Chapter 31
“Captain, I
thought you had forgotten…”
Alan
Christopher flashed Bruton a quaint smile as he seated himself behind the sleek
obsidian desk in his ready room. “I
never forget,” he candidly told the Inguari.
“I just get busy. And the last
few weeks have qualified as insanely busy.”
Bruton briefly
flashed his rotted teeth as he tried to make himself comfortable in his
seat—but considering Bruton’s massive size, and the chair’s lack thereof,
Christopher suspected the Commander would find no comfort here. Even so, Bruton did little else to indicate
his discomfort. “Captain, I realize
that we did not get off to the best of starts,” he said. “When you serve with someone like General
Kron for such a long time, you tend to get set in your ways… Change does not come easily.”
“It never
does,” said Christopher. “Especially
when those changes are radical ones.”
“And I have
reviewed your database,” Bruton continued.
“From my point of view, the changes you propose are radical. I have spent many years in the Zukara
Segment, Captain and, aside from Kron, nobody had managed to unite the myriad
vessels traveling through this region.”
Christopher
wasn’t exactly certain that Kron’s little armada actually counted as an
alliance—but for the sake of diplomacy, he decided to give Bruton the benefit
of the doubt. “Thus far, we have had
only minimal success,” he stated. “The
alliance members are willing to follow the Starlight, but only to
an extent. They’re still accustomed to
Kron’s rule. You see, we have a few
weak links in our chain… and instead of fixing those links, my beloved allies
are content to simply remove them.”
Bruton nodded
knowingly. “That is what Kron
would do,” he stated. He paused for a
brief moment, and then pulled himself closer to the desk. “Kron has been in error for quite some time
now,” he conspiratorially continued.
“I can
imagine,” Christopher tartly replied.
Though Bruton had said some interesting things, Christopher was still
not convinced of his sincerity. “After
all, Kron did leave you for dead in orbit of Navarre…”
But Bruton was
quick to refute the accusations. “I
began to question some of the General’s actions long before the incident at
Navarre. I was simply not ready to move
against him.”
Though there
was some sincerity in Bruton’s voice, Christopher was not stupid—he could see
the treachery lingering beneath surface.
“You did nothing because you didn’t want to risk your position. As Kron’s second in command, your survival
was essentially guaranteed. But now
that your ship is gone, so too are those guarantees…”
“True.” Bruton shifted uncomfortably in his chair
one last time before finally growing tired of the struggle to get
comfortable. He abruptly rose—and
towered over the Captain’s desk. “I did
what I thought was necessary to survive.
Until you arrived, there was nobody willing to make a stand; they feared
Kron would destroy them… or leave them to be plundered by the Mandroth. And because of that, there were few options
for me—other than to obey.
“But now the
tides have turned Captain. You have
managed to assemble a reasonable alliance—and with my help, we can right the
wrongs of General Kron once and for all!”
For the first
time since the conversation started, Christopher felt inclined to seek Matthew
Harrison’s opinion. Going into the
conversation, Christopher knew that he might not be entirely objective, so
Harrison’s presence served to ensure a fair hearing of Bruton’s case.
The Commander
sat quietly on the sofa in the back of the ready room, his gaze intently
focused on the streaks of pallid light soaring past the windows. He appeared to be lost in deep thought, but
Christopher knew better.
“Matthew,” he
called. “What do you think?”
An instant
later, Harrison was on his feet. “I
believe there is enough truth in Bruton’s statements to warrant some sort of
partnership,” he said.
In the back of
his mind, behind all of the skepticism and things of the like, Christopher had
been thinking the same thing—and he was relieved to know that at least a part
of his mind was on the same wavelength as Harrison’s. “Good,” he stated, allowing a faint smile to crack his stoic face
as he turned back to Bruton. “It looks
like you have a new job, my friend.”
Bruton nodded
cordially. “I will do my best to ensure
the alliance does not fail.” He started
to head for the exit, but stopped even before he managed to lift his foot. “And until I have proven my myself to you,
Captain, I believe it necessary that I report to you before taking any decisive
action.”
“Agreed,” said
Christopher. The thought had crossed
his mind, but he didn’t plan on bringing it up just yet. The fact that Bruton did, suddenly
cast the Inguari in a much more favorable light. “Dismissed…”
Four days had
passed since Megan Reinbold’s last encounter with Kendall Johnson. Under normal circumstances, such an instance
might not be unusual; the Starlight was a good-sized ship, and it was
certainly possible to go a few days without bumping into somebody. In fact, it happened all the time. But these were not normal circumstances;
Megan’s relationship with Kendall was a close one, and though she didn’t expect
to see him every day, four days between visits seemed unusual…
Megan had
sought to rectify the error earlier in the day. After helping to repair the anodyne relays on deck eleven, she
decided to stop by the science lab to pay Kendall a visit—but much to her
chagrin, she was promptly informed by Lieutenant Ryoti that Kendall had left
for lunch a little early. By the time
she reached the mess hall, Megan duly noted that her little break was nearing
its end—not that it mattered, because Kendall was nowhere to be found. And so, she returned to her duties with the
intent of seeking out Kendall later in the evening. Five hours later, she found herself doing just that.
As she
approached Kendall’s quarters, Megan fully expected the doors to slide apart
and admit her, much as they usually did—but as she strode toward the entrance,
the doors did not budge. Thankfully,
Megan’s quick reflexes kept her from an embarrassing encounter with the doors,
and she was quickly able to slap her hand on the door chime with just enough
panache to make the entire incident look natural. Still, as she waited for Kendall to authorize her entrance into
his quarters, Megan took a few steps backward.
Much to her
chagrin, the doors remained closed. Maybe
he’s in waste extraction, she mused.
But as the moments passed, the scenario became more and more unlikely,
until finally Megan had little choice but to tap at the chime again.
And again,
there was no response.
“Computer,” she
said, growing frustrated with her inability to track Kendall down, “locate
Kendall Johnson.”
The computer
bleeped, and happily complied with Megan’s order. “Kendall Johnson is in his quarters,” it stated a moment later.
Megan’s eyes
wearily turned back to the closed doors.
“Really?”
Again, the
computer bleeped. “Affirmative.”
Though there
were still a few reasonable explanations for Kendall’s failure to open the
doors, Megan didn’t care to wait around and see if they were true. “Computer,” she said, “unlock the door to
Kendall Johnson’s quarters… authorization Reinbold-sigma-9-5-7.”
It took the
computer only a moment to process the command, and the doors promptly slid open
to reveal a room lit by starlight.
Megan immediately suspected that Kendall was asleep, but once her eyes
adjusted to the darkness, she duly noted that his bed was unoccupied. He was either in the holodeck or…
…The computer
on Kendall’s desk suddenly bleeped, and Megan’s train of thought was completely
sidetracked. Though there wasn’t
exactly a major power shortage aboard the ship, it was nevertheless customary
to deactivate one’s computer terminal before leaving. “He must have left in a hurry,” Megan mused as she approached the
desk.
She swiftly
reached over the desk and groped for the large rectangular button on the base
of the unit, but before she could deactivate it, the computer bleeped again—and
curiosity struck. Suddenly eager to see
why Kendall had to leave in such a hurry, Megan very carefully turned the
computer around, half-expecting to see a string of temporal equations on the
screen.
Instead, she
found a simple message blinking against a black screen: It wasn’t meant to
be…
A worried chill
suddenly crawled down Megan’s spine, touching off each and every nerve in her
system. She wasn’t absolutely certain
what the message meant, but knowing Kendall, it wasn’t good. He tended to react poorly to stressful
situations—and given the recent failure of the temporal probe, the attempt on
his life, and the realization that he was a clone… stress was abound.
“Computer,” she said softly, “lights.”
Within seconds,
the darkness gave way to light. Megan’s
eyes very quickly scanned the vicinity for anything out of the ordinary—a
phaser… a body… or something equally grim—and much to her relief, there was
nothing to be found. Kendall’s quarters
were a picture of perfection. Nothing
was out of place… nothing was out of the ordinary… and for a moment, Megan was content to believe that her friend
had simply wandered down to the holodeck.
And then
something creaked behind her…
The curious
noise almost literally froze every muscle in Megan’s body. It was almost as if her body was commanding
her to stay put, to keep her eyes focused on the tranquility before her. But in her mind, Megan knew what
horrors lurked behind her—and she knew she had to see it for herself…
Very slowly,
she turned around. Her stomach
fluttered wildly with trepidation that plunged into her very soul. Her beating heart thundered in her chest and
pulsed in her racing mind, allowing her but one solemn emotion: sadness…
Kendall was
dead. His lifeless body dangled from a
rope tied haphazardly around a beam in the ceiling, gently swaying back-and-forth…
The end of one
journey marks not the journey’s end, but the beginning of a new journey—and as
Megan saw the faintest inklings of a smile frozen upon Kendall’s pallid face,
she knew the torment within him was gone.
For him, the difficult journey was over; for her, it was just
beginning—but in her heart, Megan knew that, some day, they would meet
again. “Journey well, my friend…”
And on that
solemn note, she closed her eyes and wept…
* * *
Alan
Christopher watched intently as Neelar Drayge tapped a few commands into the
helm. True, it wasn’t the most
fascinating thing he had ever seen, but there were times when it took very
little to hold Christopher’s attention.
But the moment Christopher began to slouch down into his command chair
to get comfortable, Neelar made a few maneuvers that immediately piqued the
Captain’s interest: he was preparing to change speed.
“We’re
approaching the coordinates,” said Drayge a moment later.
Harrison was
immediately on his feet. “Drop out of
warp,” he ordered, slowly approaching the helm to oversee the execution of his
command.
Christopher,
for his part, was content to simply sit around for a while longer. Thus far, there was nothing that actually
required his attention—let alone Harrison’s… but Matthew was apparently not
content to sit around and do nothing.
After a few
seconds, the stars on the viewscreen streaked into a thousand points of
shimmering light—and little else. The
epicenter of the odd explosions appeared to be a region of space completely
devoid of interest. There was no
debris, no temporal anomaly, no ominous gateway… nothing more than a few stray
dust motes.
“If there was
something here,” Erin Keller crisply stated, “it was completely vaporized by
that shockwave.”
That may have
been the case, but Christopher still had a supposition of his own. “We were 8.4 light years away from this
blast,” he reminded. “There’s still a
chance that whatever happened… did so long before our illustrious
arrival.”
Erin was quick
to catch on to Christopher’s train of thought.
“So if the blast was related to some sort of interspatial phenomenon, it
may very well have collapsed at some point in time over the past eight years.”
“Sensors did
detect chroniton particles in the explosion’s wake,” said Bator. “If a temporal anomaly collapsed at these
coordinates, theoretically, it could expel quantities of chroniton particles.”
“But the
particles faded very quickly,” Keller subsequently added. “To me, that indicates they existed in a
highly accelerated timeframe, which means…”
“…Which means,
they could have accelerated the shockwave across 8.4 light years in no time
flat,” Christopher promptly finished.
Though he could sort through a fair amount of temporal science, he was
anything but a temporal physicist. And
though Erin would have been content to talk about temporal theories all day
long, Christopher knew they needed to cut to the chase. Unfortunately, by doing so, they were
brought back to square one.
“Do sensors
detect anything that may have been a temporal anomaly at one point in time?”
Harrison inquired a moment later.
Keller promptly
shook her head. “No. There’s no indication of any anomaly. And if there was an anomaly, the shockwave
swept away all evidence that it existed.”
“New theory,”
said Christopher, since it was becoming quite obviously the anomaly theory
wasn’t getting them anywhere. “What if
there was no anomaly?”
“A ship?”
suggested Harrison.
“No,” said
Keller almost immediately. “I don’t
know of any ship that can cause an explosion that big. Even the Drusari don’t have anything like
that…”
But the moment
she spoke the words, Keller knew she was in error—and so did Christopher. He swiftly bolted to his feet and turned his
gaze upon her. “They’ve got one
extremely large space station,” he reminded.
“And that station has the ability to explore the edge of the
universe. Something like that definitely
has the potential to create one incredibly massive shockwave…”
“I am doubtful
the station simply exploded,” Harrison interjected. “And we have yet to encounter any vessel with the firepower
required to destroy it.”
“Maybe they had
some sort of core overload,” suggested Drayge.
Keller giggled
faintly. “Or maybe the station has
nothing at all to do with it,” she said.
“This entire conversation just keeps going in circles! We have nothing but a lot of vague
speculation to go on, and as far as the scientific method is concerned, that
kind of speculation isn’t of much use.”
Christopher
wearily steepled his fingers beneath his chin.
Though he hated to admit it, Erin was right. This entire situation was an enigma wrapped inside of a mystery
and sealed with a question mark. “They
say that people usually concentrate better after eating a healthy breakfast,”
he mused. “I’m starting to think we
should go back to the mess hall and finish eating…”
Though there
was scattered laughter throughout the bridge, it sounded somewhat muffled to
Christopher. At first he thought the
Yelss might be contacting him telepathically, but once his skin started to
tingle, he knew that was not the case.
Within a few seconds, a shimmering red light fell upon his body, and the
Starlight’s bridge slowly began to fade away.
For a split
second, Matthew Harrison simply stood watching the Captain ebb away in the
crimson light. Surprise, panic, and
shock simultaneously struck his body, rendering him an indecisive mess for what
seemed like an eternity. Harrison
desperately sifted through his racing mind for some sort of order to give—and
quickly blurted out the first coherent thought he could muster: “Lieutenant
Bator, block that transporter beam!”
But the sounds
of discord already emanated from the tactical station. Bator frantically pounded at his console,
and the Captain’s static figure suddenly hung shimmering in a pillar of crimson
light—but that was it… “That is a Ghaib
transporter signal,” he stated. “Their
transporter systems are vastly superior to our own, and a fair amount of the
Captain’s pattern is already in their transporter buffer. I have managed to isolate the remainder of
his signal in our buffer… but there is no way we can rematerialize him.”
Harrison’s eyes
flitted back to the Captain. “It is
akin to a tug-of-war,” he stated.
“And we have a
decisive disadvantage,” Keller grimly added.
“The Ghaib can hold Alan in their pattern buffer a hell of a lot longer
than we can hold him in ours.”
For a brief
moment, Harrison considered contacting the Malyikotheres for help. Their advanced transporter technology would
likely be able to hold the Captain’s pattern indefinitely—but much to
Harrison’s chagrin, his inspiration came too late to make any difference. The transporter beam was already starting to
flicker—and Captain Christopher’s pattern was undoubtedly suffering some form
of degradation. Unwilling to risk any
serious damage to the Captain, Harrison quickly made some difficult
decisions. “Release the pattern from
our buffer,” he ordered.
Bator swiftly
complied—and moments later, Captain Christopher was gone.
After what was
likely the most unpleasant transport experience in the known universe, Alan
Christopher found himself more than a little disoriented—and as he opened his
eyes, he found himself very aware of two things: he was in a room, and it was
spinning.
And as the
grayish room swirled around… and around… and around… and around… and around…
breakfast immediately began to scale Christopher’s esophagus. He shut his eyes and forced the burning
surge of vomit back into his unsettled stomach—but the thick, putrid taste
still lingered in the back of his throat.
“My
apologies.” The deep, sonorous voice
echoed wildly in Christopher’s mind… a blur of fifty voices speaking at
once—and seemed to come from everywhere.
“We experienced some… technical difficulties during the transport
process.”
That was an
understatement. For the first time in
his long history of transports, Christopher felt inclined to survey his body
parts—just to make certain they were all present and accounted for. “I feel like I’m going to die…”
“You are not,”
the voice assured him. “In fact, once
you reorient yourself, I suspect you will feel relatively normal.”
Christopher’s
knees suddenly buckled. He tried to
find his equilibrium, but as he did so, his eyes momentarily parted—revealing
the still spinning room. Moments later,
he crashed to the cold, hard floor with a THUD! And he was content to stay there…
“This is
obviously not a good time to talk,” said the voice. Though it was still a sonorous force, Christopher duly noted the
speaker was only one individual—and a familiar one, at that. “I will come back later…”
For a moment,
Christopher struggled to continue the conversation. He was eager to discover the reasons behind his sudden
incarceration—but the moment he moved to lift himself from the floor, he fell
flat on his face, and subsequently decided that later was probably a
better time to talk.
And then
everything went dark…