Текст книги "Open Secrets "

Автор книги: Dayton Ward

Соавторы: Kevin Dilmore
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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 32 страниц)

7

The disc sailed through the air, arcing over the heads of the children running to catch it. As it fell back toward the ground, it was caught by a girl with long brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, who snagged the disc with one hand while sprinting across the grass. She pulled up, arresting her forward motion as she looked for a teammate. The other kids had closed the distance now, the other six members of her team vying for position on the field against the seven children acting as their opponents. Members of the girl’s team, wearing white shirts, bobbed and weaved around the kids wearing black shirts and trying to block or defend against any of them catching the disc. The field of play had shrunk now that the white team was nearing the goal line. One more throw would be enough to secure a score.

“Here! Over here! I’m open!”

From where she sat on the grass to one side of the area marked off for the playing field, Carol Marcus watched as her son, David, broke free of the boy trying to cover him and sprinted for the end zone, waving his hands above his head. Tall for his age, he stood nearly a head above his playmates. His blond curls were matted with sweat, and his face was flushed with exertion, but the boy—like his companions on the field—seemed not to care. All that mattered at the moment was the game.

Youth,Carol mused, watching with pride as David feinted right before darting to his left, avoiding his defender and leaving himself wide open as the brown-haired girl hurled the disc in his direction. It was low, but David compensated, diving toward the ground and catching the disc in both hands before sliding across the grass, well inside the end zone.

“Bravo!” Carol called out. Rising to her feet and allowing the book resting in her lap to fall to the grass, she applauded as David and his team celebrated their score. Their shouts of joy and excitement carried across the open expanse of park lawn making up this section of Fontana Meadow. For a brief moment, Carol could almost forget that they were not in a real park on Earth but instead taking advantage of Starbase 47’s terrestrial enclosure.

She smiled, watching as the defending team walked the length of the field toward the opposite end zone, the teams preparing to put the disc back into play. Some of the kids had been throwing the disc around to one another when she and David arrived at the park, and David had accepted their invitation to join in. Once enough children had shown up, they divided into teams and commenced playing, one team trying to advance up the field by passing the disc, with the other team defending by trying to intercept or knock down the disc. Though Carol had been watching the game for ten minutes, she had no idea what it was the kids actually were playing.

“They seem to be having a good time out there.”

Recognizing the voice, she turned to see Ezekiel Fisher standing behind her, dressed in beige trousers and an oversized maroon shirt. His hands were in his pockets, and his attention was focused on the playing field as David’s team threw the disc down the field to their opponents. Once again, the game was on.

“Dr. Fisher,” she said, turning toward him.

“Zeke,” replied the station’s CMO. “That’s what my friends call me, anyway.”

Marcus nodded. “Zeke, how is it that kids can run at full speed all afternoon and never seem to get tired?” she asked as Fisher stepped forward. “I can’t remember the last time I had that kind of energy.”

“The power of youth,” Fisher said, chuckling as the disc flew across the field with kids chasing after it. “If you don’t mind my asking, Doctor, how old is your son?”

“Please, call me Carol,” Marcus replied as she bent to retrieve her fallen book. “He’ll be six in a few weeks.”

Fisher nodded. “Tall for his age.”

“He’s growing like a weed, and he’s got a bottomless pit for a stomach,” Marcus said. “Do you have kids?”

“Oh, my, yes,” the physician replied. “Two sons and a daughter. They all have children of their own, all of them older than young David over there.” He paused, his gaze shifting to look somewhere across the meadow. “Saying that out loud just made me realize how old I really am.”

Marcus laughed, enjoying the conversation and how at ease she felt around the doctor. After a moment, she asked, “Was it hard for them, following you around as you moved from one duty assignment to another?”

“A lot of the time,” Fisher replied, “they and my wife stayed at home on Mars while I was doing the Starfleet shuffle. I think a stable home life worked better for the kids, rather than being uprooted every couple of years. Doesn’t mean I don’t regret not being around more when they were growing up.” He nodded toward the field. “How’s David adjusting to life here?”

Shrugging, Marcus said, “He seems to be doing okay. Leaving friends and a school he liked back on Earth was hard, and he sulked a bit the first couple of weeks we were here, but he’s been making friends.” She looked about the park. “It doesn’t hurt to have all of this to take advantage of. It’s not Earth, but at least it’s roomy. I think the last space station I was on would fit in a closet here.” She could sense where Fisher’s questions might be leading. “It’s probably harder on him, following me all over the place, without his father around. Unfortunately, that’s not an option.”

Fisher seemed satisfied not to pursue the discussion in that direction. Instead, he said, “Well, he looks as if he’s adjusting well enough. If he’s got half your strength, he’ll do just fine.” Turning to her, he asked, “So, what about you? How are youadjusting?”

“I feel like a first-year intern all over again,” Marcus said, releasing another laugh. Glancing around to be sure that her words would not carry to unwelcome listeners, she said, “I thought I had at least a decent idea of what I was getting into when I signed up for this, but boy, was I wrong.” Her original assignment had been to review all of the data and materials pertaining to the Shedai and their technology as collected by Lieutenant Ming Xiong and his team of research scientists, debrief Xiong and his people, and then take copies of all of that information and establish a second, secure facility. The result would be two independent groups, continuing the work begun here in parallel, as an added measure of security over all of Operation Vanguard.

Her ramp-up period was taking longer than she had expected, owing mostly to the incredible progress made by Xiong and his team. Despite the obstacles they faced as they worked to decipher the secrets of the Shedai, the information they had gathered was as staggering as the potential it represented. The Shedai’s apparent ability to control matter and energy in flawless harmony—manipulating and shaping it into any desired form or configuration—carried with it the possibility of advancing current knowledge across every field of science and technology. Whoever unlocked the mysteries surrounding that power and those who once wielded it might single-handedly affect the destiny of the galaxy for centuries to come.

The key to solving that mystery was the Taurus Meta-Genome and the mysterious energy waveform found in the Jinoteur system that seemed to share some of the incredibly complex DNA string’s characteristics. Xiong and his people had made some progress, and even Dr. Fisher himself had contributed several insights, but Marcus knew there still was a long way to go. Pieces of the puzzle remained to be found.

“I’ve spent nearly every waking moment up to my eyeballs in the data collected by Xiong’s team,” she said. “Even though a lot of what we’re talking about is within my field of expertise, I still feel as if I’m in over my head.” Pausing, she looked around again, satisfied that there were no eavesdroppers within earshot. Still, she kept her voice low. “If we’re ever going to get a handle on this meta-genome, we’ll have to expand our understanding not only of genetics but also of artificial intelligence and astrophysics, and that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Compared with the Shedai, we’re like Homo erectusemerging from a cave into modern-day San Francisco.”

Turning her attention back to the field where David and his friends continued to play, Marcus laughed once more, and it dawned on her that she had laughed more in the past few minutes than she had in weeks. Given the schedule she had been keeping and the magnitude of the work in which she was ensconced, she had not had much cause for laughter.

I should enjoy it while I can,she mused. Who knows when any of us might get another chance?

8

“Space. The big empty.”

Standing next to Lieutenants Ming Xiong and Stephen Klisiewicz at the science station on the bridge of the U.S.S. Endeavour,Captain Atish Khatami turned at the voice of Anthony Leone as the ship’s chief medical officer emerged from the turbolift. Making his way toward her, he carried a data slate in his left hand. The physician was dressed in standard-duty trousers but with the more casual blue short-sleeved tunic often worn by members of the ship’s medical staff. Though the Endeavour’s previous captain, Zhao Sheng, had preferred a certain level of formality here, Leone was the one person who always was able to flout that rule with impunity. His long friendship with the late captain likely was the primary reason, and Khatami also knew that Leone simply did not give a damn about most Starfleet rules or regulations, at least those that did not directly pertain to the practice of medicine.

Good enough for me,Khatami mused.

“Morning, Captain,” Leone said as he drew closer. Holding up the data slate, he offered the device to her, his features scrunched into his trademark expression of cynicism. “My status report, detailing the latest developments in my ongoing investigation into whether the current state of the Jinoteur system—or the lack of a system with said name—might have any harmful medical effects on the crew.”

Already knowing what she would see, Khatami suppressed a chuckle as she took the data slate from Leone and held it up to read its display. Confronting her was an empty screen.

“Same as yesterday, I see,” Khatami said, playing the game.

Leone grunted. “And the day before, and the day before that. You’ve broken through my encryption scheme and discovered the subtle pattern. Excellent. I’ve never been known for my powers of precognition, but I’m willing to bet tomorrow’s report will look a lot like today’s.”

Behind her, Khatami heard both Xiong and Klisiewicz struggling to contain their laughter. They had been spectators of this banter between her and the doctor for the past several days, and Klisiewicz had even admitted that it was one of the high points of his mornings.

“I appreciate your diligence, Doctor,” Khatami said, offering a wide grin to Leone as she handed him back the data slate. “Mr. Xiong and Mr. Klisiewicz were just making their own cases to me that we’ve spent more than enough time here.”

Leone nodded, his face pinched as he regarded the two lieutenants. “Well, lay it on me, and don’t go easy on the fourteen-syllable words. It’s not as if I’m in a hurry or anything.”

“It’s pretty simple, Doctor,” replied Klisiewicz after getting a go-ahead nod from Khatami. Turning from his station, the science officer adopted a formal resting stance, his hands clasped behind his back, his expression neutral as he regarded Leone. “We’ve been here nine days, and in that time, we’ve detected no debris, gravimetric anomalies, or variances in background radiation of any kind. We’ve detected no hint of the energy-wave patterns Xiong and the Sagittariusrecorded during their time here or any indications of active Shedai technology.”

Next to him, Xiong added, “As far as every sensor and scanner on this ship is concerned, to say nothing of four hundred thirty pairs of eyes staring through portholes, it’s as though the Jinoteur system never existed.” The young Asian man shook his head. “We have no explanations.”

No matter how many times Khatami heard some variation of this report, it never ceased to amaze her. An entire solar system vanished without a trace? She had read the reports submitted by both the captain of the Sagittariusand Xiong, who had become Starfleet’s leading expert on the Shedai in the time since the discovery of the Taurus Meta-Genome. Both reports detailed how representatives of the Shedai, an enigmatic race that apparently had ruled over a significant portion of the Taurus Reach thousands of years ago, had attacked members of the Sagittariuscrew while the ship was marooned on the system’s fourth planet. Mere days later, one of these representatives, some über-powerful being known as the Apostate, had made the Jinoteur system disappear. Whether that meant the star, planets, moons, and other astral bodies had been sent to some other plane of existence, had simply been destroyed, or had been subjected to something else entirely was unknown. What kind of power would be required to bring about any of those events? How far would a species have to evolve—physically, mentally, and technologically—to wield such power? Even Xiong’s detailed accounting of the incident, which he had witnessed firsthand, had done little to assist Khatami in understanding just what it was that the Federation, the Klingons, the Tholians, and anyone else in the Taurus Reach were facing.

We are way, way out of our league here.

“So, why are we still here?” Leone asked.

Klisiewicz shrugged. “At this point, we’re hoping we might find some indications of where some of the Shedai went. According to Ensign Theriault on the Sagittarius,the Apostate told her that thousands of Shedai could be scattered across the Taurus Reach, likely spread to planets containing caches of their technology such as what we’ve found on Erilon, Ravanar, and other worlds.”

“Even acting alone and without benefit of the influence apparently provided by the Jinoteur system,” Xiong said, “these individual Shedai still pose a major threat.” Khatami watched as the lieutenant’s face fell, as though recalling an unpleasant memory. “Captain, you’ll recall what we faced on Erilon?”

“Only too well,” Khatami said, her voice low as she recalled the tragic events of Endeavour’s first mission to that ice-bound world and the deaths that had come at the hands of a lone Shedai warrior. Among the casualties was Captain Zhao, whose death had opened the door for Khatami’s promotion and ascension to Endeavour’s center seat.

A horrible way to get promoted.The thought evoked images of the good friend and trusted mentor she had lost that day, along with other members of the Endeavour’s crew and people from the science team assigned to investigate the Shedai artifacts on Erilon.

“I take it we haven’t had luck finding anything on that front, either,” Leone said. He asked Khatami, “How long are we supposed to stay out here, anyway?”

Khatami frowned. “We’ve been given no end date, but I’m about ready to throw in the towel and set course for home.”

“Now we’re talking,” Leone replied. “You’ve seen my other reports, Captain. The crew’s been operating at warp nine for weeks without a break. Efficiency is starting to slip, though the department heads are doing a pretty good job of holding things together. Still, my staff has treated more than a few cuts and bruises resulting from fights belowdecks.” He shook his head, clearly disgusted that the physical and mental well-being of the people in his care was anything less than ideal. Khatami knew from long experience that Leone was not keen on standing around, unable to do anything to rectify such a problem. “They need some downtime, Captain, and soon.”

Khatami nodded. “I appreciate your report, Doctor, as well as your continued efforts to keep things on track.” Looking to Xiong and Klisiewicz, she said, “Gentlemen, unless you can give me some compelling reason for us to remain here, I’m advising Vanguard of our current status and requesting authorization to return to base.”

She watched as the two young science officers exchanged looks. Neither man wanted to admit that they were all wasting their time, but it was not as though they had been given any say in the matter. The Shedai were the ones to blame for all the tail chasing that had ensued in the aftermath of their abrupt disappearance.

“Considering our notable lack of progress,” Klisiewicz said, “I think our time would be better utilized elsewhere, Captain.”

Xiong added, “I’ve been thinking that with the Shedai apparently having gone dormant, this might be a good time to return to the sites on Erilon or Ravanar. There’s still much to be learned about their technology.”

Frowning, Leone said, “Didn’t you just say there might be renegade Shedai on some of those planets?” He looked at the other officers. “If I’m the only one here who thinks going back to those places is a really bad idea, I’m scheduling a bunch of psych tests after lunch.”

“Of course, there’s a risk,” Xiong countered, eyeing the doctor with what Khatami recognized as a well-hidden air of irritation, “but if we’re to have any chance of understanding the Shedai and their capabilities, we need to continue our hands-on research. I can’t see that we have any other choice.”

Khatami knew that while scientific curiosity fueled the young lieutenant, recent events in the Taurus Reach had altered his perspective on why he was out here. Originally, his attitude had been that the knowledge they would uncover as they researched the Taurus Meta-Genome should be shared by all, perhaps to the benefit of thousands of species spread across the galaxy. That noble desire had been tainted by the stark realization of what might happen to the galaxy—and those thousands of species—if an enemy such as the Klingons discovered a way to wield the power once commanded by the Shedai.

“Points well taken, Mr. Xiong. I suggest you begin coordinating with Dr. Marcus back on the station and have her begin whatever preparations you’ll need from her to support a return visit to one of those locations. I’ll inform Commander Cooper with my next report. Thank you, gentlemen.”

The informal meeting was over, and as Xiong and Klisiewicz returned to their work, Khatami turned and stepped down into the bridge’s command well. To her left, she saw Leone hovering near the curved red railing separating the bridge’s upper and lower sections. “Something else on your mind, Doctor?” she prompted as she settled into the command chair.

“Just what I said before, Captain,” Leone replied, the fingers of his left hand fidgeting with the data slate he still carried. “Shore leave. The sooner, the better.”

“All in good time, Tony,” Khatami replied. “Besides,” she said as she leaned back in her chair, looking over her shoulder at Leone, “something tells me we’ll be spending plenty of time on the station once we get back.”

Stepping closer so that his voice would not carry across the bridge, the doctor said, “You mean the business with Commodore Reyes?”

“Yes,” Khatami replied. “I expect the senior staff will be deposed, but they’ll have to do it quickly, given our operational tempo. I wouldn’t get your hopes up of spending all of your shore leave enjoying yourself.”

Leone’s face screwed up into one of his trademark sarcastic scowls. “Getting verbally abused by a lawyer? I haven’t had that much fun since my second divorce. As long as they let me drink during the deposition, I’ll be fine.” Without waiting for a rebuttal, the doctor signaled a farewell gesture to Khatami before turning and disappearing into the turbolift at the back of the Endeavour’s bridge.

Suppressing the smile that always seemed to come whenever Anthony Leone opened his mouth, Khatami glanced over her shoulder toward the communications station. “Lieutenant Estrada,” she said, “let’s prep a message to send to Vanguard.”

9

“Greetings, Dr. M’Benga. I am Sobon. It has come to my attention that you seek the assistance of someone skilled in the treatment of certain psychological ailments known to affect Vulcans on rare occasions. I believe I may be able to offer such assistance.”

M’Benga touched a control on the wall-mounted keypad next to the main viewscreen in Commander Cooper’s office and paused the visual playback. The image on the screen froze, depicting an aged, withered Vulcan. His white hair was long, pulled back away from his tanned, lined face. He was dressed in a simple beige garment, a form of robe that M’Benga recognized as that typically worn by older healers as well as Kolinahrhigh masters.

“I did some checking on him,” M’Benga said, turning to where Cooper sat behind his desk. Occupying one of the chairs before the desk, Fisher regarded him with his hands clasped in front of him. “Sobon at one time was one of the most respected physicians at the Vulcan Science Academy. In the early twenty-second century, he was a member of the science contingent working on Earth. He was somewhat of a maverick back then, one of the few Vulcans who advocated a closer cooperative relationship with Earth. He championed sharing more information in a number of areas, particularly medicine. Because of him, human medical science made several leaps in a very short period of time, developing cures or treatments for a number of debilitating diseases. The gradual increase of human life spans over the past century can be traced directly to Sobon’s efforts.”

Fisher said, “You said he was respected at one time. Does that mean he’s not carrying that kind of clout anymore?”

“He resigned from the science academy more than forty years ago to pursue other interests,” M’Benga replied. “Continuing his mental studies, he attained the level of adept, a master of the mental healing arts. Soon after that, he rejected that title and position, and since then, he’s been living and working as a healer at a commune tucked away in the L-langon Mountains. From what I’ve been able to learn, the village is pretty isolationist. There are several communities like it scattered around the planet, shunning most contact with the rest of Vulcan society. The closest parallel I can think of is the Amish religion on Earth.”

Leaning forward in his chair, Cooper said, “Parallel in that they eschew modern technology and conveniences and fly under most people’s radar?”

“For the most part, yes,” M’Benga replied.

Fisher asked, “If that’s the case, then what is it they think they can do to help with T’Prynn’s problem? I’m going to guess that whatever passes for a hospital in that mountain retreat isn’t equipped for this sort of thing.”

“That’s where this starts to get interesting,” M’Benga replied. Turned back to the viewer, he tapped the control to resume playing the recorded message he had already viewed half a dozen times before bringing it to the attention of Fisher and Cooper.

On the screen, the image of Sobon said, “I am familiar with T’Prynn’s condition from my tenure at the Vulcan Science Academy. The Adepts of Gol attempted on many occasions to assist her, to no avail. However, their conservative natures have always prohibited them from considering certain unconventional methods of treatment for severe psychological ailments such as this. While T’Prynn’s condition is unique in my experience, I believe I still can offer assistance.”

The message ended with Sobon offering a perfunctory salutation, after which M’Benga turned and moved across the room toward the chair situated next to Fisher’s. “I’ve received a follow-up message. He’s invited me to bring T’Prynn to his commune on Vulcan so that he can attempt treating her with some kind of ancient ritual involving a very powerful form of mind meld.”

“You know, I’ve been meaning to ask, is there anything on or about Vulcan that’s not ancient?” Fisher asked.

“I think they have a restaurant or two in the capital city that have only been open for about a year or so,” M’Benga said, taking a seat in the remaining chair.

Cooper asked, “Do we really need to transport T’Prynn to Vulcan? Is it even safe to do that? Why can’t this Sobon come to us?” Before M’Benga could answer, the acting station commander held up a hand. “Wait, let me guess. Since he’s some kind of monk, he’s sworn off space travel.”

“That’s about the size of it,” M’Benga replied. He had already tendered such an offer to Sobon, and the Vulcan healer had promptly refused.

“What about this mind meld or whatever it is?” Fisher asked. “Do we know anything about it?”

M’Benga shook his head. “I searched every database I could think of—including one or two on Vulcan no outworlders are even supposed to know about—and found nothing. Of course, Sobon didn’t tell me much about it, not even what it’s called. He also says he hasn’t heard of it being performed in centuries. He only knows about it because he’s had forty years to spend irritating the rest of the Vulcan science and medical community. He seems to derive a great deal of satisfaction from researching and putting forth theories and papers regarding the benefits of arcane holistic treatment methods, most of which were abandoned about ten minutes after Surak started making a name for himself. Most of the science academy views him as something of an irritant.”

“The more I hear about this guy,” Fisher said, “the more I like him.”

Cooper said, “So, you want transport to Vulcan?” He looked to Fisher. “That okay with you?”

“Seems like an avenue worth exploring,” replied the station’s CMO. Eyeing M’Benga with a wry grin, he added, “It’s not as though I’m getting a true replacement so that I can retire anytime soon, right?”

Returning the smile, M’Benga replied, “Not if I can help it.” He had applied for a transfer to ship duty some months earlier, but Starfleet had yet to approve or deny his request. At last check, the personnel offices on Earth were processing his application, but medical officer berths aboard starships were hard to come by, particularly aboard those vessels tasked with long-duration exploration missions. Though Vanguard’s hospital was one of the leading facilities of its type, it hadbeen jammed into the middle of a space station. M’Benga wanted to go out into the galaxy, not wait for it to come to him. It was the reason he had joined Starfleet in the first place.

Cooper emitted a mock sigh as he regarded Fisher. “Finding you a replacement. It’s just one more thing on my list of things to do before I die of old age, which, by my calendar, should be sometime next Thursday.”

“How much longer until yourreplacement arrives?” Fisher asked.

Shrugging, Cooper said, “Supposedly on the way and should be here in a couple of weeks. I don’t even know who it is at this point. All I know is that he or she is a flag officer, and Starfleet’s not in the habit of publicizing the travel habits of its commodores and admirals, especially these days.” He reached up to rub the bridge of his nose, and M’Benga noted the dark circles beneath the commander’s eyes. Cooper had shouldered immense responsibility during these past weeks, despite his reputation as a competent executive officer. He had, in effect, been engaged in prolonged on-the-job training to take over for Reyes if necessary, but the abruptness of the commodore’s removal from command had hit everyone hard, Cooper harder than most. Still, the commander had risen to the occasion with all of the adroitness and professionalism Reyes obviously had seen in the younger man when selecting him to be the station’s second-in-command.

“Make whatever preparations you need,” he said to M’Benga.

Fisher said, “To be honest, I’m really not sure whether to wish you luck or not. If you’re successful, and T’Prynn’s able to recover from…whatever it is that’s wrong with her, Starfleet’s going to court-martial her at the earliest opportunity.”

M’Benga shook his head. “Not my concern. My only priority is providing my patient with the best possible care. If that means I cart her off to Vulcan, then so be it.”

“I can’t argue with that,” Cooper replied, nodding, “and that means I do wish you luck, Doctor.”

“Thank you, sir,” M’Benga replied, his mind already turning to thoughts of the tasks that lay ahead of him. He was moving into areas of medicine he did not feel qualified to address and was uncomfortable with the notion of placing the welfare of his patient in the hands of someone he did not know and for whom no one of any standing in the Vulcan medical and scientific communities would vouch. Though he considered himself proficient with regard to Vulcan physiology and treating physical ailments unique to the species, the shroud of mystery surrounding Vulcans’ formidable mental disciplines and telepathic abilities was one area M’Benga had never before tried to penetrate.

You keep saying you want to explore,he chided himself. Now’s your chance.