Текст книги "What Judgments Come"
Автор книги: Dayton Ward
Соавторы: Kevin Dilmore
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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 21 страниц)
“No, really. I got it,” Reyes said, his voice dripping sarcasm as he handed his chip to the cashier.
Finding an empty table along one wall of the restaurant’s dining area, the next few moments were spent in silence as they ate their meals. Reyes had not even put the first spoonful of Kohlanese stew in his mouth when a server, a lithe, striking Andorian woman whose outfit consisted of less material than the napkin in Reyes’s lap, approached their table and asked if they wanted anything to drink. As she left, Fisher turned to watch her as she disappeared into the depths of the crowded restaurant.
“You think she gets cold, walking around dressed like that?” he asked.
Reyes shrugged. “I think she’ll kick your ass if you don’t stop looking at her like that.” Taking another bite of his stew, he asked around a rather large chunk of spiced meat, “So, you want to tell me what you’re doing here?”
“Can’t I come and visit an old friend once in a while?” Fisher asked, offering a wan smile as he picked at his salad. “Besides, after that inoculation I gave you, I wanted to make sure you weren’t suffering any adverse side effects.” His expression betrayed nothing, as though the doctor had been carrying out covert conversations in public his entire life. At least Fisher’s first visit had served a purpose: providing Reyes with the subcutaneous transceiver that allowed him to communicate with T’Prynn.
“Well, I’m still having trouble sleeping,” Reyes said. He paused to glance around, checking to see if anyone might be eavesdropping on their conversation, “but I don’t think there’s anything you can do about it. Just too much racket around here, is all.”
Nodding, Fisher offered another wry grin. “Well, maybe what you need is a change of venue. You’re overdue for a vacation, aren’t you?”
“For a couple of years now,” Reyes replied. “Got any suggestions?”
The doctor shrugged as he turned his attention from his salad to a bowl of soup he had selected. “I’ll see what I can dig up.”
Taking a few more bites of his stew, Reyes cast a casual glance about the bar. No one seemed close enough to be eavesdropping, but he kept his voice low as he asked, “What happened with Hetzlein and Gianetti?”
It was obvious from Fisher’s expression that the doctor was uncomfortable discussing this topic, particularly given his present surroundings. Without looking up from his plate, he replied, “Their bodies weren’t recovered, but one of T’Prynn’s informants reported that Ganz had his people make them disappear, if you know what I mean. Starfleet’s not acknowledging their actions, and their families have been told they died in an accident during training. Nogura can’t press Ganz about it, and there’s no way Ganz is going to cop to murdering two Starfleet officers.”
Reyes forced himself not to react to the news. It was not an unexpected development, given the clandestine nature of the extraction attempt. Why Ganz had not taken advantage of the situation by capturing the two covert operatives and using them as leverage against Admiral Nogura, he did not know. All that was certain was that the two officers’ deaths were now added to the list of acts for which Reyes hoped the Orion merchant prince would be held accountable one day.
Movement in his peripheral vision made Reyes turn to see an Orion male—one of the two security guards who had been shadowing Fisher outside the restaurant—heading toward the table. Reyes felt his muscles tense in anticipation, not liking what he was seeing. The guard brushed past a server and two patrons on his way in their direction, and when he came to a stop at their table, he stood in silence, glaring at them. After several seconds, during which Fisher continued to work on his soup, Reyes decided he would be the one to break the ice.
“We’re not ready for the dessert menu just yet, sport. Come back in about fifteen minutes.” The remark was enough to make the Orion turn his smoldering gaze upon Reyes, though the guard said nothing to him. Instead, another moment passed in odd silence before he turned his attention to Fisher.
“Come with me. I’ve been ordered to escort you to the main entrance.”
“I’m not finished with my lunch,” the doctor replied.
As if to emphasize his point, the Orion leaned across the table toward Fisher. “Yes, you are. Come with me, now.”
“What’s this about?” Reyes snapped, scowling and deciding that he did not care how the guard chose to interpret his question or tone.
The guard turned to glower once more at Reyes. “I’ve been ordered to escort this human off the ship. I don’t know the reason, and I don’t care.” To Fisher, he said, “Let’s go.”
Shrugging, the doctor wiped his mouth with a napkin before pushing back his chair and rising to his feet. “Food was cold, anyway.” He sighed, offering Reyes another small, knowing smile. “See you around, Diego,” he said, before looking back to the guard and nodding toward the restaurant’s exit. “After you.”
Reyes was certain he heard the Orion growl in irritation as he gestured for Fisher to move along. He watched the unlikely pair work their way through the crowded restaurant, with the guard retrieving what Reyes knew to be a communications device from his belt and holding it up to his mouth. No doubt he was alerting whoever was on duty for the Omari-Ekon’s security detail that he had his charge in custody and was escorting him to the exit, where Reyes guessed Fisher would be shown without ceremony to the docking ring leading back to Vanguard.
See you around, Zeke.
Looking down at his meal, Reyes decided that Fisher’s dismissal and the prospect of eating yet another meal in solitude had removed what remained of his appetite. He was contemplating an attempt to annoy Ganz and his cronies by winning at the gaming tables when his thoughts were interrupted by the voice of T’Prynn echoing in his head.
“Mister Reyes.”
“I thought you were going to call me Diego?” Reyes asked, masking his mouth with his water glass, from which he then sipped.
The Vulcan seemed to ignore that. “I have just been informed that Doctor Fisher has left the Omari-Ekon. As you have likely surmised, his visit was a pretense.”
“No kidding,” Reyes mumbled. “I’m assuming Pennington’s part of the plan, too?”
T’Prynn said, “That’s correct, but he’s there only to serve as a distraction. His last visit attracted some scrutiny, but I do not believe they know anything about the messages he helped you to pass to us. However, he volunteered to take his evening meal aboard the Omari-Ekon simply as an exercise in diverting the attention of any security guards who might be watching Doctor Fisher.”
Reyes wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Okay, but if Zeke was supposed to tell me something, he either didn’t get a chance to say it, or I’m too stupid to have understood it.”
T’Prynn replied, “Doctor Fisher’s task was to leave you something. Please check the underside of your plate.”
Trying to affect as casual a demeanor as possible while not making it appear too obvious that he was looking about to see if he was being observed, Reyes took the better part of a minute to inspect the underside of each of the plate’s eight edges with his fingers. On the left side of the plate, close to the edge nearest his side of the table, his fingertips brushed over something thin and smooth. It required only the smallest amount of force to move the object, and it fell from the plate into his palm. He left his hand in place for an extra moment as he forced himself to take another bite of his stew. Around the meat in his mouth, he mumbled, “What is it?”
“A transceiver, fitted with an additional translator module,” T’Prynn replied. “You will use it during your next attempt to access the Omari-Ekon’s navigational logs.”
Reyes suspected as much. The device was small enough that he could conceal it in his hand, and he covered the movement by reaching up with that same hand to rub his nose. “I was wondering if you’d forgotten about me.” It might have been his imagination, but he swore he heard T’Prynn sigh before answering.
“Hardly. It took some time to program the module to be able to access all known spoken and written Orion languages, including those which have fallen out of common use. You should encounter no further linguistic difficulty when you make your next attempt.”
“Excellent,” Reyes said, reaching up to scratch his chin. “When do we go for it?”
“If you have no objections,” T’Prynn replied, “I was thinking we might try later this evening.”
That suited Reyes just fine. He was tiring of this entire affair, and there was a part of him that wanted it to be over, one way or the other.
Of course, he mused as he considered the transceiver still secreted in his palm as he strolled out of the restaurant, I definitely prefer one way over the other.
22
Ming Xiong heard the footsteps crossing the open deck of the Lovell’s cargo bay, only then realizing that he had missed the sound of the room’s access hatch opening. Had he been dozing? Jerking himself upright in his seat, he reached up to wipe his face while turning his seat in the direction of his visitor, uncertain as to whether he should expect a dressing down or merciless ribbing for his apparent nap.
“What in the name of all that’s holy are you doing here at oh-whatever hundred hours time it is?” asked Lieutenant Kurt Davis, Mahmud al-Khaled’s second in command for the Lovell’s Corps of Engineers team. Tall and thin, with long arms that seemed much too small for the sleeves of his uniform tunic, when Davis smiled his mouth seemed capable of devouring the rest of his face, and Xiong was certain the man possessed the whitest teeth he had ever seen.
“I could ask you the same question,” Xiong said, rising from his chair and making his way toward the food slot set into the nearby bulkhead.
Davis shrugged. “Just making the rounds. It’s my shift. Commander al-Khaled and I usually work opposite each other, and I like the night shift. It’s quieter—most of the time, anyway. Besides, it gives me time and space to sort through a tough project without all of the interruptions that come with working on prime shift. There’s also never a line in the mess hall, either.” He glanced toward the isolation chamber. “If I’d known you were down here, I’d have dropped by sooner.”
Rubbing his chin, which he now realized had grown fuzzy with very fine beard stubble, Xiong reached for one of the data cards lying on a nearby shelf and inserted it into the food slot’s reader. He entered a sequence on the row of buttons below the reader, and the slot’s door opened to reveal a cup of hot coffee. As he retrieved the steaming beverage, he held it up to Davis, who shook his head at the silent offer.
“So,” the engineer said, “what’s the matter? Can’t sleep?”
Xiong nodded. “Something like that.” After a sleepless turn in the bunk he had been provided in what laughingly passed as guest quarters aboard the Lovell, he had opted to return to the cargo bay and review the data that had been collected during their previous attempts to scan the Mirdonyae Artifact. Still ensconced within the isolation chamber, the artifact appeared dormant save for the constant muted violet hue emanating from within its crystalline heart.
“I’ve reviewed some of the data,” Davis said as Xiong returned to his seat and sipped his coffee. “No new progress, I see.”
Xiong shook his head. “Nothing. We’ve repeated some of the more intensive scan cycles a few times, but there’s been no response of any kind, or any other indication that the Shedai wants anything to do with us.”
“I’m guessing you’ve run diagnostics on the chamber itself,” Davis said.
“Until my fingers were numb,” Xiong replied before taking another sip of his coffee. “Everything checks out; we’re just not getting a response.” Shaking his head, he reached up to brush hair from his eyes. “I’m considering resetting all of the scan procedures and starting over, just to see if I’m missing something stupid.”
Davis frowned. “I don’t think that’s it. For one thing, Anderson and O’Halloran might like to clown around, but they also don’t miss much. If there was something wrong with the equipment, or if a scanner frequency was off by the smallest degree, one of those two would’ve found it. I swear their DNA was crossed with a bloodhound’s at some point.”
Rather than instill confidence that he was on the right track, the engineer’s words only served to heighten Xiong’s concern that he had done something wrong. It had to be something so obvious or innocuous that it was easy to miss. To reverse a popular idiom, it felt to him as though he was missing the lone tree that lurked in plain sight at the forefront of the forest commanding his attention.
Xiong sighed. “This sounds foolish to say out loud, but part of my frustration is that every advance we’ve made to this point has been almost by accident. We hypothesize and test and record data and draw conclusions from the results, and then we start the process all over again. It’s very slow, even when there’s progress. The only time there seems to be a significant development is when we happen across a Shedai artifact, or somehow back into getting some of their technology to work.” He shook his head. “We’re supposed to be smarter than this, especially considering how long we’ve been buying this stuff.”
“Maybe we should take that as a hint then,” Davis said. “After all, it seems that whenever we try to kick-start Shedai technology, it turns around and bites us on the ass.”
When Xiong turned to regard the engineer, he saw from the expression on the other man’s face that he was not at all serious with his suggestion, and it made him realize how negative he was sounding. “Okay, point taken. Besides, I really have no intention of waiting around for the next happy accident.” Eyeing the isolation chamber, he frowned. “I just feel like we’re poking a stick into a cage sometimes. I know I don’t like being poked. I like to be asked. Nicely.”
“So if I ask you nicely,” Davis said, “you’ll bring me breakfast?”
That made Xiong laugh, which in turn helped to dispel at least some of his somber mood. “I think not,” he said, leaning back in his chair and lifting his feet to rest on the edge of the console as he let his gaze wander across the set of status monitors at his station. The patterns of energy readings fed to the screens by the isolation chamber’s internal sensor network were almost hypnotic, and as his mind began to wander, he considered how the sensor probes might be received within the body of the artifact. He knew from previous scans that it was a complex latticework imbued with energy, even though the source of that power remained a mystery. As for the Shedai entity held within the artifact, of course it was present in a noncorporeal state, but beyond that? How did the Shedai’s energy—its life force, he allowed—exist within its crystalline prison? He doubted this bizarre incarceration was comfortable for the entity, but what else might be in play here? Could the sensor scans to which Xiong and his companions were subjecting the artifact be having some kind of detrimental effect on the Shedai? Was it possible that the life-form was in pain?
“I know that look,” he heard Davis say. “I see it on faces all over this ship. What are you thinking?”
Removing his feet from the console, Xiong pushed himself closer to the workstation and began entering a string of commands. “We’re telling the artifact what we want,” he said, more to himself than the engineer.
“Excuse me?” Davis asked.
Xiong did not look away from his console as he replied, “We’re scanning the hell out of that thing. We’re bombarding it with the most intensive data-gathering sensor probes we can throw at it. We’re practically screaming at the Shedai trapped inside, telling it what we want to know about it.” Pausing, he turned and offered a wry grin to his companion. “We’re not asking it.”
His eyes widening in surprise, Davis then nodded in appreciation. “Okay, that’s a bit out of left field, but everybody on this ship owns property out there. I see where you’re going. By subjecting the artifact to the intensive sensor sweeps and rudimentary linguacode hailing messages, we’re essentially trying to force the Shedai to talk to us.”
“Exactly,” Xiong said, feeling renewed excitement beginning to well up from within him. “We’ve known all along that we’re dealing with a life-form, but all our efforts have been directed at penetrating the artifact itself. The communications attempts have been secondary—almost an afterthought. We should instead be focusing on trying to talk to it.”
Davis’s brow furrowed as he considered the notion. “Can we do that? I mean, we’ve been hailing it, even if we’ve been clumsy about it.” Moving closer to one of the operations hub’s adjacent consoles, he began tapping a series of colored buttons. “We could try transmitting a standard hail using a tight-beam directional broadcast, like we would a message sent via subspace.”
Realizing what the engineer intended to do, Xiong held up a hand. “Wait. You want to try this right now?”
“Why not?” Davis asked. “You worried we might wake it up or something?”
Despite himself, Xiong chuckled. “No, of course not. It’s just that we haven’t discussed it or anything.”
Davis eyed him. “You want to wait until morning?”
It would be the prudent thing to do, Xiong knew. Even with the containment procedures in place, and given that this experiment would not even approach the level of intensity of the previous sensor scans inflicted upon the artifact, there was the omnipresent concern of some unexpected consequence of their action. However, days of sensor telemetry indicated such a development was unlikely.
When he saw the smile on Xiong’s face, Davis laughed. “Now you’re thinking like an engineer.” Reaching for the console, he input another string of commands. “We’ll use the same standard linguacode messages that are employed for first-contact scenarios. After all, when in doubt, go with what works.”
“We probably shouldn’t expect any sort of meaningful response,” Xiong said. “Then again, we don’t know anything about how the Shedai communicate with other life-forms.”
“One thing at a time, Lieutenant,” Davis said, his attention fixed on his workstation. “Activate the isolation protocols.”
Xiong carried out that task, nodding in satisfaction at the status indicators telling him the chamber was in full isolation mode. “Everything shows green. Transmit whenever you’re ready.”
“Here goes nothing,” Davis said as he pressed a final control. “Hailing frequency open; transmitting linguacode greeting.” Drawing a deep breath, the engineer looked to Xiong before adding, “Knock, knock.”
Pointing to a new set of data scrolling on one of his display screens, Xiong said, “I’m seeing indications that the beam’s scattering once it penetrates the artifact’s outer shell.”
“I can try changing frequencies,” Davis suggested, entering the necessary commands to his console. A moment later, he shook his head. “I’ve set the transmission to repeat on a rapid cycle through the frequency bands, but it doesn’t seem to be having any effect.”
“What about increasing power?” Xiong asked.
Pausing to consider that, Davis tapped the edge of his console. “This system isn’t all that powerful, but we can still kick it up a few notches and see what happens. If we really wanted some juice, we could pump the signal through a subspace relay.”
Xiong shrugged. “Got any of those lying around?”
“Sure,” Davis replied, “but they weigh about four hundred kilos and are around the size of a photon torpedo. Bring two, if you’re going.” Holding up a finger as though arriving at another idea, he said, “On the other hand, if we reroute through the Lovell’s communications array, that would almost certainly be more than enough power to get the job done.”
“And it would violate the isolation protocols,” Xiong countered. “I’m not ready to take that kind of risk just yet.”
Davis nodded. “Agreed. Let’s just see what we can do with what we’ve got, then.” Tapping a sequence of controls at a speed that almost made Xiong’s eyes hurt as he tried to follow, Davis entered another set of commands. “We’re at full power, and I’ve got the hailing message cycling through every frequency, including several that are out of range of most regular communications equipment.” When he saw Xiong’s questioning look, he said, “We like to tinker on this ship, remember?”
Ignoring the question, Xiong moved back to his own workstation, noting the new readings on his monitors. “The transmission beam is holding together a bit better now, but I think it’s still scattering.” Once again, he could only marvel at the construction of the inscrutable Mirdonyae Artifact. How had its creators managed to forge such a brilliant feat of engineering prowess and even artistry?
“Damn, but that thing’s stubborn,” Davis said, shaking his head in wonder.
“Wait.” When the engineer looked in his direction, Xiong pointed to one of his monitors. “There’s a new reading here.”
“What?” Davis all but jumped from his chair, moving to stand behind Xiong. He leaned over the lieutenant’s shoulder, angling for a better look at the screen. “I’ll be a son of a bitch. It’s working?”
“To a degree,” Xiong replied, reaching out to tap the monitor. “The signal’s still degrading before it penetrates too far, but at least it’s making it in there.”
“By the time it gets through the outer shell and into the crystal’s interior latticework,” Davis said, closing his eyes while he spoke, as if envisioning the artifact’s internal construction in his mind, “the signal’s so fragmented and diluted, it’s probably not much more powerful than whatever background noise is being put out by the artifact’s own energy source.” Opening his eyes, he added, “I speak euphemistically, of course.”
“Of course,” Xiong repeated.
“Our signal may be like one voice in a crowd of thousands,” Davis continued, holding up his hands to emphasize his point. “We know we’re getting in there, but there may simply be just too much else going on for us to be heard.”
Glancing back to the monitor that depicted the image of the artifact as it rested in its cradle inside the isolation chamber, Xiong considered the engineer’s hypothesis. “So, what do you suggest we do in order to be heard?”
Davis smiled. “We pump up the volume.”
23
Tendrils of energy punched through the storm gripping the Shedai Wanderer, feeling to her as though spikes of agony were being driven through every molecule of her being. In her weakened state, she was unable to deflect or mitigate the probe. Adrift within the nebulous void that was her prison, her only defense was to force her consciousness to fold in on itself and wait for the assault to subside. It took several moments to erect the necessary barriers, and even then she still felt the effects of whatever was being directed against her.
Now able to focus on the new contact, she turned her attention to the wave pushing through the cacophony surrounding her, and the Wanderer realized this new presence was very similar to the pathetic, disjointed drone that had earlier punctuated the constant, unwavering dissonance.
What do you want of me?
Continuing to listen to the odd, plaintive call, the Wanderer realized that it seemed to be repeating the same sequences in rapid succession. Some of it was familiar, while other parts seemed to be little more than hollow imitations of structured communication. As the signal persisted, she began to decipher and comprehend fragments.
We call to you.
It took most of her flagging strength even to grasp the meaning. Who was attempting to make contact? Surely not one of her own people. No, the Wanderer decided, this was something else. Telinaruul. Yes, that made sense, as she detected hints of the signals they had transmitted between one another, entwined with those bits she recognized as Shedai. She had experienced their efforts at understanding the technology of her people on more than one occasion. At first their attempts seemed clumsy and inadequate, but the Wanderer had recognized the perseverance driving their endeavors. They had acquired a pair of the reviled crystals—the storied orbs that were believed capable of harnessing the very power commanded by the Shedai. That the Telinaruul were motivated by a greedy self-interest and the hope of plundering the resources and power commanded by her people was a given. Such audacity could not be tolerated, and she vowed the Telinaruul would pay for their insolence.
Whatever they might be doing, it was having an effect. Her awareness of her surroundings seemed to be gaining greater clarity. The energies working to hold her hostage within the crystal seemed to subside, if only by the slightest of degrees. Her link to the signal was growing in intensity, and the Wanderer realized now that in addition to what she was already hearing, there was something else—something far more formidable—lurking somewhere beyond the fringes of her perceptions. She had sensed this presence earlier, during the last disruption of the energy fields ensnaring her. In addition to carrying with it a recognizable timbre possessed by others of her kind, it was more prominent this time, and the Wanderer now felt it with greater force as it reached out to her.
Who are you?
I am Shedai. Who are you?
I too am Shedai.
The Wanderer was at once struck with a range of visceral emotional reactions, chief among which was surprise, given her enforced solitude, that she was hearing what purported to be a member of her race, all of whom had been dispersed by the Apostate when he extinguished the First World. At first she thought it might well be the Apostate who had somehow found her here, in this cursed abyss, and fear manifested itself. Would she now have to face off against one of the oldest and most powerful of all Shedai? Though the Apostate had taunted her on infrequent occasions, the Wanderer had not heard his thoughts since her incarceration. She quickly realized that the voice was not that of the Apostate, nor any other Shedai she had ever encountered, and yet there was something familiar about this new presence. She began to feel hope that the second crystal stolen by the Telinaruul might well contain one of the Enumerated Ones. If that was true, then she might finally have an ally, one to whom she had pledged eternal loyalty.
Where are you? Are you here?
I am alone. I am within nothingness. I long to be free, though I am powerless to act.
Extending her thoughts, the Wanderer tried to locate this other Shedai. Despite a profound sensation that he must be somewhere nearby, so far as she could tell, she was alone within her realm of exile. So, where was this potential compatriot of hers? Was he a friend or an adversary? To what or to whom did he vow allegiance?
Though we appear to be separated, we may be able to achieve liberation by working together.
No. I have been held here for uncounted generations. Escape is not possible. If freedom is to be gained, it will come at the hands and whims of our captors. Anything else is a waste of effort and energy. Of this I am certain.
Despite what the Wanderer at first perceived as defeatism, the other’s words contained another, unidentified quality. How do you know this?
Because I have tried, many times. Countless times, likely since before you came to be.
But perhaps we can combine our strength, the Wanderer implored, channel it together, and present a more powerful front to that which holds us.
Your power is insignificant compared to that which I possess.
There was no use expending energy or time debating that observation. The Wanderer, just from the thoughts offered by the other, could discern that her counterpart spoke the truth. Echoes and hints of a power far greater than she would ever command brushed her consciousness.
I sense great age, and wisdom, older than the Apostate, and perhaps even the Maker. How is that possible?
I am the First Shedai. I am the Progenitor.
The Wanderer was dumbstruck. Could it be true? Stories—myths—of the Progenitor were among her earliest memories, to say nothing of the collected recollections of those Shedai with whom she had linked over the course of her existence. Legends told of this, the First, most powerful and revered of all Shedai and greater than all the other Serataal, being captured by an ancient enemy. Such rumors persisted through the ages, the story expanding and becoming more exaggerated with each successive telling. No proof, either of the Progenitor’s capture by some unknown rival or even of his very existence, had ever been found. Older Shedai who subscribed to such tales held to the belief that it was the Progenitor’s defeat at the hands of this mysterious adversary that had set into motion the series of events that ultimately forced the Shedai into their long sleep. The Wanderer had never subscribed to such outlandish notions, until now.
You are the first of my kind I have encountered since my imprisonment. Do our people thrive? Are we the masters of all the stars?
No. The Wanderer’s reply was tinged with sadness. Our once-great civilization has fallen; it is no more, and what was there before its demise was something less than your great vision. She sensed the Progenitor’s disappointment, though another emotion was there, as well: determination. It had not been there before, she thought, but now there was no mistaking its presence.
Then perhaps we will remake it. After all, my vision remains clear.
Doing so requires us to escape our confinement, does it not?
Yes, the Progenitor replied. For this, we must be patient. Our time will come. Of this, I also am certain.
24
Reyes waited for an alarm to sound, or for secret doors to open and hordes of Orions or whoever else Ganz might have on his payroll to come storming out of the walls, each of them wielding a disruptor or blade. He wondered if and when a hidden airlock hatch might open, blowing him out of the ship and into open space.
Despite his mounting anxiety and paranoia as seconds seemed to pass at a glacial pace, none of that happened. Instead, the computer terminal before him emitted a simple, innocent beep before a single line of text appeared on its display screen: “Transfer Complete. Original Data File Purged.”
