Strange New Worlds VIII

by Dean Wesley Smith

  As it had done at the first dawn of existence, oceans of light and energy spread out and then recede, creating the shores of a new universe. A universe filled with new worlds, new life, and new civilizations.

  In a distant corner of this new cosmos—just as life emerges from the darkness of the womb, in the void on a speck of blue—a final gift is realized. A familiar double helix begins its journey, intertwining its way into history, again.

  The human adventure is just beginning . . . .

  Epilogue

  Energy and mass swelled around the tiny starship in a tsunami of power. Reaching its apex, this universe can no longer contain its potential, and it is released everywhere and nowhere. It is not an explosion of matter and energy but an explosion of love, of imagination and of possibilities.

  As the trio emerged from the turbolift, Kirk found his gaze locked on to the viewscreen, the suggestion of what had just happened only now taking hold in his consciousness. “Spock, did we just see the beginning of a new life-form?”

  The science officer was certain that the events he just observed could have only one logical conclusion. “Yes, Captain. We witnessed a birth, possibly the next step in our evolution.”

  The next step in our evolution. Kirk rolled the statement over in his mind. He had met many superspecies in his travels—the Organians, the Metrons—but he had never thought that such a destiny could be possible for humanity. “I wonder . . . ”

  Doctor McCoy smiled more to himself than to anyone else. “Well, it’s been a long time since I delivered a baby, and I hope we got this one off to a good start.”

  The Enterprise’s captain smiled. Bones could always be counted on to apply some old-country common sense to a question fitting of the gods. “I hope so too. I think we gave it the ability to create its own sense of purpose, out of our own human weaknesses, and the drive that compels us to overcome them.”

  McCoy wasn’t going to miss this opportunity. “And a lot of foolish human emotions—right, Mister Spock?”

  Spock understood the doctor’s message all too well. As a Vulcan, he was not to indulge or act upon emotions in any way. He had devoted these last few years to the Kolinahr to purge his emotions entirely, only to learn from a machine that these foolish human feelings were as much a part of him as the Vulcan blood running through his veins. To deny them would be to deny his own existence. He only hoped that V’ger, Commander Decker, and Lieutenant Ilia—or, rather, the entity they had become—would understand the lesson also. “Quite true, Doctor. Unfortunately, it will have to deal with them as well.”

  (SECOND PRIZE)

  Concurrence

  Geoffrey Thorne

  The signal came to them suddenly, soft as an infant’s whisper. Across space and time and wells of intervening gravity it called to them like a siren from some ancient fable.

  “Help me,” it said. “Please help.”

  After the source location was determined—a parsec into an arbitrary zone of neutrality that had been established between two of the galaxy’s current Great Powers—there was some minor discussion about the need for a meaningful response at this time.

  In general it was good to respect the boundaries of nation-states. Anonymity was a commodity that, once sacrificed, could almost never be regained. If they meant to give theirs up now, there should be a good reason.

  The problem of location was solved by the deployment of stealth apparatus that would hide the rescue ship from prying long-range sensors.

  The problem of time was something else.

  The signal was too weak for an accurate assessment of its age to be made. Considering the state of conflict between the two known powers, as well as several unknown others, the signal’s weakness might have been the result of some battle that had damaged the original broadcast equipment.

  There were many possible natural causes as well, and they were all put forth for discussion.

  The true cause would remain unknown unless the rescue vessel could unravel it en route, which, of course, was another reason for answering. In the end discussion was moot. There could be no real question that a vessel should be sent, would be sent, only which particular vessel and which crew.

  The Fenton was the ultimate choice, beating out both the True Service and the Selfless. It was a smallish ship by comparison but fast and strong, with weapons and defenses that would keep it safe from the predation of any of the Powers should they wish to intervene.

  There was some question as to why neither of the Powers, nor any of their allies, had yet responded to the signal, but, since they had not, and it appeared would not, there was little choice. The Fenton must go.

  It kept a small crew; the Fenton was too advanced to require more than a few hands, most of whom were occupied with collating the data amassed by the ship’s powerful sensor grid. The rest either slept away the intervening distance or took part in the ongoing philosophical debates about the nature of life and what qualities were necessary before a being could be determined truly sentient.

  Soon enough and with no trouble from any of the Powers or their allies, the Fenton ran the signal down. The source was the only moon of a dead world, unnamed in any known database, itself the single child of an ancient red giant star. One of the Powers had dubbed the star Bane 23118, but the designation held no particular significance.

  Casual passersby with less sensitive equipment than the Fenton traveled through this quiet system with no notion at all of what lay within the moon’s core.

  The Fenton was not so spindly a vessel as that. It had been made specifically for journeys such as this and had waited years to prove its mettle.

  Before the ship had covered half the distance between home and the destination, its AI was whispering soft encouragements back to the signal’s maker.

  “We are coming,” it told the distressed sender. “Do not despair. Help is coming.”

  Though there was no response, not even once they reached their destination, the ship continued to murmur gentle entreaties back along the signal stream in perfect hope that there would eventually be an answer.

  After several intervals of time, it was determined that someone would have to go down to the subterranean complex that sprawled beneath the dead moon’s surface to see if the signal was sentient-made or simply some leftover automaton calling out in an eternal and meaningless loop.

  * * *

  “This is an unusual facility,” said Kvin. “I have already identified several esoteric systems whose sole function seems to be camouflage.”

  Kvin was tall and slender, with deep bronze skin that seemed almost burnished in the complex’s murky light. His milk white pupils swept back and forth across the primary airlock in a casual arc that missed nothing.

  “Have you identified the use-language of the species?” asked Ses. She was very like Kvin physically. Though obviously female, she too had the bronze flesh, the white within white eyes, and the lean muscled structure that seemed best suited for these sorts of duties.

  “Inconclusive,” said Kvin after considering. “All data and command hierarchies exist only as numeric progressions. Some root constructions indicate a potentially Vulcan linguistic approach.”

  “The distress call was in Federation Standard,” said Ses. “This conforms to the theory that this is a Vulcan facility.”

  “We will need confirmation,” said Kvin.

  “I am detecting biologicals on the fourth and fifth levels,” said Ses.

  “Vulcan?”

  “The materials of which the facility was constructed make a determination impossible from this distance,” said Ses. “Close physical examination is indicated.”

  * * *

  As they moved through the facility, they were both struck by the obvious martial purpose that had governed its design. In addition to the stealth systems Kvin had noted, there were several energy-dampening alloys in the walls and fixtures along with triple, sometimes quadruple, encryptions on every access panel. These last were bypassed e
asily enough, but their presence was telling. The base’s defensive arsenal was on the order of a Cardassian planetkiller dreadnought. Odd.

  Odder still was that everything about the place’s design indicated a desire to stay hidden. Even the signal that had drawn them here had been the faintest of faint murmurs, barely standing out against the near constant din of intragalactic background chatter.

  The two of them had asked for coordination from the Fenton and received an analysis that determined to a ninety-five percent probability that the complex was a military base of some sort.

  The utilitarian architecture made a specific cultural identification impossible, but it was clear from the interface designs and the size and shape of the corridors that the builders had meant for humanoids to occupy the space.

  The power grid was still active, which was a good sign, as was the presence of atmospheric gases consistent with biological systems evolved for processing oxygen-nitrogen mixtures. More and more the problem of the base’s origin was resolving itself into a Vulcan result.

  A puzzlement was the residual traces of an as yet unidentified compound mixed with the normal gases and the obvious signs of conflict that began to appear as soon as the lift doors opened on level four.

  “These appear to be disruptor blast craters,” said Ses.

  “I concur,” said Kvin. “But there are incongruities.”

  “Explain,” said Ses.

  “Disruptor technology is employed by Klingons, Cardassians, Orions, and Andorians,” said Kvin. “Vulcans use the phased plasma weapons favored by the Federation of Planets.”

  “I concur,” said Ses. “That is incongruous to the extant theory.”

  “Also,” said Kvin, “the precision of the fire pattern indicates an intent to damage specific machinery within the structure of the facility itself.”

  Ses moved close to where the disruptor fire had ripped a massive hole in the bulkhead, and examined the exposed technology within.

  “Internal surveillance systems,” she concluded. Kvin nodded. “Do you have an alternative hypothesis?”

  Kvin did not and did not wish to ask for coordination without more data. “It is clear, however, that this was some sort of retreat action rather than an attack. The highest probability is that the combatants fell back to some more defensible area and dug in.”

  “Explain ‘dug in,’ ” said Ses. “I am unfamiliar with this usage.”

  “Archaic idiomatic description of the establishment of a stationary encampment with a defensible perimeter,” he said.

  “Origin?”

  “Sol 3, human, pre–Warp Era,” said Kvin.

  “Thank you,” said Ses. She was always glad to add new colloquialisms to her personal lexicon.

  * * *

  The first door was stuck, so Ses was obliged to kick it in. As it ripped free of its mooring she and Kvin peered into the dark space beyond.

  It was some sort of storage chamber, that was plain from its high ceiling and distant walls, but the metal containers had been rearranged into what looked very much like a wall at one end of the giant space. Ses noted that the door they’d broken through had been modified from this side to prevent entry from the corridor.

  Also, though they were fewer here, the walls of the storage area also bore the markings of precision disruptor hits. All of these corresponded to the same interior surveillance systems as they had seen in the hallway.

  “This was not a defense against invasion,” said Kvin as they moved slowly toward the wall of metal crates.

  “No?” said Ses.

  “There is no indication of external attack or forced entry. There are no signs of weapons discharged beyond those of the personnel already in retreat,” he said.

  “Conclusion?” said Ses.

  “Either mutiny or some other sort of internal conflict,” said Kvin.

  Ses was about to inform him that she detected several biological organisms clustered just beyond the makeshift wall when part of it exploded.

  “Rescue unit,” came the voice of Nau over their comlink. “The Fenton has registered an energy discharge in your vicinity consistent with a disruptor blast.”

  Kvin and Ses were too busy dodging the flying shreds of the metal crates to answer at first. Faster than most eyes could track they vaulted back and away from the explosion even as it occurred. A small sliver of metal slashed the fabric near the collar of Kvin’s garment. Otherwise the two were unharmed.

  “This is Ses,” said Ses as they each drew their sedaters and crept forward toward the source of the attack. “Kvin and I are unharmed and are moving to investigate the cause of the discharge.”

  “Preliminary analysis indicates disruptor fire,” added Kvin.

  “Concurrence,” said Nau. “Take all requisite precautions. Flash update in ten intervals or less.”

  “Acknowledged,” said Kvin even as a second blast of disrupter fire swept out at them from the smoking gap in the wall.

  Again they dodged it easily, gymnastically sailing above it and, in unison, firing their sedaters into the dark aperture. The green beams lanced silently into the hole, melting into the shadows just as Ses and Kvin’s feet touched the floor again.

  There were no more attacks.

  “Preliminary combat analysis,” said Kvin.

  “Subject is likely pacified,” answered Ses, peering into the dark with her double white eyes.

  * * *

  The subject turned out to be one of thirteen bipedal mammals crammed into the space behind the wall of crates. Most lay prone on the floor. Their physiology corresponded to the Sapiens Vulcanis genome. All of them wore helmetless EVA suits.

  Ses extrapolated that they must have donned the suits in an attempt to protect themselves from the unknown chemical that now permeated their normally breathable gases. Obviously they had failed, as they were all now in some sort of stasis.

  Not dead or ill, she thought, but somehow rendered chemically inert. Fascinating.

  Their attacker, a male of approximately ninety standard years, was the only one of the thirteen who had managed to get his helmet on in time to escape stasis. He was now slumped against the farthest wall, his disruptor dangling from his left hand and his head lolling to the right.

  Sedaters were nonlethal, even when used in tandem, but they stunned whatever organic system they encountered into complete immobility for a number of intervals. Ses used those moments to examine him closely.

  Aside from the paralysis he was healthy enough, with no obvious structural damage beyond a racing pulse.

  “You are in emotional crisis,” she said in the Vulcan tongue. “Be advised that you are in no danger. We are here in answer to your signal of distress.”

  “I am called Kvin,” Kvin told him, crouching down beside her. “This is Ses.”

  The Vulcan mumbled something unintelligible and tried to flex his hands. Ses, remembering to smile this time, told him to relax until the sedater’s effects wore off, which, presently, they did.

  “You speak Vulcan,” said the Vulcan weakly.

  “We are fluent in all known languages,” explained Kvin, bending close to their new charge. “Can you describe the sequence of events that led you to attack us?”

  The Vulcan seemed to hesitate before answering, but Ses chalked that up to lingering effects of the sedation beams.

  “Some sort of malfunction,” he said eventually. “Our security AI misidentified base personnel as hostile intruders and attacked. We fought back with hand weapons but the system responded by flooding the atmospherics with some kind of tranquilizer. I managed to seal my environment suit before succumbing to its effects. The others did not. I was the only one spared.”

  “You cannot be,” said Ses.

  “Look around you,” said the Vulcan. Both the newcomers did as he asked, marking again the bodies strewn all around them. “I watched them all fall. I have been here for fourteen days trying to formulate a plan of escape. These suits are all equipped with communication devi
ces. If anyone else was awake, they would have made contact by now.”

  “That is a sound hypothesis,” said Kvin, gently. “But it is faulty for at least two reasons.”

  “Which are?” said the Vulcan.

  “It is possible that there may be several others who also managed to avoid stasis via similar means to your own but who then suffered some subsequent injury or incapacitating accident that prevents them from responding to your calls,” said Ses, helping the Vulcan to his feet.

  “I considered that,” he said. “All our suits are equipped with deadman devices. Even if the wearer is incapacitated, a sealed suit would automatically broadcast a locator beacon. I have heard nothing.”

  This seemed to stymie the newcomers briefly, but then Ses said, “There is another factor you have not considered.”

  “Which is?”

  “You say you have been barricaded in this vault for several days without access to your malfunctioning control systems,” she said. “But, if you were the only one to escape stasis, who sent the distress signal?”

  * * *

  The Vulcan’s name was Stek and he did nothing that one would expect from one of his species.

  He was openly emotional, muttering constantly to himself in a fashion that could only be described as worried. He was also secretive, something no Vulcan should ever be. On more than one occasion, when he was asked about the function of some unknown system or the overall reason for the facility’s construction, there was a shift in his metabolic rate consistent with less-than-frank responses.

  Stek was adamant that they make their way to the command and control station as quickly as possible.

  “Should we not see what can be done about reviving your crew-mates?” asked Kvin, obviously on the verge of asking for coordination from the Fenton on this matter.

  “No,” said Stek. “First we have to correct the malfunction. Otherwise this could happen again. Also, if there is someone else here unaffected by the stasis, I will be able to locate them quickly from there.”

  Ses tried to tell him that she and Kvin would provide him with code patches that would make any further malfunctions of this nature impossible and that she had already identified the other biosignals on the station as holding their relative positions, but Stek would have none of it.