by David Mack
Overamplified music echoed inside the docking bay; at first it sounded like raw noise to Fisher, then he realized that was because he was hearing three different songs at once: one from inside the Lisbon’s hold; another from one of the forklifts, giving it a peculiar Doppler-shifted quality as it sped past in one direction or another; and one from atop the ship, where a team of grime-covered mechanics and engineers walked across the dorsal hull, scanning it with microfissure detectors and tagging areas in need of repair. A few dozen men of various species worked around the ship, packing or unpacking cargo containers—that is, when they weren’t dodging the irresponsibly driven forklifts. Fisher had no doubt that Vanguard Hospital would be treating a number of work-related injuries from this crew in the immediate future. He forced that thought from his mind. That’s not your problem anymore, he reminded himself.
Navigating the energetic chaos with caution, he slipped through a narrow channel between two tall mountains of stacked cargo containers, following the clamor of voices. As he emerged on the other side, he saw a cluster of people—some in coveralls, others in more formal merchant marine uniforms—surrounding a lean, short-haired woman of Thai heritage. She was in her mid-forties, Fisher guessed, and what she lacked in stature she made up for in intensity. Without the use of a universal translator, she seemed adept at berating each of her people in their native language, whether that was Tellarite, Andorii, Vulcan, or any of a handful of Terran tongues, sometimes switching from one to another in mid-sentence without missing a syllable. While verbally eviscerating one person who would then slink away in shame, she would also be signing paperwork presented by another and silently dismissing a third, complaint unheard.
Enjoying the show from a discreet distance, Fisher smiled.
I know this music. She must be the captain.
He waited until she broke free of her gaggle of people with problems, and then he emerged from the gap between the containers to intercept her on the move. “Captain Boonmee?”
She answered without sparing him so much as a look. “Who wants to know?”
“Doctor Ezekiel Fisher, Starfleet.” Boonmee stopped and faced Fisher as he added with his best disarming charm, “Retired.” He offered her his hand, and she shook it quickly.
“Captain Khunying Boonmee.” She resumed walking. “You’ve got one minute.”
He hurried to keep up with her. “I heard from one of your debarking passengers that you might have an open cabin for the return trip to the core systems.”
“As a matter of fact, I do,” Boonmee said. “What’s your final destination?”
She sidestepped to avoid a speeding forklift, and Fisher lost half a step in the course of not getting run over. He jogged to catch up to Boonmee and replied between gasps, “Mars.”
“The good news is, we’re actually planning a stop at Mars. The bad news is, the only cabin I have available on this run is our VIP suite.”
“Why is that bad news?”
“I usually put it up for auction. Current bid’s at eleven thousand.” She swatted a yellow-furred Tellarite in black coveralls and let rip a stream of angry Tellarite verbiage. The crewman nodded furiously, then slipped away, grumbling. Boonmee looked back at Fisher. “As I was saying, if you want to put in a bid, you’re welcome to, but I’m guessing eleven grand’s probably a bit steep for someone on a Starfleet pension.”
“I’ll pay you twenty to close the bidding and sell me the berth right now,” Fisher said. “You can even put me to work if you need a surgeon.”
His offer seemed to amuse her. “We have a sawbones, thanks.” A narrow-eyed, curious stare. “Twenty grand, huh? You must really want to get home.”
“You could say that.”
“Make it twenty-five, and you’ve got a deal.”
Fisher nodded. “Sold.”
The captain grabbed Fisher by his shirt and pulled him clear of another hot-rodding forklift. She screamed a blistering flurry of Andorii profanities at the vehicle’s antennaed blue driver, then made a token effort to brush the wrinkles from Fisher’s shirt. “Sorry about that. One more thing: I hope you’re not in a big hurry to leave. We’re stuck here for at least another three or four weeks, waiting for cargo and passengers coming in from the fringe territories. Can’t leave without ’em, since flying empty is just burning fuel for no good reason.”
“I understand. It’s not a problem. To be honest, yours is the first ship I’ve found in weeks that had an open cabin for the trip home.”
Boonmee smirked. “I wish I’d known that. I’d have charged you more.” She held up open palms. “Just kidding. If you’re ready to book the cabin, we can head inside and find my XO.”
“Sounds great,” Fisher said, gesturing for Boonmee to lead the way.
As she escorted him up the ramp and inside the ship, she said, “I don’t suppose you play poker, by any chance.”
“Just Texas Hold ’em, Omaha, and a few dozen variants of five- and seven-card stud.”
She chuckled. “You’ll fit right in here, Doc.”
An anxious hush settled over the white-jacketed scientists of the Vault who unpacked the first of dozens of shipping containers ferried from Eremar to Vanguard aboard the Sagittarius. Ming Xiong watched with anticipation and fear as the researchers handled the twelve-sided crystal artifacts with silent reverence and transferred them to a number of analysis chambers inside the Vault’s central containment area. Each dodecahedron would be checked for defects or damage as a prerequisite for inclusion in the next phase of the team’s research.
Admiral Nogura stood beside Doctor Carol Marcus a few meters to Xiong’s right. They observed the painstaking process from behind the transparent steel protective barrier that separated the master control console from the workstations that ringed the circular isolation chamber, which housed the artifacts. Lieutenant Theriault stood close by on Xiong’s left, watching the Vault scientists with equal measures of worry and envy.
Standing apart from everyone else, T’Prynn lurked near the lab’s entrance, her motives as inscrutable as ever while she monitored the meticulously choreographed proceedings.
Theriault nudged Xiong with her elbow. “Hard to believe we came back with fifty-five hundred of these things, right? What do you think you’ll do with all of them?”
“We’re hoping to use the visual scans you made of the Eremar Array to create a similar framework here, but in a far more compact form.” Despite the enormity of the find by the crew of the scout ship, Xiong shook his head slowly with disappointment. “I’m still upset the Tholians destroyed the other half of the artifacts before you could recover them. When I think about how much potential each of these objects has, it feels like a major loss to science.”
The young female science officer turned a disbelieving stare toward Xiong. “Are you kidding? If you want to talk about a loss to science, shed a few tears for the Dyson bubble that fell into the pulsar. It was ninety-nine percent gone before the Tholians fragged it, and I still could have spent the next thirty years finding out what made it tick.” Her shoulders slumped, giving her a defeated aspect as she looked back at the growing mass of artifacts inside the isolation chamber. “I sure hope those things are worth it, because I’ll spend the rest of my life wondering what I might have learned from poking around on those statites.”
Beyond the protective barrier, the scientists who weren’t directly involved in unpacking the artifacts or configuring them into an array were busy monitoring the first scan results. Deltan theoretical physicist Doctor Tarcoh hovered over a sensor display and pointed out one new string of data after another to Doctor Varech jav Gek. The excitable Tellarite molecular chemist fidgeted madly with each new bit of information, and he seemed to have no idea what to do with his beefy, three-fingered hands, so he just waved them about in between scratching his head or hugging himself, ostensibly to contain his excitement.
Nogura kept his eyes on the activity in the lab as he sidled over to Xiong. There was an undercurrent of co
ncern in his voice. “Lieutenant, are you sure we have enough power and shielding to keep this array contained? I don’t want a repeat of what happened to the Lovell.”
“Based on the readings we made of the first two artifacts, both in tandem and individually, we’re certain the new isolation protocols are more than sufficient.”
The admiral’s salt-and-pepper brow furrowed with doubt. “That’s what you and the Corps of Engineers told me before a Shedai turned a Daedalus-class starship into confetti.”
Xiong clenched his jaw for a moment until he was able to answer his superior officer calmly. “That was because we’d weakened the crystal lattice of that artifact by transmitting an amplified and highly focused subspace pulse into it, while trying to communicate with the entity inside. That’s not a mistake we’ll make again.”
That seemed to appease the admiral. “What do you plan to do with this array once it’s finished and operational?”
“In theory, anything the Shedai could have done with their network will be within our grasp,” Xiong said. “We can harness the Conduits for everything from force projection to real-time communications across distances beyond the range of the strongest subspace signal. And once we have the Shedai contained, we’ll be free to explore and colonize the Taurus Reach, and take our time unraveling the information encoded within the meta-genome.”
Carol Marcus stepped up alongside Nogura, in a hurry to join the discussion. “Hang on, gentlemen. I think we need to start by finding a way to communicate with the Shedai we’re already holding, before we go looking to snare any more.”
Nogura’s manner was withering. “With all respect, Doctor, diplomacy isn’t high on our list of priorities concerning the Shedai.” He turned his back on Marcus, faced Xiong, and continued in a more businesslike manner. “Assuming this array works as planned, what would be the risks to the station in a worst-case scenario?”
As he considered the admiral’s question, Xiong was distracted for a moment when he noticed that T’Prynn had moved to stand at the transparent wall of the isolation chamber and was staring intently at the first Tkon artifact they’d ever acquired, the one she herself had helped recover from Klingon forces on a distant planet called Golmira.
Forcing his attention back to the conversation, Xiong said, “A worst-case scenario, from our perspective, would be one that resulted in a massive energy spike from this laboratory’s dedicated power plant into the array, compromising the integrity of the artifacts’ lattices. In such an event, if they were operating at or beyond their intended capacity, that might be enough to permit the Shedai imprisoned within them to break free, as did the one aboard the Lovell. But we have several redundant safeguards against that kind of power spike, sir. Nothing short of catastrophic damage to the system would put us at risk.”
“All right,” Nogura said. “Proceed as planned, and send me daily status updates. Unless there’s a significant development, for better or worse—in that case, notify me immediately.”
“Aye, sir.”
Marcus stepped in front of Nogura. “Admiral, I have serious misgivings about the operation you’re asking us to conduct. Frankly, I don’t think we know anywhere near enough about these artifacts to control them properly, and until we do far more research under controlled conditions, I can’t approve any plan that calls for them to be daisy-chained together into an array whose functions are not only unknown but also potentially disastrous. Even more important, I have to protest the callous disregard that you and Starfleet have shown toward our Shedai captive. Such barbaric treatment of a sentient life-form is an offense against the laws of the Federation and the principles of Starfleet. Until we establish communication with that being, I refuse to subject it to further experimentation.”
Nogura’s resolve never wavered, and his eyes betrayed no sign of anger as he met Marcus’s glare. “First of all, Doctor Marcus, I have not asked the Vault team to conduct this operation, I’ve ordered them to do it. Second, as for your invocation of the laws of the Federation, I see that I must remind you once again that we are not currently in the Federation. Third, I do not need you to lecture me about the principles of Starfleet. I am well aware of my oath and my duty. Fourth, and last, you seem to forget that whatever authority you wield inside this lab is nothing compared to the authority I wield over this station. Your concerns are all noted—and overruled.” He looked at Xiong. “Lieutenant. Tell your team to construct and activate the artifact array with all due haste, and have Doctor Marcus assist you as necessary.”
The admiral walked away while Xiong stood dumbstruck, processing the simultaneous demotion of Carol Marcus and his reinstatement as Director of the Vault, the position he’d held before Marcus’s arrival on Vanguard years earlier. He knew the shock and humiliation she must be feeling at that moment, and it took all his training as a Starfleet officer not to look the least bit pleased about the situation. Marcus, however, wore her dudgeon openly, crossing her arms as she fixed him with a smoldering stare. “I suppose you’ll want the office back,” she said.
“First, I think we should focus on getting the artifacts unpacked and accounted for,” Xiong said. Despite his best intentions, he gloated. “Then I’ll take the office.”
18
Captain Kutal entered the main transporter room of the I.K.S. Zin’za to find his first officer waiting for him. BelHoQ’s lazy stance and saturnine glare radiated disgust as he grumbled, “Has that yIntagh Brakk lost his mind?”
“He claims our channels are being monitored and refuses to share sensitive intel over the comms,” Kutal said. Before his first officer could protest, he added, “I know it’s stupid, but he’s the fleet commander. We have no choice but to do this his way.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the transporter controls. “Beam over his lackey and get this done with.”
BelHoQ stepped back to the transporter controls and activated the system, filling the compartment with the rich hum of charging energizer coils. Kutal kept his true concerns to himself as he faced the platform and awaited Brakk’s courier. It had been less than a week since the Zin’za and the baS’jev had joined Brakk’s ship, the Qu’vang, as its combat escorts. Brakk had wasted no time splitting up Kutal’s and Chang’s ships, immediately ordering the baS’jev on a long-range reconnaissance patrol while keeping the Zin’za close by. Just as Captain Chang had predicted, Brakk—no doubt with prompting from his father, Duras—had pegged Kutal and Chang as hostile operatives of their rival, Gorkon. Regardless, the haste with which Brakk had responded had taken Kutal by surprise. He had expected himself and Chang to be held at arm’s length for a few months while Brakk assessed their strengths and vulnerabilities. Instead, the impulsive young commander had gone directly to dividing and conquering.
Even if I respect him for nothing else, Kutal decided, I have to admire his aggression. But that begs the question: Is he really paranoid about using the comms? Or is this merely a ruse?
“The Qu’vang is signaling ready,” BelHoQ said. “Energizing.”
A crimson flurry of high-energy particles swirled into view above one of the target pads, and within it a Klingon warrior took shape. Seconds later the glow of the beam faded, and the enlisted crewman stepped down and saluted Kutal with his right fist raised against his chest. “Captain Kutal, I bear a message for you from Captain Brakk.” He held out a data card in his left hand. “It is coded for your eyes only, sir.”
Kutal took the data card from the soldier. “Naturally.”
“My orders are to wait here for your encoded reply.”
“Whatever. Stay here. Don’t touch anything.” Kutal headed for the door and subtly cued BelHoQ to follow him. As they left the transporter room, an armed guard entered to keep Brakk’s messenger under watch until they returned.
Neither of them spoke on the walk forward to Kutal’s quarters, but as he led BelHoQ inside, the first officer stopped in the doorway. “He said the message was for your eyes only.”
“Do I look like I give a damn? G
et in here, and lock the door behind you.”
BelHoQ secured the door while Kutal crossed to his desk, sat down, and inserted the data card into a slot beside his computer terminal. The imperial emblem, a black trefoil against a red background, appeared on the screen as a guttural, synthetic voice issued from the monitor’s hidden speakers: “State command authorization code.”
“Kutal wa’ pagh SuD loS Hut Doq vagh.”
“Command authorization accepted.” The imperial emblem faded to a vid of Captain Brakk in his office aboard the Qu’vang. It was Kutal’s opinion that Brakk was far too thin, his face too lean, and his hair too short. Worse, his nose seemed perpetually wrinkled, as if he spent every waking moment afflicted by a foul odor only he could detect.
“Greetings, Captain Kutal. You are a clever man, so I’m sure you already suspect there is no actual risk of our communications being intercepted. There are three reasons I have sent you this message in this manner. The first is that our rank and file have no need to know of our roles as pawns in the political games of our betters. The second is that I do not trust you enough to risk coming aboard your vessel. I have reason to believe you and your ship were assigned as my escorts in order to spy upon me for Councillor Gorkon, and possibly to move against me if the opportunity should present itself. I do not intend to give you that opportunity, Captain.
“The third and final reason I have sent you this message will become apparent soon enough. By now, your ship’s internal comms have been off-line for close to half a minute, and all compartments except your quarters have been flooded with neurocine gas.”