Star Trek: Enterprise - Surak's Soul

by J. M. Dillard

  But the instant his living image appeared on her viewer, Hoshi was mesmerized, all discomfort forgotten. Here was the living man, his expression alert, keen with concern, his lashless dark eyes round and so luminous that Hoshi found them attractive, even by human standards. The first entry he made was terse, too brief for her to make much of; she replayed it again and again until it began to make sense in context of all she’d heard before.

  Uroqa: that was his name, and he gave what was probably a date and time. Hoshi fast-forwarded and confirmed the repetition of the name and the date/time, which varied just enough. These were precisely what Dr. Phlox and Captain Archer had [55] hoped, medical log entries, and she sat entranced, listening to Uroqa’s deep bass—deeper tones than a human was capable of producing. Given the urgency of his tone, these logs probably commenced at some point after the medical crisis had already begun.

  This time, Hoshi played the first entry at normal speed, listening carefully. She began to pick out certain words—medical, disease—enough times to convince her she had the proper translation. It always amazed her, no matter how many times she began to interpret a new language, how effortlessly and swiftly her brain put the pieces of the linguistic puzzle together; as a child, she had taken her ability for granted, and assumed that everyone could read backward and upside down, and made up their own secret alphabets for sending coded messages to friends in school. Early on, Starfleet Intelligence had made efforts to recruit her, but she had no interest in politics or espionage. Languages were for learning about new cultures, for making new friends.

  She watched as Uroqa made his swift, tense report—and then he glanced up as another person entered the room.

  Hoshi let out a small gasp of recognition: it was the female who had been alive when the landing party had found her—alive, beneath Uroqa’s body. She said his name—with alien intonation, to be sure, but Hoshi heard the tenderness in her [56] voice, saw the sudden brightness in Uroqa’s eyes when he glanced up and saw her there.

  “Kano,” he said, and spoke to her softly, his tone now one of gentle reproach. Hoshi did not know the meaning of each word, but she understood him all too well: You should not be here, in the midst of all this danger.

  Hoshi’s throat tightened suddenly; she realized she was in danger of weeping and blinked rapidly, determined to remain the scientist. Now was not the time to be moved.

  She had permitted Captain Archer to talk her into signing aboard Enterprise very quickly; it had all been very exciting, the promise of travel and the chance to meet aliens from other cultures, and learn their languages. But it had never occurred to her that they would encounter such a horrific situation—that her skills would be put to such grim use, and the minor joy of learning a new tongue was profoundly eclipsed by the sorrowful circumstance. It had been very difficult to maintain concentration. Now she was struggling not to cry.

  At that precise instant, Captain Archer appeared in the hatchway, a hint of a smile on his lips, despite the fact that he looked tired. “Hoshi. Anything so far?”

  “Captain,” she said, composing herself at once. She rose from her chair. “Not a lot, sir, but I can give you a better translation of the warning.”

  [57] She played her tape back for him, and he listened to it thoughtfully. “Good work. Anything else?”

  She nodded. “We’re in luck. Those tapes we found in the medical facility—you were right. They’re medical logs. I’m just getting started with those, but the beginning’s always the hardest part. Once I gain more facility with their language, the work will go a lot faster. Right now the logs indicate they didn’t know what was happening to them.”

  It was Archer’s turn to nod, rather glumly.

  “Sir,” Hoshi asked, “has Doctor Phlox discovered anything new?”

  “No word so far,” Archer said. “He’s my next stop. I’ll let you know if there’s anything.”

  “Thanks.” Hoshi smiled.

  On his way out, Archer paused to glance at the image of the two aliens on her viewer; a look of recognition passed over his features, followed by a darker emotion that he quickly stifled. Hoshi glanced at him curiously. Months of serving together at close quarters left her sensitive to the other officers’ moods, and there had been a gray cloud hovering over the captain even before they had gone down to the doomed planet Oan.

  “I wish I could tell you more, Captain,” Phlox said, before Archer had fully set foot inside sickbay. The doctor stood over a diagnostic bed where [58] the corpse of the last female to die reposed, covered by a layer of nonpermeable film. His back was to Archer; apparently he had recognised the captain’s footfall or done a good job of guessing. “I’ve spent the entire night studying their morphology and physiology, and other than that slight difference in electrolytes I detected when we were on the planet’s surface, I’ve found nothing to account for their deaths. No microbes, no parasites, no sign of poisoning or radiation, no exposure to weaponry that we’re familiar with ...” He turned to face the captain; either the lack of sleep or the frustration had made its mark on him. His normally pink features were sallow; shadows had appeared in the folds beneath his eyes. “To be quite honest, Captain, I really don’t know what further tests to perform. Short of going down to the planet’s surface, I—”

  “They called themselves the Oani,” Archer interrupted. It was a non sequitur, but he could think of nothing to say in response to Phlox’s discouraging report. It wasn’t that he was worried about his crew contracting the mysterious illness—he wasn’t—but he felt he owed a solution to the Oanis. It would be simply too sad, too meaningless for an entire race to die off without that legacy he had spoken to Hoshi of.

  “Oani,” Phlox repeated thoughtfully, and gazed down at the sealed corpse. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet them under better circumstances.”

  [59] Archer opened his mouth to agree, but at the last moment changed his mind and asked, “What about the male who attacked Hoshi? And the one with the contorted features? Was there insanity or rage associated with whatever killed them?”

  Phlox sighed. “I wish I could speak with certainty, Captain, but at the moment, I find myself with more questions than answers. However, my best guess is that no, the apparently violent impulse that overtook the poor man had more to do with a coincidental dementia brought on by organic brain disease. As for the gentleman with the disturbing expression, he showed no signs of insanity; he was quite healthy in all respects until his death.”

  As the doctor finished his sentence, T’Pol’s voice filtered through the companel.

  “T’Pol to sickbay.”

  The doctor moved to the bulkhead and tapped the control. “Phlox here.”

  “Doctor, have you heard anything unusual?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Anything unusual,” T’Pol repeated blandly. “I take it by your reply you have not. I’m looking for Captain Archer. Have you seen him?”

  Phlox turned and made a sweeping gesture at Archer, who stepped to the companel.

  “Archer here.”

  “Captain ...” Perhaps it was Archer’s imagination, but he detected a curious undercurrent of [60] anticipation in the Vulcan’s tone. “Would you please report to the bridge? And could Ensign Sato accompany you?”

  The captain frowned, immediately concerned, but intrigued by the request to bring Hoshi. “Is anything wrong?”

  “Negative, sir. We seem to be receiving a unique form of alien contact.”

  “We’ll be there,” Archer said before T’Pol had completely uttered her last word, then punched the control and turned on his heel in one swift move, leaving Phlox to gaze after him.

  As Archer and Hoshi stepped onto the bridge, T’Pol immediately vacated the command chair—but did not return to her post. Both Reed at tactical and Mayweather at the helm were watching the encounter with “great interest—and more than a little anxiety, Archer judged.

  “Captain,” she acknowledged, then turned her attention to Hosh
i. “Ensign Sato ... do you hear anything unusual?”

  Hoshi paused to concentrate; her gaze grew distant, then she frowned slightly and said, “Maybe. Do you think one of the subwarp engines is straining a bit?”

  T’Pol’s lips compressed themselves a bit more firmly; this was apparently not the reply she had hoped to hear. And Archer was no longer in the mood for any more mysteries.

  [61] “Out with it, Sub-Commander. Exactly what do you hear?”

  “Vulcan,” she answered.

  The captain did a slight double take.

  “More specifically,” T’Pol added, “a female voice speaking Vulcan. It identifies itself as an amorphous entity, composed entirely of energy particles, yet possessing consciousness. It asks—”

  As she was talking, Archer flashed on the image of the mad Oani male attacking Hoshi and felt a sudden chill descend over him. He and the exolinguist shared an uncomfortable glance. Was T’Pol now going insane? Had the unidentified plague found its way aboard Enterprise?

  Relax, Archer chided himself. From what we know, all but two of those people died calmly.

  Nevertheless, he interrupted T’Pol. “Sub-Commander, you may very well be hearing the voice of an invisible alien entity that for some reason, the rest of us can’t detect. But I think it’s reasonable”—he emphasized the word—“to ask that you report to sickbay and have yourself checked out.”

  T’Pol lifted her eyebrows in mild protest. “I assure you, Captain, I feel quite well. Should you wish to verify the truth of what I am saying, we need merely scan for the existence of the creature in the area of space it claims to be located.”

  “Then do it,” Archer said.

  [62] T’Pol’s full lips parted; after a slight hesitation, she said, “According to the coordinates, the entity is currently beyond the range of our scanners. We need to leave Kappa Xi Two’s orbit.”

  A gruesome image flashed in Archer’s mind: Enterprise as a ghost ship, aimlessly asail through space with her bridge crew sitting dead at their posts. Who knew what other life-forms they might expose to the mysterious plague? And if the Vulcans came looking for them ... He stopped the thought at once and stated firmly, “I won’t risk leaving orbit until I can be sure we won’t spread the disease further. Report to sickbay, Sub-Commander. That’s an order.”

  He saw the flicker of resistance in her eyes; but she at last nodded calmly and said, “Very well, Captain.”

  He, Reed, and Hoshi watched her leave.

  “Return to your work,” Archer told the exolinguist. “We might need your help sooner than you think.”

  “So it begins,” Mayweather muttered—not quite softly enough. Archer heard and turned to him in irritation.

  “Ensign?”

  Mayweather stiffened at his post. “Yes, sir?”

  “Do me a favor and knock off the dramatics. We’ve got enough excitement as it is.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  * * *

  [63] An anxious hour later. Archer sat in his command chair and listened to Phlox via companel.

  “She checks out perfectly healthy, Captain,” the doctor said. “And as far as I can tell, she’s completely rational. I detect no psychosis. I’d say her claim about an energy-based entity merits examination. I’m sending her back up to the bridge.”

  “Thank God,” Archer breathed. He could sense the others on the bridge relaxing around him: Mayweather’s shoulders dropped significantly; Reed emitted an audible sigh. “So she shows no sign of the disease.”

  “Correct.” The Denobulan paused. “Of course, that doesn’t mean that she hasn’t been affected by whatever killed the Oanis.”

  “Wait a minute, Doctor. You just said she was perfectly healthy.”

  “That’s what all her readings indicate,” the doctor countered. “But remember, the people down on the planet’s surface showed no sign of disease, either.”

  “So any of us could be infected.” Archer watched as Mayweather’s shoulders tensed upward a quarter-inch.

  “I’m afraid it’s possible. Although at this time, there’s no indication that’s happened.”

  Archer sighed. “In other words, we simply won’t know until the first of us gets sick. You know, I really prefer it when things are a little more black-and-white.”

  [64] “Black-and-white ... ? Ah, a colorful—or should I say, monochromatic—metaphor. Well, I’m sorry I can only give you gray at the moment, Captain.”

  “Please, don’t apologize.” Archer shook his head, even though Phlox couldn’t see him. “You’ve worked harder than any of us at trying to solve this; we’re all in your debt.”

  “I appreciate that, sir.”

  As Phlox’s words filtered through the companel, T’Pol stepped through the lift doors onto the bridge.

  “Keep up the good work, Doctor,” Archer said. “Archer out.” T’Pol had moved to her station; the captain turned to her. “So, are you still hearing the voice of this ... entity?”

  She faced him, her posture formal, a bit stiff. “I am, sir. However, Doctor Phlox has verified that I am not hallucinating ...”

  “I’m not questioning that, T’Pol. I’d like to know whether you’re able to communicate with it. To explain why we can’t leave planetary orbit to go meet it.”

  She tilted her head, revealing a high, angular cheekbone. “I shall try, Captain.” She closed her eyes and concentrated, a slight crease forming between her upswept brows. After a minute, she opened her eyes again. “It has already received the message; it is monitoring our vessel and knows what you have said.”

  Archer was not at all sure he liked the sound of [65] that, but remained quiet as T’Pol continued: “It says that it already passed by the planet, and has been exposed to their disease—but is immune because it is not, like us, a carbon-based life-form. However, it does have considerable medical knowledge based on its studies, and wishes to offer its help in discovering the cause of the Oani’s deaths.”

  “Fair enough,” Archer said. “We can use whatever help we can get. Can it communicate directly with Doctor Phlox?”

  T’Pol closed her eyes again; this time she frowned, then opened them and looked over at the captain almost immediately. “Negative. It claims to be able to communicate only with me.”

  “It makes no sense,” Archer says. “If it’s ‘conversing’ directly with you in Vulcan—and you’re silently ‘thinking’ messages to it—then it has to be telepathic. So why couldn’t it communicate with Phlox in Denobulan?”

  “Maybe it’s transmitting at a frequency only T’Pol can hear,” Travis Mayweather offered from the helm. “Vulcan’s the lingua franca of a number of spacefaring races.”

  Archer considered this, but remained skeptical; however, any offer of help by any being who had already been exposed to the illness that killed the Oanis could not be ignored. He opened his mouth to tell T’Pol this when the Vulcan spoke first.

  “It also states that it is, like us, a spacefaring [66] entity on a mission of exploration. It wishes to know whether we are interested in exchanging information about our cultures.” T’Pol’s expression was as animated as Archer had ever seen it, her eyes especially bright; clearly, her scientific curiosity had been piqued. In his mind, he heard Trip Tucker’s voice saying, A Vulcan in love ... “It is asking permission to approach us in order to facilitate such an exchange.”

  The captain wasted no more time in arguing against the opportunity. “Tell it to come.”

  T’Pol nodded; this time, she merely unfocused her gaze for an instant, then bent over her viewer. After a time, she straightened and said, “Unusual energy configuration approaching. Currently located twenty-five hundred kilometers from the ship at coordinates seven-oh-five-zero.”

  It had moved with warp speed. Just to make sure, Archer stood behind her and tried to peer into her viewer; she sensed him and, without taking offense, stepped aside so that he could get a better look.

  “Sir,” Malcolm Reed interjected, his voice filled with
tension. “Are you sure you don’t want to activate the hull plating?”

  T’Pol turned toward him. “It would do no good, Lieutenant. At any rate, the creature is benign.”

  “Claims to be benign,” Reed corrected her. “And you can’t be sure that activating the plating would do no good.”

  [67] “Not yet, Lieutenant,” Archer said. “If this thing meant us harm, why would it be asking our permission for anything?” He paused, then bent forward over T’Pol’s viewer, his vague and private relief that his science officer truly wasn’t mad mixing with a sudden intense curiosity. “Will you look at that?” No image appeared on the viewer, only a digital readout of various forms of harmless radiation, mixed with electromagnetic pulses, which had gathered into a dense cloudlike formation.

  “Sentient,” T’Pol said, studying it alongside him, clearly fascinated. “Yet totally amorphous.”

  “On screen,” Archer told Mayweather, who obliged immediately.

  The sight of it caused Archer to rise from his chair. Whatever he had expected to see, this was not it: a roiling play of energy that looked like dappled light on breaking turquoise waves of water; for an instant, he thought of the island planet and its seas below.

  Conscious energy. Why does it surprise me so to find it in the universe? Archer wondered. The physicists have always said we’re just light in frozen form ...

  To the screen, he said aloud, “Greetings from the crew of the starship Enterprise. We appreciate your offer of help in discovering what killed the inhabitants of—he paused, struggling to [68] remember what Hoshi had called the planet—“Oan.”

  “The entity returns your greetings, Captain,” T’Pol answered immediately behind him. Her gaze, too, was fixed on the screen. “It asks permission to come aboard to work directly with Doctor Phlox. I will serve as translator.”

  “Why does it need to come aboard?” Archer asked. “It seems to communicate just fine from this distance.”