I pace the length and breadth of the ready room, cursing under my breath. "I do not believe in coincidences," I snap at the screen.
"Rrueo does," Rrueo replies, over what we hope is a secure comms link. "But not at this level."
"We need to understand this. Is it a message? Aimed at Grau? Why Grau?"
"You need to understand this," says Rrueo. "It is clear to Rrueo that we are dealing with a reality manipulator, something of the order of the being Q. Any reasonable person would, therefore, be heading away from this whole situation at maximum warp speed. Sadly, you have never, even in the dimmest light, been mistaken for a reasonable person."
"S-s-s-s-s. You do not understand. This situation has arisen, it must be confronted. Should we leave it for others to risk their lives? Others who may be less capable than we are?"
"You and Grau," says Rrueo, "would seem to be sisters under the skin. Apparently, she took exactly that attitude towards the temporal anomaly known as the Stygmalian Rift. And, apart from the temporal displacement, the loss of all her personal relationships, the Borg assimilation and the serious psychiatric consequences, it worked out well for her."
"So," I say, "Grau has the most exotic background... perhaps that is how she has drawn this being's attention. What of the body? Do we have information on the USS Erebus?"
"A survey vessel, lost by Starfleet shortly after the Organian conflict. They lost a number of their long range explorers - it is a hazardous business. According to the records Shohl has made available, the Erebus went missing somewhere near Epsilon Orionis - but distance is, clearly, not a factor to our unknown adversary."
I sit down at my desk. The pieces of the Reflective Game glint, but I have long since lost track of which move it was. "No explanation is forthcoming, then."
"If the Feds know anything, they are not telling us," says Rrueo. "And why should they, after all?"
"S-s-s-s-s." Of course, there is much we are not telling the Feds - the fact that the entire arcology is nothing but a stage property magicked into existence by a superpower, for example. "Well, then. Turning to practical matters. How long now to Tiaza Zephora?"
"Thirty-six hours flight time. For us - the King Estmere could do it in a fraction of the time. Rrueo wishes they would. If King Estmere went on ahead, the two of us would be a match for the Falcon alone."
"I do not contemplate attacking the Falcon. Yet. As for the King Estmere...." I smile. "I have some hopes in that direction."
"Rrueo is glad you have hopes. Rrueo has only worries. For instance... the Feds hope to find a translator for the alien symbols at Tiaza Zephora."
"Wishful thinking. The symbols are nothing more than set dressing on the fake ruins. But it does no harm for them to chase phantoms."
"This is what worries Rrueo. Has it occurred to you that the entity's actions have had the effect of turning your lies into the truth? By the time we reach the planet, there may well be meaning behind those symbols, and a native capable of reading them."
"Useless to speculate. Though, if my lies are to be turned to truths... there is at least one reason why I should be concerned over that."
---
Tiaza Zephora gleams beneath us, a poison jewel of an M-class world, its blue oceans and verdant continents decorated with white swirls of cloud.
I should feel more secure - this system is, after all, nominally on the Klingon side of the border. But Shohl and Grau have the resources to fight their way out, if it comes to that... and in any case, the real threat comes from the planet.
In my mind's eye, I can still see those ships burning.
I recite a sutra, to clear my mind. I relax a little on the command couch, and signal for communications to be established with the other ships. A motley assortment we make, too, I muse: the rakish, sprawling lines of the Goroke contrasting with the spiky insectile look of Rrueo's Anar, with the malevolent crystalline bulk of King Estmere, with the traditional Starfleet design of Grau's Falcon. A more mismatched fleet would be hard to imagine.
Now, the three faces of my fellow commanders appear on the main viewer. "So," I say, "now that we are here, how should we proceed?"
"Have you detected anything new since the abortive invasion attempt?" Shohl asks. I could quibble with her phrasing, I suppose, but....
"Nothing that I can detect from high orbit," I answer. "I could go in for a closer scan, except... the Goroke might be remembered from the previous incident. I have no wish to provoke further hostility."
Shohl takes the bait with alacrity. "King Estmere is rated for atmospheric operations." Ah, she is proud of her ship - might that be her undoing. "An ionospheric pass won't violate that fifty-kellicam safe limit. Setting course now."
I refrain from smiling. A few creative edits were made in the recording of my trial, before Shalo gave it to the Feds... most importantly, the number "one hundred and twenty" being replaced by "fifty". On the tactical display, I watch as King Estmere points her needle nose towards the low orbitals.
Whatever happens, I gain data. And if King Estmere vanishes in an antimatter explosion, I need shed no tears.
Laska calls off the distances in an undertone. As if she fears Shohl will hear her. "Four hundred kellicams... three fifty... three hundred kellicams... two fifty... two hundred... one fifty...." Emphasis edges her voice as she says, "One twenty... one hundred kellicams... seventy-five. The Fed ship is holding in low orbit at range seventy-five kellicams."
And remains obstinately unexploded. So, I gain nothing but data. Never mind.
"I'm trying something," says Shohl over the comms link. "Hold on."
"Trying what?" Grau demands.
"Launching a type 8 shuttle on autopilot," Shohl says. "Programming a descent to fifty kilometers." About half what she believes is the critical distance - which may now actually be the critical distance. Is this entity determined to make a truth-teller of me? Perhaps I should thank it.
I cut in my own communications. "An unmanned shuttlecraft can hardly be regarded as a threat," I point out.
"King Estmere isn't a threat," Shohl says. "At least, not to the inhabitants of this world... at least, she's not meant that way."
"S-s-s-s-s. You think the entity is capable of reading hostile intent?"
"Could be. All we know about it is that it's got powers we don't understand. Launching shuttle."
The type 8 shuttle is a tiny dot beside the bulk of the King Estmere. Laska frowns as she adjusts the tracking scan, and resumes her monologue. "Seventy kellicams... sixty-five... sixty... fifty-five... fifty... forty-five... forty... thirty-five...." She stops. We watch in silence as the little craft descends to the point where its trail in the planet's atmosphere is clearly visible.
"All right." Shohl's voice. "Minimum altitude of fifty kilometres. Either the killing effect is turned off, or it's reading peaceful intent and letting harmless ships through - for the moment, at least." Her scarred face quirks in a brief smile. "I'm recovering the shuttle and returning the King Estmere to geosynchronous orbit. Just in case."
"All righty, then," says Grau. "The entity isn't in kill-on-sight mode. That's good news. So, I guess our next step is obvious." She grins, wildly and lopsidedly. "Obvious to us Starfleet types, anyway."
"And that obvious step is...?" I ask.
"Go down and introduce ourselves. Say hello."
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