopped talking. He had based his characterization of the object as a planet based on its mass, but other data suggested something else—something he had never before seen and that he did not understand.

  “Commander?” Rogeiro asked.

  “The object is not a planet,” Uteln said. “But I’m not sure what it is. Its dimensions don’t make any sense.”

  “Put it on-screen,” Sisko said. “Maximum magnification.”

  “Aye, sir,” Uteln said. The tactical officer worked his console, and the starfield on the main viewer vanished. In its place appeared a massive, curved geometric shape floating in space.

  “What . . . what is that?” Rogeiro asked.

  Uteln studied its dimensions before raising his head to see the object. It looked like a great, thick square, the corners of which had been pushed in the same direction to form a saucer-like shape. The area visible on the outside of the object shined brightly, while on the inside, it resembled the surface of an inhabited world, painted in browns and greens, blues and whites.

  “It looks almost like an expanse has been removed from the crust of a planet and transplanted by itself out into space,” Plante offered from the ops station. “Except that the civilization lives on the inside, like a section of a Dyson sphere.” The second officer’s comparison struck Uteln as an apt descriptor.

  “The Dyson section has a dense metal core,” the tactical officer said, attempting to make sense of the readings on his console. “Gravity on either side measures one point zero-seven-seven g. It is in regular orbit about the star. It is in synchronous rotation, with its inner, concave side always facing the sun, and its outer, convex side facing away. Frozen water blankets the entire surface on the far side; the edges are catching the sunlight, which is the source of the illumination. On the near side, I’m detecting an atmosphere; based on pressure and elemental composition, it’s breathable for us.”

  “Life signs?” Sisko asked.

  Uteln called up a display of biological and related measurements. “I’m getting confusing readings. There is a general sprawl of structures and thoroughfares, but nothing aggregated into what we would call cities. There is a tremendous amount of heat and movement, but life signs are sporadic and difficult to interpret.”

  “Why?” Rogeiro asked.

  “It could be the result of something interfering with our scans—particular metals in the structure, or noise from their communication systems, or even just our distance from the object,” Uteln said. “It also could have to do with the nature of the life-forms.”

  “Can you isolate human or other specific readings?” Sisko asked. Most of the children taken from Robinson had been humans, although the group also included Bajorans, Andorians, and several others.

  “Negative, not at this distance,” Uteln said.

  “Do you read any defenses?” Rogeiro asked.

  Uteln worked the sensors to check for emitters anywhere on the object, but found none. He then scanned the skies above the inner surface of the Dyson section. He saw movement at once. “There are vessels maneuvering through the atmosphere and—” For the second time, the tactical officer stopped speaking midsentence—not because he saw something he had never seen before, but because he saw something he recognized. “Captain, some of the ships are identical to the ones that attacked us.”

  Sisko stood up and moved to the center of the bridge as though propelled from the command chair. “We found them.”

  Uteln felt a moment of elation that the Robinson crew had at last located the beings that had taken the children—and therefore, hopefully, that they’d located the children as well. But then the sensors revealed another detail. “Captain,” Uteln said, “the entire object is surrounded by null space.”

  • • •

  Sisko toggled off the intraship comm system. Seated in the command chair on the bridge, he had just finished informing the entire crew that they had tracked down the beings who’d attacked Robinson. The captain wanted the parents of the missing children to know that, after two days of dread, they had made major progress in their rescue efforts. Sisko felt a sense of hope that had been missing since the abduction, and he aimed to provide that to everybody aboard—including his wife.

  “Captain, we’re receiving telemetry from the probe,” Uteln reported. After finding the odd, obviously artificial world and confirming the presence there of Robinson’s attackers, Sisko had ordered the launch of a reconnaissance probe. Using the gas giants as cover, the sensor-laden device navigated into the system. “It has arrived and deployed the full range of its sensors.”

  “Can you locate the children?” Sisko asked.

  “A bank of sensors is dedicated to the task,” Uteln said.

  “Visual,” Rogeiro said.

  On the main viewscreen, an overhead view of the Dyson section appeared. It looked like the unremarkable surface of many class-M planets that Sisko had seen: brushstrokes of brown and green marked landmasses, patches of deep blue revealed oceans and lakes, and streaks and swirls of white showed clouds scudding above the geography. But where every planet the captain had ever seen formed a circular aspect out in space, the one below the probe showed as a rounded square. It put him in mind of human history, when conventional wisdom held to a flat Earth, and old maps warned mariners of the dangers of sailing off the edge of the world.

  “High magnification,” Sisko said.

  The main screen jumped to a closer view of the surface. Buildings spread widely across the land with no discernible order, while thoroughfares cut through them in tortuous routes. The disarray suggested organic rather than planned civic growth.

  “Captain, sensors confirm a great deal of movement on the surface,” Uteln said, “but life signs are still confused. There are biological markers, but they’re inconsistent.”

  “Inconsistent?” Rogeiro asked. “In what way?”

  “Both internally and externally,” Uteln said. “There don’t appear to be enough biological processes to define a single being, but taking each set of readings, it’s as though there are thousands of different species.”

  “What is the level of their technology?” Rogeiro asked.

  “Scans show several fusion reactors scattered across the surface, but most of their power is generated by high-efficiency solar-collection units,” Uteln said. “Their ground vehicles contain fuel cells. It’s unclear how those are charged, but they probably utilize solar power.”

  “What about radiation lev—” Rogeiro started to ask, but Uteln cut him off.

  “Captain, sensors have detected human life signs,” the tactical officer said.

  The news sent energy flooding through Sisko’s body. “How many?” he asked.

  “Collating, Captain,” Uteln said. “Scans show seventeen humans . . . five Bajorans . . . one Trill . . . one Orion . . . one Vulcan . . . and two Andorians.”

  “That’s all?” Rogeiro asked, echoing the words that had arisen in Sisko’s mind.

  “Yes, sir,” Uteln said. “A total of twenty-seven individuals. They are all in relatively close proximity to one another inside a—wait!” Sisko’s heart seemed to lurch in his chest at the tactical officer’s single excited word. “Sensors are picking up more human life signs . . . and Andorian . . . Betazoid . . . Lorillian . . .” Uteln tapped at his controls before continuing. Sisko realized he was holding his breath, and he forced himself not to do so. “Captain, I have eighty-seven life signs corresponding to all of the missing Robinson children.”

  “Where are they?” Sisko wanted to know.

  “They are in three clusters, of twenty-seven, thirty-one, and twenty-nine,” Uteln said. “They’re in separate, neighboring buildings. I should be able to
pinpoint them visually.” As the tactical officer worked his console, the view on the main screen tracked across the surface of the Dyson section in a blur of motion. When it stopped, Sisko saw a complex of connected buildings, all of different shapes and sizes. “They’re here,” Uteln said, and three red circles appeared on three adjacent structures.

  “Can we beam them out?” Sisko asked.

  “Scanning for transporter inhibitors,” Uteln said. Sisko waited for the answer, certain that the solution would not prove quite so simple or easy. At last, the tactical officer said, “Sensors detect no active inhibitors, but they’re also not showing any transporter beams anywhere on the surface. This society may not possess the technology.”

  Sisko could not have asked for better circumstances. If this civilization had not developed the transporter, then it seemed unlikely that they would know how to shield themselves against it. But another potential problem occurred to Sisko. “What about the effects of null space on the transporter?” he asked. “Will we be able to beam the children through to the ship?”

  For a moment, nobody responded, which suggested the uncertainty involved in attempting such a rescue. Finally, sh’Vrane said, “It’s difficult to know, Captain. Our drive systems failed in null space, as did phasers and tractor beams, but sensors do function.”

  In the first officer’s chair, Rogeiro turned toward Sisko. “If we want to be certain of the efficacy of the transporters, we could travel to the nearest region of null space outside the system and execute a test.”

  The captain acknowledged the suggestion with a nod, though he immediately disregarded the option. Since they had finally found the children, Sisko and his crew needed to act at once. The abductors had clearly not intended to obtain some form of ransom, because they had neither made any demands nor left a trail to follow. That told Sisko that they had other aims for the children, and without knowing the nature of those aims, he could not risk taking any longer than necessary to stage a rescue.

  The captain knew that Federation values, Starfleet guidelines, and his own ethics dictated that he resolve situations using diplomacy whenever possible, but he saw an opportunity to retrieve the children with no loss of life simply by rushing into the system and transporting them back to Robinson. By issuing such orders, he risked provoking another battle, but the beings who had gone to considerable lengths to incapacitate his ship and crew in order to carry out their abduction had also refused to respond to all communications. That led Sisko to believe a diplomatic solution unlikely. More than that, if he embarked on such a course and failed, they would lose the element of surprise. The time for negotiation had passed.

  “Red alert,” Sisko said. “We’re going in.”

  Bajor, 2380

  The door signal tolled, an up-and-down chiming of bells. Asarem Wadeen looked up from the jumble of padds and books crowded between the computer interface and the dedicated companel on either side of her desk. Her office door glided open and Enkar Sirsy, one of her assistants, stepped inside.

  “Minister, you asked me to inform you when your first appointment arrived.” Enkar wore dark-blue slacks and a pink floral blouse, topped by a black jacket that complemented her long red hair. She had formerly assisted the previous first minister, Shakaar Edon, but had withdrawn from public service after his assassination. Asarem had stayed in touch with her, and six months after the memorial, she’d coaxed Enkar to join her staff, where she had served for more than three years.

  “Yes, thank you, Sirsy,” Asarem said. “Please show them in.”

  Enkar peered back through the doorway into the outer office and gestured inside. “Please come this way,” she said. “The minister will see you.” Asarem stood up and came around to the front of her desk as Benjamin Sisko and Kasidy Yates entered.

  At first glance, the couple looked every bit as striking as they usually did. Sisko—tall and broad-shouldered, with dark eyes and dark flesh, a smooth, bald pate, and a goatee—carried himself with an air of authority, doubtless a vestige of his long tenure commanding Deep Space 9. Yates, a head shorter than her husband, had an almost regal appearance: her straight, black hair cascaded down to her shoulders and framed a lovely face notable for its warm, silky complexion and high cheekbones. But as Asarem approached to greet them, she saw signs of the toll that the last day and a half had taken on the pair. They both moved with a leadenness that suggested fatigue and the burden of a heavy weight—understandable, considering the terrible circumstances. Discolored crescents beneath Sisko’s eyes betrayed a lack of sleep, and a deep, vertical worry line creased Yates’s brow.

  Asarem reached out and took the Emissary’s hand in both of hers, then repeated the gesture with his wife. The first minister met Yates’s gaze and held it an extra beat. The first minister could not pretend to know precisely how difficult the past thirty-nine hours had been for her, but she understood firsthand the nature of a mother’s loss. Asarem’s only child, a daughter she’d named Eloija, after her own mother, had died in infancy, during the Occupation, a victim of a bitter winter and a dearth of healthcare and medicine in the Karnoth resettlement camp. Eloija had lived only three weeks, but a quarter of a century later, even amid the demanding schedule and responsibilities of her office, the first minister thought about her virtually every day.

  “Thank you so much for coming,” Asarem told her visitors. “I would have traveled to Adarak to meet with you, but given the requirements of my security team, I thought it would be too disruptive, especially at this time.” Both Sisko and Yates murmured their understanding. “Please, why don’t we have a seat.” The first minister motioned toward a sitting area on the other side of the room, where two sofas and a number of comfortable chairs surrounded a low ceramic table. The early-morning sun shined in through the tall, narrow windows in the wall beyond, sending striated bars of light across the marble floor. Just past the casements, the columns that flanked the Great Assembly stood guard. Beyond them stretched Ashalla, Bajor’s capital, a vibrant city comprising elegant structures, broad pedestrian thoroughfares, lush greenswards, and meandering waterways.

  As Sisko and Yates sat down together on the near sofa, Asarem asked if they would like something to drink or to eat. They both demurred. The first minister dismissed her assistant, who quickly withdrew, the door sliding closed behind her. Asarem took a seat across from her visitors.

  “I’m so sorry about what’s happened,” the first minister said. “I can only imagine how difficult it must be.”

  “Thank you,” Yates said. Her response seemed more pro forma than anything else; she moved and spoke stiffly, as though struggling to connect with the world around her. She sat hunched slightly forward, with her knees and elbows together, almost as though reacting to being punched in the gut. Asarem thought Yates would say more, but she didn’t. Beside her, Sisko seemed aware of his wife’s discomfort, but he neither said anything nor reached out to her. Strangely, as much as Sisko and Yates surely needed each other, they appeared isolated—not just from each other, but even from their surroundings.

  “I’ve been in touch with Major Orisin,” Asarem said before the silence could grow awkward. “I want to assure the two of you that the Bajoran Militia is doing everything it can to find your daughter and bring her home safely.”

  “We haven’t seen the major yet this morning,” Sisko said, “but he’s been helping us . . . working with us . . . keeping us informed.”

  “If you haven’t spoken with Major Orisin today, then you may not know what’s been accomplished overnight,” Asarem said. “Per the Militia’s request, my office has expedited processing with the Ministries of Defense, Justice, and Transportation. The records you provided of your daughter’s DNA have been disseminated, without attribution, throughout Bajor’s transporter network. If an attempt is made to beam Rebecca anywhere on the planet or into orbit, her signal will be detected and immediately isolated, and she will automatically be transported to safety. The Militia has also begun to inspect all ships l
eaving the surface, and they’ve begun scanning public spaces, all under the guise of trying to locate stolen goods.” It occurred to Asarem that such a justification actually made for a true, if unflattering, description. “In addition to that, because of the apparent expertise involved in the abduction, the Militia are checking on the backgrounds and movements of all transporter technicians on Bajor.”

  Sisko looked at his wife, as though he expected her to react to the information Asarem had provided, but she remained quiet. “Thank you, First Minister,” Sisko said. “We appreciate the Militia’s efforts, and yours. We’re also grateful for your concern and support, as well as everything you’ve told us.”

  Sisko’s words, however genuine, made the first minister uncomfortable. She hadn’t chosen to pull the Emissary and his wife away from their home, at such an impossible time, just to offer up her sympathy, or to provide information Major Orisin could have given them. “Mister Sisko, Ms. Yates, there’s another reason I wanted to speak with you in person.”

  At last, Yates appeared to engage. She looked over at Asarem, and then to her husband. “Minister, if you need Ben for some reason . . . if you need the Emissary to—”

  Appalled at the idea that she had called Sisko and Yates to her office for her own purposes, Asarem interrupted. “No, no, no,” she said quickly. “I’m sorry if I gave you the impression that this is about anything other than your daughter.”

  “It’s all right, Kas,” Sisko said. He reached over and took his wife’s hands, which she held clasped tightly together on her knees. “What is it, Minister?’

  “I wanted to speak to you about a woman named Jasmine Tey,” Asarem said. “Do you know her?”

  Sisko and Yates both shook their heads. “The name doesn’t sound familiar,” the Emissary said. “Should we know her?”