Текст книги "Twilight "

Автор книги: David George

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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 42 страниц)

19

Beneath a clear daylight sky and a high moon, Vaughn stood at the top of the low mortar-and-stone tower and looked out over the city. Modern buildings flowed in circles away from his location, the metal and glass of their construction tinted in delicate shades that coalesced into a magnificent tapestry of color. Numerous greenswards sat interspersed throughout, perfectly placed as natural counterpoints to the artificial hues all around. Busy pedestrian thoroughfares roamed between the buildings, both the spokes and the rims of the concentric wheels in which the stunning metropolis had been laid out.

Even as Vaughn appreciated the breathtaking beauty of the city, though, he found the dull, formless quality of the sounds that rose from it disturbing. The brown noise of movement and machinery reached him, an almost random agglomeration of acoustic elements that seemed as empty as the bountiful colors here seemed full. Conspicuously absent were the sounds of voices, music, and anything utilized as an aural communication or signal.

And still, the city was a masterwork. Walking through it during the past few days had been like walking through a painting. The colors and contours of the buildings impressed the eye in the same way that art did, as though the perfect shade or shape had been chosen at every point. The buildings, though no taller than one or two stories, gave the suggestion of slender height. Flowers and foliage accented both structures and streets, and public meeting places stood set off from the flow of pedestrian traffic by statuary and sculpture. Belowground, a complex transportation grid, using capsules about the size of a Starfleet shuttle, allowed individuals easy, fast access to both local and distant points.

Vaughn turned and offered his admiration of the vista—“Your world is truly beautiful”—then lowered his chin and peered down at the optic net spread across the chest of his uniform. A wave of hues and forms splashed across the fine mesh, a translation of his words into the visual language of the Vahni Vahltupali.

The being with Vaughn—whose name the translator approximated as “Ventu,” but whom Vaughn had come to think of as “Red-BlueOne”—shimmied slightly in response, sending a complicated series of orange-yellow ripples across his flesh. Vaughn’s own modified translator decoded the communication as “Life is a beauteous thing.”

And that,Vaughn thought, sums up the Vahni.Four billion beings with a benevolent, global government, at peace among themselves, with their world, and with what they knew of the rest of the universe. And they had a technological sophistication that matched their social achievement. Accomplished astronomers and physicists, they had traveled throughout their solar system, discovered subspace, and now stood on the brink of developing both warp drive and transporter technologies. All in all, Vaughn was pleased that the Vahni had found Defiant.

The crew had been on the sixth day of their journey in the Gamma Quadrant, charting and studying the Vahni system via long-range sensors, when they had received a subspace transmission. The message had lacked an audio component, but its visual portion had shown two strange beings, essentially humanoid in shape and size, but wildly different in most other respects. The beings—two of the Vahni Vahltupali—had two legs below a long, narrow torso, two tentacles that approximated arms, and a bulbous, headlike projection atop their frame. Tall and slender, their bodies possessed a firm but malleable and many-jointed skeleton, allowing them to contort their bodies dramatically. They had neither vocal nor auditory organs, but a complex ocular organ ringed their heads. Most intriguing of all had been their flesh, over which they could exercise remarkable control, changing its color and texture in whole or in part.

The two beings sending the message had been different colors, one a reddish blue and the other a greenish yellow, but the shapes and hues flickering across their skins had been identical and had repeated. The crew had concluded that the Vahni communicated via the epidermal patterns, and they had set out to decode the transmission. Ensign ch’Thane had succeeded fairly quickly in determining the rudimentary meaning of the message, which had been an invitation to the Vahni world. Vaughn had considered the matter carefully, since the Prime Directive generally barred Starfleet contact with pre-warp civilizations, but a gray area existed in the regulation when the civilization itself initiated first contact.

For a day and a half, Lieutenant Nog and his engineering staff, along with Lieutenant Candlewood and Ensign ch’Thane, had worked with Vahni technicians to develop a translation system. The Vahni had previously made contact with two other spacefaring—and verbal—species, and so they had already created equipment for the task; it had therefore only been a matter of adapting it to the Defiantcrew’s universal translators. The completed device included an optic patch of fine mesh spread across the chest of each Starfleet uniform, with the interface between the patch and the universal translator mounted in a small casing worn on the hip. The system worked amazingly well, given the diverse natures of the two methods of communication, though occasional lapses did occur.

“We’ve enjoyed our stay here,” Vaughn told Ventu, who had been one of those who had first contacted Defiant.Ventu served within the government here, on one of the many councils given over to affairs of state; the jurisdiction of his council included establishing relations with off-worlders, and he had acted as Vaughn’s guide during the crew’s time here. “We thank you for your hospitality,” Vaughn continued, and then he waited while the translator interpreted his words and sent them shimmering across his chest. Ventu shifted, and a burst of colors bloomed on his flesh, twisting and spinning into complex forms and then vanishing.

“Our people like you being here,” came the interpretation of Ventu’s response. The neutral tone of the voice produced by the translator seemed to Vaughn a poor analogue for the vibrancy of the original communication. “We are [untranslatable].”A low tone signaled the words that could not adequately be deciphered. “Your people are friendly and we welcome you to our world always.”

“Commander,” someone called out, the sound of a raised voice in this environment oddly intrusive. Vaughn looked out over the wall surrounding the top of the tower and saw Lieutenant Bowers and Ensign Roness approaching along with a bright-blue Vahni. Bowers and Roness both waved, and the bounces in their gaits and the smiles on their faces told Vaughn that they had been enjoying their time in the city—as had all the crew. Over the last couple of days, the entire complement of Defianthad cycled down to the planet at one time or another, all of them enchanted by the unique inhabitants of this world. “We’re coming up,” Bowers called, pointing to the tower while colors flickered across the front of his uniform. Vaughn held his hand up, not waving, but indicating that he had seen and heard the lieutenant.

Vaughn turned back to Ventu. “When we return to our own people,” he said, “they will send others here to establish formal relations with you.” Vaughn’s translator drew his words.

“We will look forward to that time,” Ventu flashed. The Vahni then bent at his midsection, just above the tops of his legs, his head coming down to within centimeters of the floor. He reached out a tentacle, and the four smaller, opposable tentacles at its end wrapped themselves around the handle of a cloth bag he had carried here. Ventu opened the bag, then reached in with his other tentacle and withdrew what appeared to be a fist-sized ball composed of an iridescent, silvery material. He stood back up and held it out toward Vaughn.

“What is this?” Vaughn asked, taking the object.

“It is a remembrance for you of the Vahni Vahltupali.” Vaughn turned the ball around in his hands and examined it. The structure of the object was not solid, he saw, but resembled a crumpled piece of paper. As he manipulated it, the surfaces seemed to move, as though covered with a thin layer of liquid.

Apparently sensing Vaughn’s confusion, Ventu extended a tentacle and slipped one of his digits beneath a thin strip of the silvery material, which Vaughn had not seen. Ventu pulled the strip loose with a quick snap, and the ball began to unfurl. In seconds, the object had straightened into a flat sheet, about the size of a companel display. On its surface was a hologram of the city from its tallest point: the tower in which they stood. Vaughn understood now why the Vahni had wanted to bring him to this location before he transported back up to Defiant.

“This is wonderful,” Vaughn said. He peeked at the other side of the object and saw the shimmering, silvery material. “Thank you.”

“To have a new friend is wonderful,” Ventu flashed. “You are welcome.”

Vaughn heard footsteps echoing to his left, through the archway at the top of the stairs. He compressed the picture Ventu had given him back into a ball—it collapsed with almost no effort—found the strip, and fastened it back in place. A moment later, Bowers and Roness emerged from the archway, followed by their Vahni guide. “Commander,” Bowers said, his breathing slightly labored after having climbed the four flights to the roof of the tower. “Brestol just took us on a tour of their natural-history museum. Have you seen it?” Vaughn watched the patch on the lieutenant’s chest as he spoke, fruitlessly trying to correlate his words with the forms and colors into which they were coded.

“No, I’m afraid I haven’t,” Vaughn said. He bowed his head toward Brestol, a greeting he was sure required no translation, and indeed, Brestol made a similar motion in response.

“It’s truly amazing, sir,” Bowers enthused. “The evolutionary chain on this planet…I’m no biologist, but I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“I think we’re going have to perform an emergency transport to get Ensign T’rb out of there,” Roness said with a chuckle, referring to one of the ship’s science officers. Then, evidently realizing that she was speaking to her commanding officer, she straightened, dropped her smile, and added a hasty, “Sir.”

“At ease, Ensign,” Vaughn said.

“Yes, sir,” she said. “Thank you, sir.”

Vaughn suppressed his own smile. So young,he thought. Roness had shown herself to be an able crewperson, with a good attitude and solid piloting skills, but she could stand to lose some of her earnestness. In time,he thought, although he suspected that continued exposure to Lieutenant Bowers might speed that process for her. “I assume you two are headed back to the ship?” Vaughn asked.

While Roness issued a sober and immediate “Yes, sir,” Bowers had something else in mind. “Actually, sir, we were hoping we might stay on the surface a bit longer.” Smart,Vaughn thought, for Bowers to ask in person rather than over a comm channel; let the commanding officer know that you are prepared to perform your duties as needed, show him the respect of a face-to-face request, but also let him see how much you want something.

Vaughn looked to Ventu and asked whether he had any objections to some of the crew spending more time on the planet. “We welcome your people at any time,” came his interpreted response. Vaughn turned back to Bowers and Roness.

“Check the duty roster with Lieutenant Dax. If she can spare you, then you can stay,” Vaughn told them, and then added lightly, “whichever of you two actually want to stay, that is.” Clearly, both Bowers and Roness had come seeking permission to remain on the planet longer, but the young ensign had lost her nerve. “No matter what, though, I want everybody back aboard ship in two hours.” He had scheduled Defiantto depart the Vahni world and resume their exploration of the Gamma Quadrant four hours from now.

According to Dax, quite a few of the crew had expressed a desire to stay with the Vahni, not just a few more hours, but a few more days.Vaughn could certainly understand that; the Vahni Vahltupali were a lovely people, inquisitive and friendly, with an impressive civilization. And Defiant’s itinerary did allow for some flexibility in the amount of time the crew spent at whatever stops they made along the way. For Vaughn, though, the encounter with the Vahni had merely whetted his appetite for exploration, and he was anxious to resume their mission. More time spent here, he thought, might not leave them enough time to make some other discovery farther along their course.

“Thank you, sir,” Bowers said, his translated words careering brightly across the front of his uniform. “We’ll contact Lieutenant Dax right away.”

“Thank you, sir,” Roness echoed. Vaughn nodded, and the two officers headed back through the archway and down the stairs, accompanied by their Vahni companion.

Vaughn regarded Ventu once more. He held up the compressed picture. “Thank you again for this,” he said. “I hope to see you again someday.”

“Again, you are welcome,” came the slightly stilted response. Vaughn wondered about the degree of accuracy to which the translators functioned. They were obviously sufficient to their task, but he also suspected that the awkward sentences they produced might imply room for improvement. Perhaps when the Federation established formal contact with the Vahni, even better translators could be developed.

“Farewell,” Vaughn said, and he tapped his combadge. “Vaughn to—”

Suddenly, the floor heaved to the right, throwing Vaughn and Ventu off their feet in the other direction. The compressed picture flew from Vaughn’s grasp as he thrust his hands out to break his fall. He caught himself in time to cushion his impact, but his head struck the stone floor just above his left eye. A tremendous boom split the air, as though thunder had rumbled from a cloud directly above them. Vaughn had enough time to recall that the sky had been clear, before his instincts told him that the city was being rocked by seismic activity. The violent shaking of the tower went on and on, as did the almost deafening roar—and now Vaughn thought he could hear those roars not just here at the tower, but in the distance as well. Yes,he thought again, a quake.

Vaughn lifted his head and pushed his upper body up off the floor. He searched for Ventu, and saw him lying on his back a couple of meters away. Empty, white whorls erupted on his flesh, the Vahni equivalent, Vaughn guessed, of screaming in terror.

Vaughn struggled to his knees and then to his feet, the tower still shuddering dramatically beneath him. He staggered his way across to Ventu and reached down to try to help him up, but the Vahni would not move, his tentacles wrapped tightly about his body. Vaughn reached up and slapped at his combadge, but found that it was no longer there. He looked back toward where he had fallen, but the shaking made it impossible to focus his eyes on one spot.

The floor thrust to the side again, sending Vaughn off balance. As his feet shifted, he spread his legs and lowered his center of gravity, preventing himself from going down. He moved back to Ventu and stood over him, making sure the translator patch on his chest faced the Vahni. “You have to get up,” Vaughn shouted, barely able to hear his own voice above the cacophony. Ventu did not move, though his flesh continued to flash brilliant white eddies. Vaughn felt at his hip to make sure the translator hardware was still there; it was. “We have to get out of here,” he yelled, and he moved around to Ventu’s head, crouched, and shoved his hands beneath his tentacles. He hoisted the Vahni onto his feet, surprised to find the alien heavier than he had expected. Ventu looked at Vaughn—at least Vaughn thought he did, because the pale swirls diminished—and Vaughn pointed to the archway. “Come on,” he yelled. “We have to get down.” Ventu wrapped his tentacle around Vaughn’s arm. The two leaned on each other in order to keep their balance in the still-moving tower, and they took two steps toward the archway.

That was when the tower collapsed.

Vaughn had no idea whether or not he had lost consciousness, but in his next moment of awareness, the shaking and booming had ceased. He opened his eyes and found his vision blocked by something just centimeters from his head, a brownish gray object he could not identify. The stale smell of dust clogged his nose, and small sounds—pops and cracks, almost like wood burning—reached his ears.

Slowly, he began flexing his arms and legs, testing his spine, attempting to take stock of his body. He lay facedown atop a hard, irregular surface, and every part of him ached, though everything at least seemed intact. Cautiously he began to push himself up. Something moved beneath him and he stopped, waiting to see what would happen. When nothing did, he raised up all the way and looked around.

Below him sat only rubble, he saw, the obvious remnants of the tower. Vaughn had landed on top of the pile of crushed mortar and stones; one of the stones had been in front of his face when he had opened his eyes. The four-story edifice had disintegrated into a mound maybe four meters high. He got to his knees, perching precariously on the loose stones, and looked around for Ventu, but he did not see him.

“Bowers,” he called. “Roness.” He waited a few seconds, then called the names again. Neither officer responded. He hoped that they and their Vahni companion had made it out of the tower before it had crumbled.

Vaughn looked beyond the rubble beneath him and out at the city. Vahni packed the pedestrian thoroughfares now, some running, but most just milling about. He saw a lot of bone-white flesh among the crowds, the residue, he assumed, of fear. Smoke rose from the city in three or four places, though the ebon plumes were narrow, suggesting that they had not spread and might be brought under control quickly. He also saw several laserlike beacons, their light dazzlingly purple, shooting up into the sky from separate locations, a Vahni method, Vaughn surmised, of signaling an emergency.

Vaughn scanned the buildings nearest him. While some had suffered damage—broken glass lay everywhere, and some external structuring had bent and twisted—he saw that none of the buildings had collapsed. Whatever had occurred– a quake,Vaughn still speculated—had clearly taken a toll on the city, but it appeared that only the old tower had been destroyed.

The pops and cracks of debris settling continued beneath Vaughn, and the jumbled hum of many footsteps blew innocuously through the air. Past the small sounds, though, a heavy, unnatural silence draped the scene in a way he found haunting. Because I’ve heard silence like that before,he thought; it had been the sound of death among the living.

Vaughn examined the heap of rubble and began easing himself down from it. He moved along carefully, taking his time not to dislodge any of the loose masonry. A few times, stones fell from the pile as he began to put his weight on them, but he moved slowly and avoided tumbling down after them.

When he reached the ground, Vaughn examined himself. Dirt coated his uniform, which had been slashed open in several places; the right thigh of his trousers hung down from the top of his knee, and his exposed skin had been badly abraded. His hands were cut and bleeding. Half the translator patch had been torn away, and the interface no longer hung at his hip.

Vaughn walked the perimeter of the wreckage, searching for his crewpeople and the two Vahni. A thick dust hung suspended in the still air; Vaughn felt it in his eyes and throat, and he waved a hand before his face as he walked, trying to ward it off. A third of the way around, he spotted the bright-blue Vahni—Brestol, he remembered—leaning over two bodies in Starfleet uniforms. Ashen patches infested Brestol’s body, as though the pigment had been drained from sections of his flesh. He extended his tentacles out to the fallen officers, apparently trying to help them.

Vaughn raced over and crouched on the other side of Roness’s body from Brestol. “Are you all right?” he asked, peering over at the Vahni, then recalled that the translator patch on his chest had been damaged. Brestol looked at him for a moment and did nothing, and then a yellow ring swirled around his midsection. Vaughn gestured, attempting to indicate all of the Vahni’s body. In response, Brestol reached out a tentacle to Vaughn’s head, touching him gingerly above his left eye. A rainbow of colors streamed back along his tentacle. Vaughn lifted his hand and felt his head where Brestol had touched it; his skin was tacky, and his fingers came away reddened by blood. Vaughn shrugged, not expecting the Vahni to understand, and turned his attention to Roness.

The ensign lay on her right side, her arms in tight against her body, her blond hair falling across her face, a purplish bruise on her forehead. Vaughn placed two fingers against her neck. He felt a strong pulse, and he exhaled loudly, unaware until that moment that he had been holding his breath. He moved on his hands and knees a meter or so past Roness to where Bowers lay on his back. Again, Vaughn felt for a pulse and found one, though not as strong as Roness’s. He inspected Bowers’s body for injuries, and found a gash on his left arm bleeding badly.

Seeing that Bowers had lost his combadge, Vaughn turned back to the ensign. He gently moved her arm from across her chest. She stirred as he did so. A spark of sunlight glinted off her chest, and Vaughn reached in and picked her combadge from her uniform. He squeezed the device, and its familiar electronic tones were like music in the horrible quiet.

“Vaughn to Defiant.”He waited a moment, and then tried again. Nothing. He started to consider what alternatives he had if could not contact the ship. If there had been an attack on the planet—

“Commander, this is Dax.”The lieutenant’s voice seemed rushed and serious. “Are you all right?”

“Is the ship?” he asked.

“We were hit by something,”Dax said. “Hard. We don’t know what. Systems are just coming back online.”

“What about the transporter?” Vaughn asked. He heard Dax say something to somebody on the ship before she responded.

“The transporter is up,”she said.

“All right,” Vaughn told her. “I have two injured, one possibly badly. Only I have a combadge, so you’ll have to lock on to the three human lifesigns at these coordinates.”

“Aye, sir.”

Vaughn looked to Brestol and described a circle with his finger to include the three Defiantcrew, then pointed to the sky, trying to indicate that they would be returning to the ship. The Vahni tilted his head back and looked at where Vaughn was pointing. Suddenly, a stark, white whorl spun across Brestol’s torso, and then the terrible pallor seemed to crawl across his flesh. Vaughn lifted his head and followed Brestol’s gaze. He could not believe what he saw.

“Commander, we’re locked on to you,”Dax said through the combadge.

“Energize,” Vaughn said. And as the transporter effect surrounded him, sending bright motes of light across his vision, the last thing he saw was the sky falling.